#I KNOW that Peeta has ash blond hair but

[moon-mirage]

The Boy with the Bread

(I couldn’t resist a quick Peeta sketch)

[endlessnightlock]

Dunder-Mifflin-Snow Paper Corporation

This is an old drabble, but since it was deleted with the rest of my old account, I’ll repost it here for @oakfarmer

“Yes, Mr. Snow, I’ll make sure Seneca calls you right back. Yes, he’s hmm, swamped right now,” Katniss added, looking through the glass wall of her manager, Seneca Crane’s office. He was stretched out on his back, on the floor in front of his desk, covering his hands with his eyes.

God, he was an idiot.

Katniss had no idea why she was covering for him.

Oh, right. Because she needed this job.

Being a receptionist at Dunder-Mifflin-Snow Paper Co. wasn’t her dream job, but it would allow her to continue keeping a roof over her and Prim’s heads while her sister worked her way through nursing school.

Also, her fiance Gale had been working in the warehouse for the last year and had actually been the one to tell her about the opening for a receptionist in the Sales office. “Just think Katnip, we can ride to work together,” he’d encouraged her to consider it when she was feeling especially hesitant about accepting the position. That had been mere minutes after her first meeting with Seneca Crane; he’d made a comment to Katniss insinuating the job was hers if she wanted it because quote “he’d be glad to have another hot girl in the office.”

In fact, without Gale’s prompting, she never would have taken the job. But if Gale knew these people, surely they weren’t as bad as they seemed?

Right now? Katniss was having serious second thoughts about this place. She’d only been here for fifteen minutes and barely knew her way around the phone system, yet she was already obliged to make excuses for her boss, who was ducking Mr. Snow’s calls.

“Just make sure he gets my message Ms…., what was your name again?”

Katniss swallowed. She really didn’t like the sound of Mr. Snow’s voice. But that was ridiculous. Why did she feel vaguely threatened by the CEO of a paper company? It was completely illogical.

“It’s Katniss, sir,” she told him, impressed with the calm tone her voice took on at that moment, “Katniss Everdeen.”

“Ah, Ms. Everdeen. I’m sure we’ll speak often. Mr. Crane is often… indisposed. But never mind- welcome to the Dunder-Mifflin-Snow family.”

Katniss scowled at the receiver. Where did this man get the nerve?

Family indeed.

“Just make sure Seneca returns my call,” Mr. Snow said in closing.

“Yes, Mr. Snow,” she said, thinking that Mr. Snow seemed like a man who wanted you to address him by name, “I will.”

“See that you do.”

Katniss breathed a sigh of relief once the receiver was back in the cradle. She slumped forward in her chair, groaning into her arm.

This job had been a huge mistake.

Stupid Gale- she was going to start looking for something else immediately.

“Excuse me,” a voice said, causing Katniss to look up into the blue eyes of the salesman whose desk sat directly in her line of sight. Now he stood in front of her desk.

Peeta- he’d given her a friendly smile when Seneca showed her around the office, introducing her to everybody.

Peeta seemed alright so far; at least he hadn’t made any inappropriate remarks to her or laughed at Seneca’s sexist jokes. That was more than she could say for half of the other men in the office.

Right now, Peeta smiled at her crookedly and pushed a hand through his ash-blond hair that he wore a tad too long- it laid across his forehead in messy, unprofessional waves giving him a “competent but kind of a slacker” vibe.

“Can I help you?” Katniss asked, leaning back in her chair.

Peeta leaned over slightly, resting his elbows on the countertop. His eyes seemed to roam across her desktop momentarily before landing on her yogurt cup. “I’m sorry if this sounds weird, and there is no way for me to know this, but that mixed berry yogurt you’re about to eat has expired.”

Katniss burst out laughing, despite herself. What was this guy’s deal?

Peeta grinned at her. “I’m Peeta,” he said, sticking out his hand.

Katniss took his hand and shook it, surprised at the tingle of warmth that radiated from the spot where their palms touched. “I know,” she told him, pulling her hand back quickly. “I just met you fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh, right,” he said, straightening up.

Peeta shrugged, staring off into the distance as if he were looking into a camera or something.

It was kind of a weird thing to do, but she shook it off.

“But thanks anyway,” Katniss said, deciding to give him a break. He seemed nice, and it would be good to have a friend in the office—a cute one at that.

Not that it mattered what Peeta looked like. She was engaged.

[awhiskeyriver]

le cirque monstre

This is the prologue to an old but newly updated story I idea I’ve had for years, sort of forgot about and recently remembered and became interested in again. I honestly don’t know when I will transfer this over to ao3 (probably at least the prologue, soon) or when I will add more. My inspiration for things is very fleeting right now, but I wanted to get your thoughts here in tumblrland on whether or not I should bother continuing!

Unedited and some things might end up changing in the future, but enjoy!

                                                            +++

Prologue: 1918, Coney Island 

     She used to think the cotton-spun candy that tasted like melted sugar was just like a dream; too good to be true. She was younger then, and everything about life was shiny and vibrant. Her nose crinkled with distaste as her boney knee stuck to the floor of the bleachers.  Not anymore, though. Now, the popular fair treats were only a nuisance, making her job of cleaning between shows all the more difficult.

      “Applesauce,” she muttered, twisting to sit on her butt as she peeled a piece of gum from her skin.

       “What are you complaining about now, Katniss?” Gale asked, poking up from the row behind her with a devilish grin. Katniss rolled her eyes when he reached out to poke her nose, wondering how someone three years older than her could still be so immature. Gale and her had been best friends since the time she was small, bonded through unfortunate circumstances of life. 

        “I’m tired of cleaning these seats,” she pouted, sweating and absolutely exhausted. It had been their fourth show of the day, with five more to get through before calling it an evening. Katniss felt the sharp pangs of hunger vibrate through her stomach and moaned.

        “If you quit being such a dewdropper this could’ve been done by now and we’d be off eating lu—“ he cut off, ears perking at the sound of distant voices growing closer. Katniss turned to face Gale before he pushed the top of her head in signal to crouch, doing the same for himself.

        Female voices billowed through the auditorium, followed by that of her father, whose voice was authoritative and all business. He cleared his throat loudly a couple of times before joining in their quiet laughter with a hardy one of his own that reverberated off the bleachers.  Katniss shrunk further into the ground with the sound. Father had always been a vocal man. Vocal when he was happy, even more so when he was angry. He talked, and Katniss listened. Katniss was always listening.

       “The children all loved the performance today.”

       “Simply loved it!” another high-pitched voice agreed. Katniss twisted her head uncomfortably in hopes of seeing beneath the bleachers and caught sight of two women dressed in long black robes with matching white-lined headdresses.

       Nuns from the orphanage.

      Gale had sold them tickets earlier before the last showing, and Katniss had hoped she would’ve finished her chores in time to see the children. Because despite living within her father’s circus (what he advertised to be the happiest place in America) there was a surprisingly low number of people who were willing to keep her boredom occupied.

     “Children, what must you say now to Mr. Snow?” A chorus of cheerful thank you’s sounded, and underfed children whose clothing didn’t exactly fit wore bright grins. Perhaps the advertising hadn’t been entirely false. They all sure seemed to think so.

     The children lined up behind the tallest sister like toy soldiers, marching towards the opening flap of the tent. All, except for one.

     “Not you, young man.”

     Katniss had practically turned herself upside down in effort to keep the woman in her line of sight, and caught the faintest glimpse of the child. He wasn’t facing her, but his hair was ash-blonde and unattended. Although he wore the same uniform as the other boys, it was sloppy with his shirt un-tucked and it’s color slightly off-white.

     “You are not going anywhere,” she spoke dismissively as the other sister came to stand beside her.

     “…But, have I done something wrong?”

     His voice surprised her. Strong for a child, despite the same unavoidable squeakiness Gale experienced sometimes, being almost fourteen. 

     “Part of becoming a man,” he’d said proudly when her and her baby sister Prim giggled. “It’s called puberty.”

     “Puber-what?” Prim asked, nose wrinkled.

     “Awe, forget it.”

     “Peeta...” The one reached out, as if to touch him but recoiled before her hand could land on his shoulder, and drew back. “Our home has no place for you, anymore. There is nothing we can do for you.”

     He remained quiet as the softer one peered up at her stone-faced sister, who only nodded with agreement.

     “You belong here. There is simply nowhere else for you to go.”

     “There is not a soul in New York who cares to take in a crippled boy.”

       Father took a step in closer to the nuns, who stood a fair distance from the wilting boy. Katniss watched on, her heart beating explosively inside of her chest in a way that made her breaths almost ragged. She’d witnessed cruelty tenfold and was not blind to its existence. But the reality of what the young man was crashed down on her heavily, and she realized perhaps they were not being heartless afterall.

    The boy was grotesque. Evidence of the fact made clear as he turned on a crutch made of wood and exposed his profile. It took a hand covering her mouth to keep from making any audible sound. 

    So, they were simply right, then. There wasn’t a soul in New York, or most likely any state, that would willingly take him into their care. Nobody but a circus.

    He resisted as her father’s thick hand clutched his arm, but surprisingly enough did not scream. He did not say a single word as he finally spun around fully into Katniss’s view. Watching with a mixture of fear and dread as the two nuns who had escorted him in left without him. 

                                                          +++

     “Quit trying to bug him, Kat,” Gale snapped, catching her arm outside of the tent where all of the circus freaks were busy preparing for their shows.

       Three weeks had passed since the boy joined her father’s circus, parading around with clowns on stilts and the small people that waddled around in shoes five times too big and circular red noses. Three weeks and any time she tried to catch a glimpse of him outside of the show, Gale caught her.

       “Aren’t you at all curious?” she huffed, twisting out of his embrace with a thoughtful rub to her elbow. “Haymitch says he is only thirteen. The youngest carnie we’ve ever had.”

       “Then going in there will only make him feel like more of a freak,” he scolded and Katniss wilted, realizing the truth to his words. They both jumped as father’s booming voice sounded from a distance, calling Gale’s name.

       “I need to go start selling tickets,” he sighed, turning to leave with suspicion in his eye. “Promise me, Kat.”

       “…Oh, alright.”

       “Promise me.”

       Katniss sighed, smoothing out the fluffy material of her dress as something to keep her hands busy. “Yes Gale, I promise to stay out of trouble. Now go, or you’ll have to answer to the whip.”

       He left and Katniss paced the length of the carnie tent. There was music playing inside, the soft blare of a saxophone and some sticks against metal pots. Katniss enjoyed spending time with the performers when allowed. Chaff, the deep-skinned muscle man that could lift four hundred pounds despite missing a hand, made her laugh. And Haymitch, a magician, let her play  with some of his props when he was drunk enough. 

       So, really, her going inside of the tent wasn’t completely for the new boy. She had been keeping her fingers crossed during the promise to Gale, anyways.

       Katniss glanced around the abandoned backlot, where dark puddles of mud created divots in the green grass she was forced to hop over to keep her shoes clean. Then, she slipped past the thin curtain, which closed off the strange world of fantasy from harsh reality.

       Katniss went unnoticed, weaving her way through lounging performers and billowing clouds of smoke. It was always louder in the back tents – deep laughter and saxophone practices, occasional drunken arguments and the escaped moans from two closer carnies. She winced when the volume grew unexpectedly, and bowed her head as if to provide a thin veil of privacy to a group of outlandish people who didn’t know the meaning of it.

       She waved at Haymitch, who only raised up his eyebrows in her direction before blowing up a shining red balloon and twisting it with his skilled hands. The other clowns seemed to be hanging close by; some sleeping, others smoking. The new boy most likely wasn’t far. She bit the inside of her cheek, silently debating with herself whether or not to ask of his whereabouts before she caught a glimpse of something that captured her attention.

       There it is again, she thought, following the thin trail of light that bounced off the draped edge of the tent, which was otherwise dark. She bent over in half, silently pushing past it with curiosity in her expression. The corners of her mouth lifted when she saw him, sitting perched on the clear opposite end near one of the long poles, which held the tent in place. With a thin, melting candle for light, he kept a novel perched in his one bent knee, his eyes scrolling the pages like a typewriter.

       “Hello,” she offered, jumping in surprise when the boy dropped the book and shot up on one wobbly leg.

       “Oh…” she bit the corner of her bottom lip to keep from giggling at his startled expression.  His overgrown hair fell haphazardly into his eyes despite his best efforts to push it back.

       “Did I scare you?” She asked, reaching out to hand him his cane. He didn’t reply, but accepted the crutch quickly before bending over for the book, which he tucked behind his back away from her view.

       “It’s alright, I’m not gonna take it,” she promised. He glanced down at her, bright blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I was just curious.”

            He huffed in silence, falling back to the ground silently as he dusted the dirty pages. Katniss frowned, shifting on her feet as she watched the boy flip through his story.  She hadn’t thought past the initial finding him, and now that she had, the silence was deafening.

       “Can you speak?”

        The tips of his ears turned red as he kept his gaze focused at the ground, running his hands over the dirty cloth of his pants.

        “Of course.”

        “I know,” she smiled slyly, inching closer to him the way one might approach a nervous animal. “I just wanted to hear you say something.”

        She sat down, pushing her butt closer when he didn’t protest and leaned over his shoulder to glance down at his lap. She’d never seen a book so close in real life, only in the hands of strangers or in pictures. Father had never bothered teaching her how to read more than a few simple words, claiming it was pointless for girls to fill their heads with nonsense like knowledge. Certainly, as a circus girl, it wasn’t Katniss’s place to argue. But, it hadn’t helped her curiosity.  She sat in silence, wondering if the boy could actually read the words on the pages, or if he was pretending. It was just as ridiculous for the time to be spent teaching him such a skill as it would be for herself.

        “What is your novel about?”

        “You can borrow it, if you would like,” he offered, dog-earing one of the pages before handing it over to her waiting hands. Her lips pursed sourly as her eyebrows furrowed, pushing the book back into his hands with a sting of betrayal in her chest.

        “Well, you don’t need to make fun of me.” she mumbled, rising up to her feet. How humiliating, to be made fun of by this boy she’d only hoped to make feel more comfortable.

        “Wait.” He grabbed hold of her arm, the first physical contact he’d offered to her since she’d approached. Her body stiffened and the warmth of his fingertips was gone in a flash as his hand twitched back down to his side. He pushed a long lock of hair back behind his ear, eyes boring into her despite her back being turned.

      And it was then, under the candlelight that she saw the gnashes and hideous scarring that ripped apart more than half of his face up close. Quickly, she looked away. 

        “I wasn’t making fun of you,” he promised lowly, sounding almost sincere. “I wouldn’t.”

         “I can’t read. You should know that,” she sniffed, chin tilted up in the air as her eyes shifted back to his forlorn face. “I’m a lady.”

        “My apologies. Someone I kne—” he stopped himself short with a shake of his head before cocking his chin back in the direction of the book. He ghosted a hand over its impressive script before opening it back up to the page he’d previously closed. “Perhaps, I could teach you. If you wanted to learn, then you could borrow it sometime.”

        Katniss took a moment to truly ponder the idea. Plenty of carnie’s had taught her things over the years. Octavia, the lady with facial hair as long as that which grew on Katniss’s head, had taught her how to properly buckle her shoes when she was younger. And to that day, Haymitch took credit for teaching the girl her first words. She didn’t suppose accepting such a proposition from this boy was much different.

        “What would you like in return?” she wondered aloud, confused by the boys humorless laughter, sounding through the dark space.

        “Your company shall be payment enough.”

        She imagined the boy, all by himself in the dark confines of the carnie tent with only the book as company, and pitied him. She knew well that it took more than being surrounded by a sea of people to not feel alone. Gale and Prim would like her new friend though, she was sure of it, and together they would all keep him fine company until he found a solid place within the odd circus family. 

        “Alright,” Katniss agreed, dusting the dirt from the bottom of her old dress. She needed to be going soon, or Gale would grow suspicious. The last thing she needed was father out searching for her when he had a show to run. “Friends, then.”

        “Sure,” he agreed slowly, as if mulling over the word. “Friends.”

        “But we can hardly be friends if I don’t know your name,” she argued, waiting patiently with her hands twisted together. Her tightly spun sausage curls bounced with every step she took in the direction of the main tent before stopping just outside of it. “Mine is Katniss.”

       “It’s nice to meet you, Katniss,” he spoke, so eloquently for someone of his status. “I’m Peeta.”

[shxnnxnchxmbxrs]

“I got out, I got out, I’m alive and I’m here to stay”

In which Peeta works in the mines in District 12.

Song Lyrics for prompt by Jake Bugg

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Katniss?”

The soft call of her sister’s voice echoed through the small living area of her flat. Katniss turned from her position at the kitchen sink to see her stood hesitantly in the doorway.

“You can come in, Prim, I don’t bite.”

She set the plate she had been wiping down and travelled into the living area to greet her sister. The whole flat was tiny, with a couch that was way too large for the space, almost as if it didn’t quite belong there. She supposed it didn’t really as it was a dying gift from her witch of a mother-in-law: trust the woman to stick them with the most horrendous piece of furniture she had ever seen. The fabric was worn and a dark ochre with violet swirls on the seat cushions. In an ideal scenario neither her nor her husband would have kept it, but they simply could not afford anything else.

Her husband, Peeta, had been the obvious choice to take over the Mellark Family bakery, however being third in line meant that control had passed to his eldest brother. Instead, they were living off of the wage of a coalminer. Katniss herself would hunt and trade, but Peeta had decided that him working in the mines was the only viable option they had. She hated it; Peeta was working six days a week so her time with him was limited, but it reminded her so much of the situation her mother and father had been in some twenty years earlier. Her father was a kind and gentle man with a fighting spirt, qualities very much apparent in her husband also. But the mines had smothered his ferocity until they eventually smothered him too.

“Katniss…”

“You wanna sit down? I’ve got some cookies left over from the bakery this morning, Peeta’s brother brought them by.”

“Katniss…”

“I’ve got tea if you’d like?” she continued. Ever since their father had died, Katniss was concerned that her sister wasn’t eating enough. Most often she never was, but within the last few years her apothecary in the merchant part of town was flourishing and Prim could finally afford to feed herself. Katniss still worried though and she believed that she always would.

“Katniss you need to listen to me.”

Prim was never blunt, and her tone took Katniss by surprise. It was with this that she looked at her sister properly for the first time since her arrival. Her eyes were glossy but steely and her cheeks were flushed like she’d been running.

“I don’t quite know how I can tell you this.”

“What is it? Is it Peeta?”

Prim didn’t answer.

“Prim! What’s happened? Where’s Peeta? Is he okay?”

She still didn’t answer.

“Prim, please tell me!” She was desperate now, clinging to her sister as if her life depended on it. She released a shaky, choked sob as she clutched at the collar of her little sister’s dress.

“Something has happened at the mines. They think it was an explosion.”

And with two simple sentences her life crumbled in her hands, slipping away from her as she grasped with her fingertips, desperately trying to hold on.

Without another word to her sister she moved towards the front door, but her legs felt like lead and bile rose up her throat. A warm hand grasped hers and gently helped her out of the apartment.

The Town Square, which was usually a bustling hive of trade, was desolate. The walk through the town was blurry and fuzzy, and her eyes could not focus on anything. The first thing Katniss could see was a cluster of people on the edge of the Seam area of town, clearly gathering around the atrocity.

“She’s here! She’s here! Move out of the way!”

The man bellowing was quickly in front of her and she recognised the dark hair and grey eyes so similar to her own.

“Gale? What’s happened? Where’s Peeta?” She asked frantically.

There had been a landslide within the mine, Gale had explained. Peeta was in a tunnel when it happened and managed to dive out of the way just in time.

“He’s alive! Where is he?”

“Katniss, he’s still in the tunnel. His leg got caught under the rubble. We have a rescue team in right now, but they’re frightened that if they move any rubble the whole mountainside might collapse.”

“I don’t care! Get him out! NOW!” she screamed hoarsely, and she felt Prim tighten her grip on her. The touch grounded her, and she collapsed to the floor in broken sobs. Piles of arid dirt were fisted in her hands as she punched the earth beneath her.

She must have blacked out from the screaming at some point. When her eyes next opened it was dark and she was numb from the cold.

“Hey, Katniss…” Gale crouched in front of her, ran a hand down her braid and the gently cupped her cheek. “He’s out, they’re just checking him over.”

He helped her up, aware that she was now much more alert to her surroundings.

“He’s just over here, come on, I’ll take you.” Katniss felt him tug gently on her frozen hands as he coerced her into his direction. She followed Gale willingly, her limbs stiff and heavy.

“Peeta!”

She saw him laid on the ground, sickly pale and covered in black ash. She knelt down by his side hesitantly, as if his skin were a delicate porcelain china doll. His blue eyes fluttered open as she ran a timid hand through his blond curls.

“Never known you to be gentle, sweetheart.” His mouth turned upwards into a sly grin and she had to refrain from playfully smacking him.

“Peeta, it’s not funny, you could have died!”

“I know, I know.” Her hand was stroking his hair gently and the other one was held over his heart, as if she was checking he was still alive. He tugged lightly on her arm, willing her to come closer to him. “Prim says my leg will never be good enough to work in the mines again.”

“Good.” She replied bluntly, before realising how disastrous her words had sounded. “Well I don’t mean good about your leg obviously!” Katniss huffed in annoyance at Peeta, who seemed to find it highly amusing.

“I love you, so much, you know? All I could think about was getting back to you… and your elegant way with words.” Peeta was beaming now, grinning like a schoolboy at her annoyance at him.

“I love you too. I couldn’t lose you.” She replied, choosing to ignore his jokes.

“You didn’t lose me. I got out, I’m alive, and I’m here to stay. I will be annoying you with ill-timed humour for as long as I can.”

“Good.”

And for the first time that day, she actually felt good.

[hutchhitched]

Maybe This Summer, Chapter 3

Summary: Katniss Everdeen needed a vacation. On a whim, she reserved three months at Panem Resorts in North Carolina. She expected to spend her time recovering from the recent death of her sister, exploring the nearby nature reserve, and reminiscing about happier times. What she didn’t foresee was bumping into Peeta Mellark, one of Panem’s most valued employees, during his early morning run. Neither did she think she’d grow to admire him when she’d hated him from first sight, but his killer smile and gorgeous blue eyes had a way of breaking down the walls she’d built around her heart. Maybe this summer she’ll finally get what she’s always deserved. Benefiting @fandomtrumpshate​ for @ldyglfr62​. AO3.

Author: @hutchhitched​

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Beta/Graphics: @xerxia31​

The story will post on Tuesday mornings at 11:00 am CDT.

_______________

Reaping Day

Katniss pressed back on her heels and propped her elbows on her knees. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she smiled triumphantly at the array of leaves, flowers, and bark she’d collected in the hours since she’d roused at dawn and stepped into the natural wonder of The Woods. She wiped her hands on the front of her t-shirt and narrowed her eyes at the words on her chest. “You reap what you sow” gleamed in neon red, and she considered burning the piece of clothing once she returned to her room. She hated the saying, and memories from that science camp were one of the worst she had from her lifetime of exploring the natural world.

 More than anything, she fundamentally disagreed with the message. She hadn’t reaped what she’d sown, and neither had Prim. Her sister didn’t deserve what she got—a cancer diagnosis at 25 and death two years later. Katniss hadn’t asked to lose her father at eleven and take over raising herself and Prim as a consequence. She’d been a child. No one “deserved” to be punished for something they hadn’t done, and she resented the implication that every experience was part of a huge cosmic plan that somehow made sense.

 Nothing about losing her sister made sense. There was no hidden meaning. Prim was dead, and it sucked. Platitudes about her being “in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason” made her want to scream, and she’d cut out several acquaintances who’d attempted to comfort her that way during the days following Prim’s memorial service. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t very good with friends anyway.

 Perhaps burning the shirt was the answer. Fire seemed to be a good enough weapon to destroy it and watch something else rise from the ashes. At least that had been her reasoning when she’d agreed to cremate Prim instead of burying her, even though it almost killed her to acquiesce to her sister’s decision.

 “I don’t want to be shoved underground in a dark box, Katniss. Not like dad. Anything but that,” Prim had announced from her hospital bed after the final round of chemo had proven ineffective. Katniss understood the fear. Her beloved father’s death in a mine explosion a mile underground had haunted them both during their childhood and adolescent years. She’d concentrated on that when she realized that would mean reducing her baby sister to ashes.

 She was still waiting for something good to rise from them. To sow what she reaped. To find the hope for the future and realize that things can be good again.

 “Well, you’re just full of cheer today, Katniss Everdeen,” she chided herself and put the items in her bag. “Look what you accomplished. Look what you reaped…”

 Today marked the end of ten days at Panem. She’d spent the good part of the past week avoiding the other guests and sticking close to her cabin until she’d finally admitted to herself she was escaping something else entirely. She didn’t want to run into Peeta again, not after her over-reaction and abhorrent behavior during their brief encounters. She was being ridiculous, but today marked the end of that. She’d go to the pool and mingle with the rest of the world. Maybe she’d even meet someone, and if she happened to run into Peeta, perhaps she’d apologize for her behavior. And maybe she wouldn’t.

 She only had two swimsuits, one a more practical halter that was still wet from her frequent dips in the lake at Cabin 12’s private beach. The other was much more revealing, a coral, peachy, orange-ish type of bikini that Madge insisted she buy the last time she’d been dragged to the store to shop. She had to admit, it looked amazing against her olive undertones, so she changed into it, slipped on a robe, and grabbed a towel and book.

 The pool area was fairly empty for the early afternoon, so she took a quick dip to rinse away the traces of her morning excursion into the woods. Once she cooled down, she settled onto a lounge chair on the far side of the deck and started to read. Lost in the book, she didn’t stir until another guest plunked down next to her.

 “Johanna Mason,” the other woman introduced herself and pulled down her sunglasses to take in Katniss’ lithe form. “Nice suit. You could fill out your top a little more, couldn’t you?”

 The unwarranted familiarity and insolence startled Katniss so much she had to laugh. She should have been offended, but the other woman had a way of breaking down the walls she’d carefully constructed to keep her distance from others. Before she knew it, she knew quite a bit about her new friend.

 Johanna, a recent divorcée who enjoyed spending her ex-husband’s money, was everything Katniss was not—confident, brash, outspoken, and, most of all, memorable. She drank too much, talked a little too loud, and had an irrepressible appetite for sex. She freely admitted she loved visiting Panem to see what new “eye candy” had been hired for the season and then set her sights on a particular one at the beginning of the summer. Her victory came if she snagged the younger man and kept him on the string for her entire visit.

 “His name is Darius,” she mock whispered to Katniss. “He’s much kinder than I usually go for, but he’s a redhead, and his enthusiasm matches his hair color. Insatiable and eager. Always willing to take lessons. Always willing to—”

 “Can I get you ladies something?” Finnick stood before them with a wide grin on his handsome face. “You’re looking so comfortable and chummy. I’d hate for you to have to disturb yourselves to get anything else from the bar.”

 “Cosmo,” Johanna replied, “and keep them coming. My new friend Katniss and I are getting acquainted. How’s Annie, and where’s your little blonde friend who makes me drool and refuses all my advances? Bread boy, I call him, because he has a loaf in the front and buns in the back.”

 Finnick grinned and shook his head. “Right away, Ms. Mason. Annie’s wonderful, as always, and Peeta’s… Well, Peeta’s working through some things. He’s had a rough start to the season.”

 Katniss stared in horror at Finnick and swallowed hard. She hadn’t realized until just this moment what a small world Panem was. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and the young man who’d run into her while jogging was known and seemingly admired by this brash older woman. Was Katniss the reason his summer started out less than ideal? No, she decided. She didn’t have that kind of power over anyone, but she vowed to be much nicer to him when she saw him next.

 Finnick was as good as his word. The cosmos appeared at their seats whenever either finished one. They drank all afternoon. The alcohol loosened her up, and before she knew it, they were ogling the pool boys and dissecting her non-existent sex life like old girlfriends.

 “You should find yourself a little something here,” Jo, which she insisted on being called, argued. “Technically, it’s not allowed, but fraternization is rampant here. There are only a few who refuse, and I think that’s only because they haven’t found the right guest yet.”

 “I wouldn’t feel right,” Katniss insisted, but Jo snorted.

 “You’ll feel right if you find someone who knows how to do it. Come on, woman. Live a little. Let go of all that angst, and immerse yourself in something. Or let someone immerse himself right into you,” she said with an overexaggerated wink.

 The sun dipped lower in the sky as the afternoon passed, and she agreed to eat dinner with Jo on the deck. The food helped, but by the time Katniss stumbled back to her cabin as the sky filled with a gloriously majestic sunset, she was fairly drunk. She tripped on the steps and would have fallen if a figure hadn’t popped out of the shadows and caught her.

 “Easy there.” The words rumbled through his chest, and she felt them against her back. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see dark blue eyes filled with concern when she turned to look at him.

 “Mr. Mellark,” she sighed. “Of course.”

 _________________

 “Peeta,” he insisted. Katniss was pliant against him. A lazy smile graced her lovely face, and her eyes were soft and unfocused. She smelled like sunscreen and booze, and the scent was oddly erotic. “Are you alright, Ms. Everdeen?”

 “I’m fine, and my name is Katniss.” She slurred her words, and Peeta chuckled at the look on her face when she realized it.

 “Can I help you inside?”

 “Suuuuuuuuuuuuuure,” she drawled and smacked him on the chest. She poked at him a few times and blurted, “You have great muscles.”

 “Um, thank you, ma’am. Here we go.” He shifted her and looped her arm over his shoulder to help her up the stairs. She produced the key, and he swung open the door and ushered her into the main room. She smiled weakly at him as she sank onto the sofa and leaned her head back on the cushion. He hesitated for a moment, but he needed to get out his apology before he lost his nerve, even if she wasn’t in the right state to fully understand.

 “Katniss, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. Here at Panem, guests are our first priority, and I was incredibly rude. I should have come to you right away, but I needed some time to work through some things first. I really am very contrite about my behavior. It was unacceptable.”

 She didn’t respond. The silence stretched over a minute and then two before he tried again. She interrupted immediately.

 “I was equally awful to you, Mr. Mellark, and I’m sorry. It’s been a rough year or so.”

 “How many times am I going to have to ask you to call me Peeta?���

 She opened her eyes and raked her eyes up and down his form. The gray heated to molten, and he shifted under her gaze. “Peeta,” she murmured and closed her eyes again.

 “Can I get you anything before I leave, ma’am? Water or something?”

 Her lips quirked, and she opened her eyes and sat up. “No. No, that’s okay. Only… Do you think maybe you could stay with me for a little while? Until the world stops spinning, anyway.”

 He nodded carefully. She heaved a sigh, and he reached out to offer his hand. She grabbed it and hauled herself off the couch. His mouth went dry as her robe gaped open, and her taut stomach peeked at him from between two strips of his favorite color in the world. Soft orange against her smooth skin made him react quickly, and he was relieved when she stepped from the room so he could adjust. The last thing he needed was a raging boner with a woman who he’d already offended.

 Peeta wandered over to the kitchen counter where stacks of leaves and other fauna decorated the surface. He nudged a few but stopped when he saw the labels carefully marking what each specimen was. They seemed much more organized than her soil samples he’d knocked from her hands when he’d bumped into her the week before, and he didn’t want to destroy any more of her work.

 “They’re my babies,” she said softly from behind his left shoulder. He jumped at her nearness. She’d snuck up on him, moving silently back into the room, after changing into a pair of black leggings and a green v-neck t-shirt that looked so soft he wanted to wrap himself up in it.

 “What are they?” he queried and turned to focus on the plants again instead of noticing the way her legs curved elegantly under the tight fabric or the tiny hint of cleavage that peeked above her neckline.

 She poked at a piece of bark and explained, “They’re a collection of the local flora and fauna. I’m on leave from an agro-biology lab, but Panem is so close to The Woods that I decided I better use the time off to my advantage. I’ll catalog these, and we can use them as further research. I’ve also wondered… Well, never mind.”

 “What?” he prodded. “What have you wondered?”

 “My sister wasn’t ever much of an outdoor type of person. She loved helping people and was halfway through med school when she…uh, when she got sick.” He waited patiently as she struggled to control her voice and continued. “We spent a summer here once, and it was the only time I could get her to hike with me or go into that cave. You know, the one over there on the far side of the lake?”

 “Yeah, I know that one.”

 “She asked me so many questions that summer, all about which plants were edible and what ones could be used for medicine. My mom used to know a bunch of that, too, but Prim said I explained it so much better.” Her pause was wistful and full of memories when she added, “I’ve always thought maybe I could make a field guide. For kids, you know? With illustrations and short descriptions instead of the scientific explanations the ones with photographs have. Get kids interested in nature at an early age.”

 He nodded and glanced over at her. Her face was soft, and it made her even more lovely than he already knew she was. “That’s a wonderful idea. Why don’t you?”

 “I can’t draw,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Not even stick figures. I’m terrible. I’d have to hire an artist, and I’m just not in a place finically to do that right now.”

 “I see.”

 “Anyway, I’m going to sit down because the room isn’t quite stable yet. If you wouldn’t mind making us some, there’s cocoa in the cupboard. That always helps sober me up better than coffee. If your offer to get me something still stands, that is?” She looked so hopeful that a pang shot through his stomach, and he turned quickly to make their drinks.

 “Here you go,” he said as he handed her a steaming mug and settled into the chair closest to her side of the couch. “Feeling a little better?”

 She sipped the cocoa and groaned when it hit her tongue. “This is so good. Yes, I’m much better. I don’t normally have so much, but I made a new friend today. That woman could drink a sailor under the table and curse better than him while she did.”

 “Johanna Mason?” It had to be. None of the other guests could hold a candle to the divorcée, and she added so much color to the resort. Despite her bawdy sense of humor and relentless attempts to lure him into her bedroom, he genuinely liked the woman. She made no apologies for who she was, and he admired her confidence.

 “Yes, Jo. What a personality.”

 “She’s something alright. She puts quite a spell over everyone she meets. Lots of my co-workers, actually, too. She might have mentioned it.”

 Katniss nodded and considered him. “She did. She also mentioned you.”

 “Did she? She have anything good to say about me?”

 “I guess that depends on what you consider good. She said you were sexy and one of the few employees who didn’t dip into the company pool of eligible women.”

 “Flattering and fair. She’s right.”

 “Some people call that good ethics,” she said.

 “And what do you call it?”

 “I call it integrity, and I’m a fan. Don’t push the boundaries unless the boundaries should be breached. Then it’s fair game.”

 Peeta took a drink and studied her over the rim. Her earlier snippiness was nowhere to be seen, and he had to admit he liked this version of her. Annie was right; Katniss seemed a little lonely and guarded herself behind a brick wall built with sadness and shitty luck. She probably hadn’t had a break for a long time. Maybe he could offer her one.

 “You know if you need an artist, I happen to know one who’s pretty talented.”

 “An artist?”

 “For your book. The illustrated field guide thing?”

 “Oh! The plant book,” she laughed. “I’d almost forgotten I shared that. Nobody really knows anything about that little dream.”

 “Well, he could probably do whatever you needed, and I know for a fact he’s available this summer if you wanted to work on it during your stay.”

 “Really?” she asked eagerly. “What’s his name? When do you think he could start?”

 “Peeta Mellark, and is tomorrow afternoon too soon?”

 She gaped at him for just a moment until it registered, and then she broke into a smile that lit up the room. She dazzled, and he knew he’d made the right decision.

 “Tomorrow afternoon is perfect. How’s 4:30?”

 “I’ll be here.”

  _________________

 “You’re looking awfully smug. Where’ve you been?”

 Finnick grinned at his friend and retorted, “A gentleman never tells.”

 “And where can I find one of those?” Peeta deadpanned.

 “I’m wounded. Wounded, I say. Whatever happened to being kind to your friends? Especially one who’s newly engaged.”

 “You didn’t.”

 “I did.”

 Peeta whooped and grabbed Finnick in a bearhug. “You finally did it! Congratulations, man! Annie’s such a great girl, and you’re…well, you’re not the worst. Really happy for you.”

 “Thanks, Peet. I took her out on the lake, over to the cove on the other side and surprised her with a candlelight picnic on the shore.”  

 He stopped there. Peeta didn’t need to know about how Annie had surprised him once he’d slipped the ring on her finger. How she’d made noises that scared away wildlife and done things to him that might be illegal in some countries.

 “The outdoors seems to suit you. I’m surprised you didn’t make her swim over there,” Peeta teased.

 “Just because I look my best when I’m shirtless and drenched doesn’t mean everyone does. Although, Annie…”

 Peeta laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “To be fair, I think all women look better shirtless and sopping wet. And speaking of that, I have something completely off topic to tell you.”

 “No drenched women begging Golden Boy to make them come?”

 “Finn, that’s…so beyond my abilities it’s not even worth a comment.”

 “Just tell me,” Finnick sighed. “After that, we’re going to work on getting you laid sometime soon. You’ve lost all sense of humor.”

 “I apologized to Cabin 12.”

 “Katniss Everdeen?”

 “Yes. Katniss. And I offered to help her with a project.”

 Finnick narrowed his eyes and asked, “What kind of project?”

 “I’m going to offer my services as an illustrator for a project she’s working on this summer, but it’s not something she’s willing to share yet, so keep your mouth shut, please.”

 “Will you both be fully clothed during this process?” Something flashed across Peeta’s face, and Finnick chased it like a cat does a mouse. “What? Explain that look.”

 Peeta shook his head. “It’s nothing. She was in a bikini when I showed up at her cabin.”

 “And?”

 Finnick waited until Peeta admitted, “She looks great in it.”

 “I bet she does, Peet. I bet she does.”

 “Shut up, Finn.”

 “Goodnight, lover boy.”

[everlarkficexchange]

A Father Figure

Written by: @wingletblackbird

Prompt 44: Their love was forbidden in more ways than the obvious one (older!Peeta). Their love conquers all even with revelations that destroys other person relationships. AU. Toast babies for extra cookies. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Betaed by: @jroseley

Warnings: Minor references to pedophilia, although there is none present in this story.

Rating: General. (If you’ve read the Hunger Games you can read this. lol)

A/N: This submission has four chapters and a little over 17k words. I have one more chapter and an epilogue, (with the extra-kudos toastbabies), left to write. However, I also have a couple other EFE fics to work on before the deadline, so I’m submitting this now. Hopefully I can compete this fic by April 7th, but if not, I should be able to finish it in the next month or two. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One: Guardian Angel

I have never felt lower in my life, never felt more desperate. You’d think it would be the day Dad died, but that was just the harbinger of ill tide. It’s amazing how quickly things change. You never see it coming, like a sucker punch, every plan you ever had, every thought you took for granted, gone with the ash. When Daddy died it was so hard to understand. The words, Daddy died. Daddy died. Daddy’s dead. echoed all through my head, bouncing around the walls of my skull, mere sounds which garnered no understanding. I remember holding Prim tight, like I might lose her too, and Momma held both of us as we all cried and cried. I remember nuzzling my head into my mother’s breast and breathing her scent in, comforted. At least we had each other. I clung to her, our only rock left, our refuge. The next morning came, and Momma wouldn’t get up. It was like thinking you were holding onto driftwood in a flood, only to realise it’s sinking metal. Your refuge is torn from you, was never a refuge at all. You flail, and choke on water, can’t even make a noise. There’s no air, only panic, and terror, such terror. It imprisons you like prey lured to a dead end, rushing this way and that, trying to bolt; the terror and panic in their eyes…my eyes…crippling them. Desperation. You swim or die. I tried to swim, while holding Prim above the powerful waves. It’s so hard to manage even yourself against the tide. So here I am, soaked to the bone, drowning, and the icy rain falling is still warmer than the chill in my soul, the desperate ache in my ribcage, as I scrounge for scraps in the garbage bins in town, but there is nothing. I am nothing. The mines took all of us.

  A raw, wrenching cry rises up in me. I keel over with it. There’s no food. We’re done. I failed. It’s like I can feel the severing of my life’s thread. I am dead. Soon everyone will know it. I’m only eleven, so close to tesserae, but I have no energy and no hope. The merchant’s trash was my last shot, but there’s not even trash for me. My knees buckle, but I can’t stay here, so I crawl through the mud to the meagre refuge of an apple tree by the bakery. I bet I look like those stragglers that lie down and die in the meadow. It’s a beautiful place to die. Maybe I’d go too if I had the energy. This apple tree will have to do. If only it had fruit.

  I sit here under it, too raw for tears, as the water drenches me, and my fingers and lips turn blue. I don’t dare look at the bakery. The smell of it is cruel enough, to look and see inside the warmth, the light, and the food–all the food, mountains of food–not for me, would be too much. It would be the final confirmation I am nothing, will never be anything, locked out, not worthy to even eat the scraps. No one cares about Katniss Everdeen; no one cares about the Everdeens at all. All the people Momma healed, and all the people Daddy stood up for, worked with, not one of them had a care to return the favour. No one. It hurts. I close my eyes, unable to get up and face my sister with her hollow cheeks, and cracked lips. Does she even understand how bad it is? Gentle Prim who still cleans Daddy’s shaving mirror everyday like that’ll somehow bring him home? Maybe they’ll send me to the Home, but hopefully I’ll die long before I have to face the failure embodied in a broken Prim. I was supposed to protect her.

  I’ve almost passed out from the hunger, fallen asleep from the cold, when I hear slushy footprints walking towards me. It’s probably peacekeepers, or maybe the baker is running me off, or someone’s going to drag me to the Community Home. I muster the energy to open my eyes, and turn my head over expecting to see a cruel face, a harsh twist of sneering lips, instead I am greeted with a smile. It is a gentle, kind smile. Not the kind that is fake, or is so peppy it ignores reality, or is just really forced, but the kind that comes at the end of a hard day when there’s really no joy to be had, except you see someone you love…and you smile. I can’t imagine why this man’d be smiling at me like that. I feel nervous.

  He kneels next to me in the mud, ruining his slacks. The rain is drenching him now too, plastering his blonde hair to his head, but he doesn’t seem to care. He looks to be about mid-twenties, fair with blue eyes, like most people in town. He looks healthy, nothing like me. I just want to know what he wants. Get this over with.

  “You’re Katniss, right?” The man, Mr. Mellark I suppose, looks at me earnestly, and he seems sincere, concerned. How does he know my name? I tense and I nod vaguely.

  “Jack Everdeen’s daughter?”

  I nod again, and tears fill my eyes at the words, at what seems like the compassion behind them, at the recognition, the gentleness… at Daddy. His eyes seem unbearably tender. He sighs.  

  “I’m sorry about your Dad. He was a good friend of mine.” He shakes his head. “I should have visited, but…I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

  What he means by that, I couldn’t say.

  “How do you mean?” He hesitates a moment, and I worry he won’t answer, but he meets my tentative gaze.

  “I used to trade with him, bread for squirrels and the like. He was a good man. I liked him. We talked sometimes.”

  Yes, that makes sense. It would have been around the entire district if some townie walked up to our house. He’s right; it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’d wonder what everyone else’s excuse was, but talking to someone, anyone at all, who seems to care is warming me in spite of myself.

  “Here.” He pulls a package out from under his jacket,  and presses it into my hands. It’s bread, I realise: Three loaves. The tears overflow. I am overwhelmed, shocked. No one just gives food away in Twelve. I look up for a catch, but he just smiles sadly. “For your father’s sake,” he says. I can accept that.

  With a sudden spurt of energy, I lean over, grasp him in a quick hug, mutter, “Thank you,” and dash off back home. I think I hear him say, “Anytime,” with remarkable sincerity, but I’m not sure. Either way, his kindness is unparalleled.

  When I wake up the next morning the world feels different, warmer, not quite so hopeless, not quite so alone. It’s like Mr. Mellark’s kindness has stayed with me, penetrated me. Still, I know something is going to have to change. I can’t just keep reacting, hoping for more people like Mr. Mellark, (if they even exist). My pride won’t take it anyway. You don’t sit back and let people hand you stuff. You work for it. In the back of my mind, I take pride in the words Mr. Mellark said, how he identified me: You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I am, I think, and Daddy wouldn’t want me to quit, lie down in the dirt. When I spy a dandelion on my way to school, I know how we’ll survive. The spring truly returns to my step. I look back at Prim who’s trailing behind me, holding my hand, and smile.

  It takes some time, of course, to be sure I know all the edible plants off by heart, to know where and when to find them without Daddy watching over my shoulder, but soon the woods are

my refuge. I find food there, sustenance, comfort. As the seasons change, I spend hours upon hours in the summer practicing my shooting, making more arrows, storing food for winter. Between my poaching and my tesserae, we are managing. Prim brings my mother out into the sun more, and the return of meat to the house slowly seems to rouse her from her stupor. Prim gives her some kind of medicine that’s supposed to help. I guess it works. Momma’s not the same, but it’ll do. She’s functional. Prim is thrilled. Hugging Mom over and over, and smiling, like she’s back from the dead, which she may as well be. Me though, I hug mom stiffly, once, but I don’t know what else to do when she looks at me with sad eyes. The damage is done. I can no longer rely on her. Things have changed. They’ll never go back. Where’s the use in pretending? Her arms are no longer my refuge. There are the woods for that. That will have to be enough. It’s not that I hate her. It’s just that I can’t pretend to be younger than I was forced to grow to be. I don’t fit that niche anymore. I won’t nuzzle into her a chest again. I can’t need her, don’t know how to trust her. I’m glad Prim is happy. I keep my thoughts to myself.

  It is about five or six months after the incident with Mr. Mellark that I see him again. We, Gale, a boy I became poaching allies with over the last month, and I, have excitedly hauled up our first ever deer into the butcher’s, and are just leaving with the cash. I’ve never seen so much before, I can only imagine what more I would’ve gotten if the doe had been intact. Even better,  I now know I can trade with the butcher for currency if I need to, so it’s a good day when Mr. Mellark walks out from the back room.

  “Hi, Katniss,” he greets cheerfully. “Aunt Rooba just told me about that deer you and your buddy shot down.” He nods at Gale as he says this. “If you ever get a squirrel, feel free to come down to the bakery, or better yet, actually, just come to my place.” He rattles off an address I quickly try to memorise. “My brother’s not too keen on trading.” He winks, pats me firmly on the shoulder, says he’s glad to see I’m doing better, acknowledges Gale politely, and heads back to the bakery. He’s humming a cheery tune. All in all, it’s a short exchange, but I feel a sense of pride go through me that he didn’t make a mistake in giving me that bread. You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I can get him that squirrel.

  Gale doesn’t look nearly so pleased I notice as we head back to the Seam. His brow is furrowed, and his fists are buried so deep into his pockets they seem to bow his body forward. His breathing is strained.

  “What’s your problem?” I ask, probably more defensively than I needed to.

  “He is my problem.” Gale huffs, and there’s no doubt to whom he’s referring. “It’s sick. His type. Worse than Cray.”

  “Worse than Cray?” I am utterly confused. Cray gives desperate women a pittance to warm his bed. How could Mr. Mellark ever be compared to such an odious man?

  “Haven’t you heard, Catnip?”

  “Heard what?” I’m getting mad now. Gale can be patronising at the best of times. It’s clear he thinks I’m just some little kid he had better put up with. Gale stops in is tracks, and pivots around to look at me intently. His rage matches mine.

  “They say he gives out food to starving kids, but in return he expects them to…stay over…at his place. You get what I mean? They say that’s why he’s never married. He has preferences.”

  Unfortunately, I know what he’s hinting at, and it taints the memory of Mr. Mellark giving me that bread right when I most needed it. Is this why he wants me to come to his place? Is he really worse than Cray? Does he expect something? It’s hard to believe. His smile, his warmth, had seemed so genuine. Now I worry I’ve been played for a fool.

  “I get what you mean, but we trade with Cray too, and I’m not going to turn my nose up at a bargain that could help my family. Besides, my dad used to trade with him. He can’t be all that bad.”

  Gale shakes his head like I’m so naive, and it pisses me off. He presses forward against the cold wind. “Suit yourself, Catnip. I just don’t like it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I won’t!” I snarl. He’s reaching to touch a part of me that is far to vulnerable for such callous exposure. We part ways quickly after splitting our haul. My good mood killed.

  The next morning I rise before dawn and shoot a squirrel determined to know the truth for myself. I am absolutely dwarfed in my father’s leather hunting jacket I insist on wearing, no matter how pathetic it seems. I stomp into town gripping the handle of my knife in my pocket. I doubt I’ll need it, but still, I feel uptight. I draw in a quick breathe to fortify myself, and knock on the door.

  “Katniss!” Mr. Mellark exclaims looking thrilled to see me, his eyebrows comically risen on his forehead. “Wow! You came faster than I could have hoped. Why don’t you come in?” He opens the door wider and gestures grandly for me to enter. “I’ll just get something for you.” I’m tempted to say I’ll wait, but it seems rather rude to a man who has been so seemingly kind.

  His house is bright. I wonder if he’s decorated it himself. There are beautiful pictures, sketches, and paintings on the walls. Most look like they could be from Twelve. But some look like the scribbles of children which feels makes me feel like I’ve swallowed stones. He leads me into the kitchen and I can see breakfast is on the table. I have interrupted him, as well as two children I’m pretty sure are from the Community Home who are sitting there. I almost throw up.

  “How many squirrels have you got me? And how would you prefer I pay? Bread or coin?” He asks. I try to shake myself out of my horror. “Katniss?”  

  “Umm…Just the one squirrel, and, um, bread, please.” I am utterly unable to take my eyes off of the children in front of me. They look about five and six. I think I really might puke.

  Peeta just nods agreeably and goes to a bread box at the counter where he pulls out a loaf of sourdough which he places neatly in a paper bag and hands over at me.

  “Katniss?” He asks again. I must really look bad.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I panic. “I just…I’m not used to being up this early.” He chuckles at that.

  “Yes, the early mornings are hard to get used to.” He glances over at the children who are shyly pretending not to look at us. “You two done?” His voice is jovial.

  “Yes, Mr. Peeta.” The young boy mutters, and grabs the hand of the little girl I assume must be his sister. Peeta looks back at me, because somehow I haven’t been able to move myself out of there as quickly as possible. “I don’t suppose you mind walking them back to the Home? I’m running a bit late.”

  “Yes, of course.” I seize my chance, and grab the boy’s hand, and he pulls his younger sister behind him. I nod goodbye to Mr. Mellark, and dash out the door.

  Watching them though, they seem shy, but not…harmed in anyway, and I wonder if I’m overreacting. Mr. Mellark didn’t seem horrible, hadn’t propositioned me for anything, but then again not everyone who is awful looks like it. Yet I find it hard to believe though that my Dad would have traded with someone who was a pedophile. Cray is awful, but to use children…

  “Do you like Mr. Mellark?”

  “Uh, huh.” It’s the girl that answers. “He’s nice. He lets us eat until we’re full sometimes, and if someone stole our place, he gives us a bed.”

  “Does he ever…hurt you? Make you do…funny things?” How am I really supposed to phrase it? Does Mr. Mellark fondle you? Give you food and a roof over your head in exchange for satisfying his sexual perversions? I can’t even begin the process of saying it out loud.

  “No.” The boy stops walking and stares forcefully up at me. He seems intently serious, more than his age should be. “There are a lot of people like that, but not Mr. Mellark. He’s really nice.”

  “Sometimes he bakes cookies with us!” The little girl pipes in. The boy sighs at her optimism, and when his Seam grey eyes properly meet my own, I see an abject loss of innocence. I wonder what he’s seen. I wonder what he’s been through.

  “I know what you’re really asking, but he’s not like that, and don’t ever let noone say otherwise.”

  After that he won’t say another word, but his sister rambles on and on, about how Mr. Mellark had tucked her in at night, and told her a bedtime story, and how it was so warm, and they actually had enough blankets for once. I feel incredibly relieved, and also guilty for even doubting him: The Kind Man With the Bread.

I take to trading with Mr. Mellark–Peeta, he insists I can call him–about once a week or so. I keep an eye on him at other times too, and as the weeks pass I notice a variety of regular children who frequent his property. Mostly they are children from the Community Home, but there are others who are from truly broken homes who stay over at Mr. Mellark’s when they need a warm roof over their heads. The most he’ll ever ask is that they make their bed, or help him with breakfast. There’s a sixteen year old called Jude, Peeta’s known since he was about eleven, who runs errands for him. Peeta’s never even asked. Jude just looks up to him that much, or owes him that much, I suppose. Peeta’s become every stray’s older brother and father. I see him playing soccer with them in the backyard, or teaching them chess on the porch. Once he bought a young girl a new dress she was desperately in need of, and she proudly twirled it for me. I can easily see how he got such a terrible reputation. No one is going to think well of some Townie who hangs around with Seam children, giving them food and warmth, especially ones who are impoverished even by our standards. No one gives away food here, especially crossing the class lines. Clearly there has to be something salacious. No one’s that nice. Peeta is though, and he’s made a pariah for it.

  “Why do you do it?” I ask him one morning when he invites me in. It’s one of those rare mornings he offers to have breakfast with me and the Home kids aren’t there too. Maybe that’s why it’s also the first time I accept.

  “Do what?” He seems genuinely confused.

  “Help all those kids. Most people wouldn’t. And you must know what they say about you.”

  He laughs at this, and shakes his head.

  “Oh yeah, I know what they say. I didn’t plan it, you know.”

  “I didn’t think you did.” I mutter a bit annoyed at the idea that he might be laughing at me, but he just tugs on my braid good-naturedly and I feel my ire melt a bit.

  “It happened sort of gradually, I guess.” He shrugs and spoons up a bit more oatmeal. “I noticed that there were a lot of kids digging around the trash cans. Mom hated it, used to run them off, but I felt bad. Children were starving, and she would go and yell at them,and threaten to call the White Shirts, and I’d give food we had to the pigs.” He’s not laughing now. He’s looking far-off like he’s playing out a distant, painful memory in his head. “So I started to leave food out for them, and when I got older, got a place of my own–anything to get away from Mom, to be honest–I noticed a young boy on the street. It was winter, bitter cold, I knew he probably wouldn’t wake up again if he fell asleep out there, so I brought him in. That was Jude. He was the first. It all snowballed from there. They kept coming, I’d see them on the street, locked out of the Home, and I couldn’t turn them away. We’re supposed to protect children, take care of them, not hit them, not watch them starve and freeze to death” His words drag me back to when I was the one starving and freezing, and I am so lost in the echoes of despair and gratitude, I almost miss the words he whispers next. “Or get thrown into arenas.”

  “Is that why you never married?” The reference to the Games draws the question from my lips before I even have time to think. Having already decided myself never to love or marry for precisely that reason, if no other, I find myself quite sympathetic.

  “No, not really. I’m just picky.” He picks up his bowl and mine and goes to the sink where he starts washing them up. I stand and grab a towel to help dry. “In town, a lot of people marry for advantage. Oldest son inherits, others apprentice out, often marry the daughter inheriting another business, so on and so forth. My parents have a marriage like that.” I look at his profile and see a tensing in his jaw, and I can tell this topic is difficult for him. “They don’t like each other very much, and mother’s bitterness spills over everywhere. I swore that would never be me, even if it meant the mines.”

  “But it didn’t?” This seems intrinsically important to me. I would not want to see Peeta in the mines. I wouldn’t want to see anyone in the mines, but Peeta is the nicest man in my life now that Daddy’s gone, and that makes the image ten times worse.

  “No, Ryen hated the bakery so much he apprenticed out to become a blacksmith, so I didn’t have to worry too much. The bakery can support both me and my brother. Still, to be on the safe side, it would’ve been good for me to marry well. I just never met any woman who I thought I could be happy with. They either don’t approve of me or what I do, or we have nothing in common, or I’m not attracted to them, or as the youngest and least financially secure son, they want nothing to do with me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I say, and I am, because even though I never want to marry and never want to have kids, I am sad that such a nice man seems so alone. He flicks water up at me clearly unencumbered by such thoughts.

  “Don’t look so gloomy, Miss Sunshine,” he teases. “Do I look unhappy to you?”

  “No.” He drags a smile out of me, and gives me a loaf of bread to trade as I leave, telling me to drop by “anytime,”. The little girl I met when I first traded with him, I’ve learned her name is Sarai, runs up and gives him a hug.

  “Morning, Little Angel!” he greets, and I realise Mr. Mellark never needed to be a husband to be a father. When I hug Prim in my arms that night, I realise I’m not much different there.

  After our conversation that day, I do try to drop by every once in awhile. I tell myself it’s to make sure he’s okay. The truth is when I have my bad days, just walking by his house makes me feel better, reminds me that in the crushing grinder of life, there are people who will care. Someone who’ll listen. I’ve noticed I have an unfortunate weakness for kind people, but it is New Years Eve that ruins me.

  I go to visit Peeta and wish him a Happy New Year when he invites me in saying he has a present for me. Inside there seems to be a little party going on. There is music playing, and I glance into the living room to see Peeta has clearly tried to bring some holiday cheer into his kids’ lives, but it is not the living room he takes me too. He takes me to some kind of office or studio where he presents me with a picture frame deliberately turned upside down. I turn it over and there is a beautiful painting of my father. The expression captured is perfect. The woods look incredibly real. His eyes are shining as brightly as they did in life. I realise Peeta must have painted this, must have made all the pictures around here. I’m impressed at his talent but that is lost behind the well of emotions which have broken through the dam I have built around them. Mom looks at the picture of Dad all the time, but I haven’t been able to bear looking at his visage since the day he died. Now he is here in front of me. Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t know how it happened, but Peeta’s arms are around me as I sob and sob and sob. I’ve been trying to be brave so long, I haven’t really cried.

  “Shh. Shh,” he whispers as he rubs my back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I shudder and gasp as I try to find the words. I settle for shaking my head and snuggle deeper into his chest as his arms encircle me. I haven’t been held like this since the day my father died, and I feel safe. I feel small, not like a bug about to be crushed under your foot small, small like a chick under their mother’s wing. The thought makes me shake and cry harder. I’ve missed this. I’ve needed this.

  “It’s perfect, Peeta. Thank you.”

  I pull away reluctantly and through watery eyes I see blue eyes meet mine. Something flops and rises in my chest; I know now, I will never be able to claw this man out of my heart, the guardian angel my father sent from beyond the grave.

Chapter Two: Loneliness

About a year and a half later, not long after I turn fourteen, I discover Peeta has ambitions far beyond what I’m sure anyone else could have imagined. As always, I don’t see it coming. Not much has changed over the year and a half so much as it has grown. Gale trades with Peeta too now, although his disdain for anyone from Town remains uncomfortably evident. I drop by sometimes for breakfast or supper, bringing trophies from the woods like berries, or wild onions, here and there, so Peeta doesn’t feel like I’m using him. I share parts of my life. It’s nice, to have someone to talk to outside of school or hunting. Madge and I don’t really talk much. Gale and I are only just learning to. And it is this undeniable passage of time that spurs the conversation I never saw coming.

  “I have a proposition for you, Katniss, now it’s spring.”

  I have to swallow quickly before answering.

  “What sort of proposition?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind taking some of your time in the woods to look for some sizeable flood banks, or moist valleys, you know, places water accumulates, and the soil looks good?”

  I’m so surprised by the nature of his question my spoon is left suspended in the air.

  “Why?”

  He places his palms flat on the table in front of him, and draws himself up for what looks like a discussion he’s going to feel passionate about.

  “Jude’s aging out of the Reaping this year.”

  I nod.

  “And I obviously don’t want him going down the mines.”

  I nod again because I have no idea where he’s going with this.

  “I also rather hate the tesserae system, and how dependent we are on the Capitol for rations in general.”

  Oh, this is getting dangerous. I swallow.

  “Everyone in Town depends on the Capitol for supplies to continue their trade–that’s a huge part of the reason no one from the Seam can buy from us, the prices are too high–and it’s also what keeps us Town-folk at their mercy. It divides us completely, and still I know people starve everyday.”

  “Your point,” I say tilting my chin down for a stern look, because this topic of conversation is dangerous, and while I would expect it from Gale and his rants, I am not expecting it from Peeta, who prefers to talk about homework, or my relationships with my family, or other safer topics of conversation a man in his mid to late twenties might ask a young girl he looks out for.

  “My point is that I want to change that if I can. I’ve been planning this for years, actually. I want to see if maybe we can farm in the woods. Get our flour from our own sources. Then we could open a bakery at the Hob, and sell at prices people can afford, cut out the middleman. It might help a lot. Of course, no one from the Seam is going to want to buy from me, and while I think if the alternative were tesserae or starve, most would, I thought maybe Jude could do it? And that way I don’t have to worry about him either.”

  “You’re crazy.” The way I say it though sounds nothing short of awestruck. “You really could hang for this.”

  He gives this about a second’s thought which either proves he’s not thinking this through, or he’s thought this through so much he’s already made up his mind. Knowing him, both could somehow be true at the same time.

  “I could, but I’m one person. Children starve to death everyday.”

  “What about the children you’re already responsible for?” I note even as I am saying it that technically Peeta isn’t responsible for them. The Home is. The Capitol is. The District is. But they are so inadequate, Peeta has stepped in.

  “I know. I know. It is a risk. It’s a gamble. I just don’t see any other option I can live with in clear conscience. This is way bigger than that, and no matter what I do, there are risks we face.”

  I can’t say he’s wrong, and who am I to argue with him when I risk my life everyday to feed Prim? I could hang for it, be shot for it, and if that happens, what’ll happen to Prim? But if I don’t she might starve and still die, or take tesserae and be that much more likely to die. It’s like Peeta said. It’s a gamble. It’s a risk.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  I don’t mean to sound callous, but business is business, and this is risky business. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind. A wide smile returns to his face. In truth it annoys me at times he seems to find my stern-negotiating-face adorable. I don’t want to be associated with adorable. I am not adorable. Regardless, he agrees to pay me a certain amount to find the land for him, and if they succeed in growing anything, he’ll give me enough grain to match my monthly tesserae rations. While it won’t mean I’ll be able to stop taking out tessera, since I split everything with Gale, it will mean decreasing the number of times I have to put my name in each year. I probably would have agreed to this scheme anyway, but there’s no way I could turn down a deal like that.

  As it turns out,  Peeta really has put a lot of thought into this farming scheme. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps it’s part of being a  bakeer–the way he gets up at three every morning and methodically kneads dough–but deliberateness permeates his being. Peeta is as steady and solid as the earth he means to till. He’s been stockpiling barrels, and building airtight containers to store flour in. He’s been looking into long-term storage. He has a contact in Eleven, (how I dare not ask), who got him corn and wheat seed. He asked his blacksmith brother to make him several hoes, (and laments he couldn’t find a domesticated horse or ox even if it were possible to bring such a creature past the fence), and has even made arrangements with the Goat Man to shovel his manure which Peeta plans to use as fertiliser. Never has it been more obvious to me what a planner Peeta is. Since I usually react to things and don’t generally think past tomorrow, it’s rather mind-boggling to see the lengths to which one man can scheme. Peeta has even grilled Greasy Sae on what she can remember from before the Dark Days about farming in the area. Peeta’s decided to plant corn in the spring and summer, and then wheat in the fall and winter. Who knew wheat just sort of stayed packed under the snow and waited to be harvested come spring? I didn’t. Now I do.

  Peeta has this way of talking about things that keeps you interested. Like when he talked about why he convinced his Aunt to give him chickens. I didn’t know gluten is what made bread stick together, and any flour he might get from corn, or even acorns, would need something else to make it stick. Hence, the eggs which he got from his Aunt, the butcher, who can occasionally get animals into the district. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have little particular interest in the making of bread, and I had no idea there was so much to the subject of flour, oil, sugar, water, and yeast, but there is, and I listen, because he is interesting. Peeta asked if he was boring me, and I told him he wasn’t, but it wasn’t really because what he was saying was interesting, but his eyes lit up, and his arms gestured, and his humour was on point. His entire countenance took on such an animated, light-giving quality, I’d dare anyone to not have been absorbed. It seemed too important to him. Peeta has tendency to wrap you up in his enthusiasm, and make you smile in spite of yourself. It’s infectious. I almost hate him for it.  

  He is truly pouring his all into this crazy scheme. He only works part-time at the bakery now. The rest of the day he is out in the woods, by the river, in the valley, hoeing the land. He’s crazy. He is. There’s no other word. It’s insanity. I worry all the time wild animals are going to savage him, but he carries several knives, and he has a hoe, and I’ve taught him how to scale a tree fast, (which was hilarious because he’s stocky and definitely wasn’t made to scale trees, so much as haul them home for fuel), so I tell myself he’ll be fine. For the first two weeks though, come schools end, I race into the woods to make sure he’s okay. He teases me when he notices.

  “Worried about me?” He chortles.

  I roll my eyes as he tugs my braid and splashes me with river water. I pretend I don’t care. I can sort of see the humour of a girl who barely reaches up to his chest crouching in trees to keep an eye on him, but it’s harder to not get aggravated when Prim joins in the teasing.

  “It’s alright,” she says one day when I meet her after school to tell her where I’m going. “I’d run into the woods with Peeta too.” I immediately tell her off as she giggles. She is ten; I don’t know where she gets all this from. I point out that Mr. Mellark will be thirty come November, but she keeps laughing and later has mom tell a story about how her first crush was on the carpenter who was an older guy too. I huff and storm outside. Don’t they know why I worry? What Peeta has done for us, and still does for us? Of course, I’m worried. Of course I keep tabs on him. Maybe it’s just that I know nothing good stays. It’s nothing to do with crushes on older, stronger men. The problem is they’ve got me so worked up, I question every natural observation I have that Peeta’s arms are strong, and look good when they flex, or the way his shirt sticks to his skin when he sweats, or the way his hair shines gold when the light hits it just right. It’s normal to see these things when you look at someone. It doesn’t mean anything, but I head home when my keeping tabs on him results in me seeing him strip off his shirt and pour cool water over his head. There were many trails of water to follow over his chest, droplets that cascaded down him and dazzled in the sun, and he didn’t know I was there so it wasn’t fair.

  On weekends, and everyday come summer, the rest of Peeta’s pseudo-family join him. There is Jude, who is the oldest, and Jet who I know from various conversations over the last year is seventeen, and lives with his mom who is an alcoholic. Then there is Colleen and her brother Cole, who are fourteen and twelve. They were orphaned in the blast that killed my father. Finally, there are the babies of this group, Sarai and her brother Elliot, who were the first of Peeta’s foster kids I met. They don’t help much with the plowing, but they’re up bright and early every morning when the time comes for planting the seeds. I dare say it keeps them out of trouble. I help out too when I can, which always earns me a huge smile from Peeta that makes it hard to maintain eye contact with him. I refuse any form of payment pointing out that this is an investment for me too. Truth is, I just wanted to. Seeing them all work so hard tugs my heartstrings. Contrary to popular belief, I do have them. The corn grows fast, and high, and waves in the wind.

  It sometimes takes me time to find where they are working since Peeta has divided the farming land into sections. He hopes that’ll reduce the likelihood of damage to his crop than if they’re all in one place, and of the Capitol clueing into what’s going on with the two or three acres or so of land they’re farming. I have to say I agree. It was only a few months previously Gale and I had seen two people fleeing the Capitol only to be captured by hovercraft. I hadn’t told anyone but Peeta. Prim I couldn’t tell for fear of worrying her, and the same went with my mother. I don’t want to risk her checking out again, but Peeta, he is the one person in the world today I would say I trust unconditionally. That’s why I told him about the cabin by the lake my father brought me, in case he wants to fix that up to store grain in. He seemed terribly touched I’d told him, and I was glad he’d understood what it meant to me. Sometimes I go to the lake and see the work done and while it saddens me that this place is no longer my own, I am glad that my knowledge, my life, might now sustain others. (You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter.)

  Gale cautions me about getting too involved in all this.

  “It’ll be great if it works out, Catnip, but if it doesn’t, don’t go wasting your time with it. We’ve got our own mouths to feed.” I hate he has a point, and reluctantly agree. It doesn’t end there though. Another time he points out, “And don’t go giving away our trade secrets either. We don’t need that kind of competition.”

  Again I agree with him, but a bakery isn’t going to compete with us, and I’ve known starvation too well not to help when I can, especially when I know what help has meant to me, and even more so when it is the person who helped me when I most needed it.

  “Stupid Townie,” Gale mutters. “If he wants to help out, fine, but the woods are ours. He’s stepping in where he doesn’t belong, trying to take advantage of us, thinks we can’t do better, but what else is new?”

  I get where Gale is coming from. I really do. We’ve been at the backdoors of people who will give us a pittance for our work, because they know we can’t really say no, especially when the law is on their side. It’s frustrating to say the very, very least, but I resent even more the notion that Peeta Mellark is like that when he is the one out here sweating under a hot sun, and working so hard I know I saw blood on the handle of his hoe. I also know that blood is there because he gave Jet his own gloves, and never let on a hint to his own pain. Peeta is staking a lot on this venture. I tell Gale so, and before I know it we’re in a flaming row. I generally try to avoid rows with Gale, or wait until we’re done hunting. They scare off the game, but I can’t help myself this time. There is a lot of huffing, arm-waving, and finger-pointing, and Gale calls me a naive child, again, and eventually we just stop unable to reach an accord. He’s only two years older, I wish he’d stop acting uppity. The truth is, I should have seen this coming. I’ve been called a halfie a few times, and that’s one of the kinder words out there. It doesn’t matter how much my mother does as a healer in the Seam, and I am proud of her for that if nothing else, she is still from Town, and people still skirt around her. It’s no different for Peeta. Gale is sceptical. He always will be, I think. It exhausts me.

  It works though. The corn grows, is harvested, dehydrated, and stored to be ground into cornmeal. I take Sarai and Elliot through the woods with massive buckets to get acorns to supplement that as well. One Sunday in October, Peeta invites me to join in a celebration in the woods. I am told I can bring my mother and Prim if I want to, but something in me hesitates and I seek them out alone. When I arrive I find a massive bonfire, and Jet playing something on some kind of wooden instrument. There are some cookies to snack on, and everyone is milling and dancing about the flames. I stop in the shadow of a tree just to watch them as the night grows darker. It’s strange this group of people. Seam colouring aside, they don’t look like a family, and Peeta doesn’t even have that. Jet is the only one that has anything merchant to him, blue eyes, because he’s the product of some Townie looking for fun without responsibility. Jude is lean and thin faced, but Jet is circular and short. Colleen and Cole look related of course, but their hair is blunt and straight, as are their noses. Then the youngest, Sarai and Eliot, well they have an impish look to them, even as serious as Eliot can be. Peeta sticks out like a sore thumb. Yet there is a harmony to this group, a joy, and a hope that unites them as they join hands and spin around and laugh together. They seem bound by something beyond anything I’ve experienced before. It makes something in me ache. I want to join in, but it feels dangerous to do so. I am not a part of this, and celebrating something scares me in a way I don’t fully understand. It seems risky, even as I wish it.

  “Katniss!” Elliot has spotted me. “Come on!” He runs forward and pulls me in. Jude hands me a cookie. It’s delicious, and I can’t help but smile. Soon Sarai who had been enjoying a piggy-back ride by Colleen runs over to get me to dance with her, and her joy drags all of us in as we spin and spin around. Half way through a twirl I lose my balance and Peeta catches me. All I notice is his warmth, his strong arms and chest, and then his blue eyes and his smile, and I forget to breathe. The urge to move forward is so overwhelming I shove him away.

  “I-I’m sorry. It’s getting late. My family’ll worry.”

  “Of course,” Peeta nods, apparently finding nothing the matter with my reaction. I suppose maybe I’m just that awkward. “Give them my regards.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I turn away to hug the youngest one’s goodbye and dash off trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that my mother and Prim were right.

  I avoid him after that. It’s stupid, because it’s not like he’d care, but I don’t know how to act. I trade with him as always, but insist that with winter here, I’m needed elsewhere so I don’t stay. Peeta looks concerned, but I brush him off and he lets it go. I encourage Gale to trade there more often. Gale notices and asks if Peeta has done anything wrong, but he really hasn’t. Gale doesn’t believe me, of course, but he lets it go for which I’m grateful.

  I am, however, kept up to date on everything that’s happening in Peeta’s life by Colleen. For whatever reason she has decided we are friends now we’ve been to a bonfire together. I discovered this when she decided to sit with Madge and I and lunch. I don’t discourage it though, it wouldn’t be particularly nice, and I also know Colleen, like me, doesn’t have many friends. Still, she’s a chatterbox which is an odd change since I think Madge and I are friends-of-a-sort, because we both don’t like to talk. Colleen isn’t shallow though, and her conversation does cover things that are at least relevant or interesting. I don’t think I could’ve bourne a gossip. Funnily enough, the injection of a talker to our group seems to have done Madge and I a bit of good allowing us to actually acknowledge that we are, in fact, friends. She drags us both to her house to teach us to play the piano, which is a huge laugh to say the least, and she talks us into bringing her to the woods. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything besides hunt and trade and work, I never realised how much I missed it. Short of some joking with Prim, or family time at New Years, I haven’t just had fun since my father died. It fills me with a deep ache in my heart. My father and I used to spend time together just singing with the mockingjays. Sometimes, he would seat me on his lap and teach me to sing in harmony with him. Silly songs. Folk songs. Love songs. I learned them all, and now waching Madge laugh as Colleen fudges up her part of Heart and Soul, I almost feel I could cry. For the first time, it doesn’t feel quite so much like death and loss, but life and growth. The cracking of a shell I’m out-growing.  I’ve never considered that new life comes in to the world to us with pain, so much as I have fixated on the losing of it.

  Gale and I stop trading with Peeta as of November. We split the grain he gives us between our families, and go straight to the new bakery in the Seam if we need bread. Greasy Sae has partnered with it to give it even more legitimacy, if such is a concern in a black market, and it is gaining popularity quickly. I am told there was a problem with the other bakery at the Hob. The system worked where children could sell there tesserae grain for coin, and that grain would be milled down and baked and sold at the Hob. Before Peeta, that was the best most people could hope for for a bakery in the Seam. With Jude selling now, fewer people were buying tesserae bread, or even having to sell as much tesserae grain for coin. Jude and Jet had almost come to blows with the other baker, I think his name was Mr. Salter, before people came to break it up before the Peacekeepers were forced to actually remember they were on duty. Peeta sorted it out by arranging to pay the Salter family help him mill down his grain, since it’s hard for them to farm, bake, and mill, all by themselves, and now they’ve settled into a reluctant sort of truce. Jude has not been condemned to the mines.

  But death comes anyway. It’s unstoppable. Colleen looks sombre come February.

  “Did something happen?” Madge asks, concerned.

  “Peeta’s mother died.”

  None of us say much after that, but after pacing around the woods guilty, I visit Peeta for the first time in four months. When he answers the door he looks dreadfully exhausted. His eyes have a haunted quality to them, and his hair seems simultaneously lank and uncombed. There is stubble where he is usually so clean shaven.

  “Hey, Katniss.” He mumbles and motions for me to enter.

  “I, um, heard about your mother.” I offer tentatively as I place several squirrels on the table for him.

  He sits down and sighs with weariness that is soul-deep.

  “Yeah, it’s no surprise really. She’s been sick for awhile, and had stroke a few years back besides.”

  I hadn’t known that she was sick. I should’ve known that. Guilt is rising steadily in me, as Peeta emotionally runs his hand through his hair which waves in a way that makes it clear he’s been doing that a lot today. I have never seen him sit with such a slump in his shoulders before. Not knowing what else to do, I decide to cook the squirrel. I remember how hard it can be to move when you lose a parent, how simple tasks can seem monumental. I’m not a brilliant cook; I’ve never had much opportunity to learn, but I think I can handle a stew. Something about the smell seems to wake Peeta up and he enters the kitchen as the stew is bubbling.

  “Thank you.”

  I just nod. Saying “You’re welcome,” seems trite somehow. This was the least that should be expected. I have been a poor friend to him.

  “I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” he continues as he sits down, his voice has this hollow quality to it. “She and I were never close. I was her disgrace…but now that she’s gone. I guess, I don’t know, there’s no way to ever make it right. Not that it was ever going to be made right, of course. Ever. So what’s the use in–” he waves half-heartedly with his hand, unable to articulate himself for once. All I do is hand him over a bowl of soup. You can’t go wrong with feeding someone, right? I pass him a spoon, and I can tell something’s wrong by the way he stares at it, turning it back and forth before his eyes like it is the key to some kind of puzzle. He drops the spoon and covers his face with his hands. His sobs are mostly soundless, but I can tell they are there by the shaking of his shoulders. They wrack his whole body.

  After a time, I hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder, and start to rub his back. This seems to help a little. I’m half tempted to sing to him, like I would to Prim, but he’s a grown man and that feels strange so I restrain myself. It hurts to see him like this. I’ve never really registered how alone he is. He’s here, in this house, alone, even though he has a father, two married brothers, and several nieces and nephews. It is I who comforts him. I can feel my heart swell with the absurd need to cradle and protect a man so many years my senior. When he calms, he gently places a large, warm hand over my small one, and smiles. I smile gently back.

  “Sorry to do that in front of you.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Thanks for the soup. It helps. The kids’ll be in soon, and then I’ve got to go meet with my brothers and Dad about the arrangements.”

  “If you ever need anything, please just…let me know.” I say the words earnestly and hesitantly, because I’ve never considered before that I could be of any real help to Peeta Mellark. His face lights a slight amount anyway, and he seems more like himself. He tugs my braid lightly and musses my hair and says he’ll bear that in mind. The gesture squeezes my heart in a way that pains. I know what I’ve always known, that he sees me as a cute kid, the daughter of a good friend, but it’s better that way I think as I walk home. There’s no reason that should hurt me. If I ever had to be attracted to anybody, best to be attracted to someone way beyond me. Peeta is older, from Town. It could never work. He’d never notice me, so I have nothing to fear. I can, however, be a partner to him, and more than just in trade. Gale and I share the burdens of having to help support our households. It makes things easier. I can do the same with Peeta, and bringing him some of Prim’s old clothes for Sarai is a good start, because no one deserves to shoulder the burdens of a family alone. I mean to bridge that gap however I can.

  Chapter Three: Artless

“Why art?” I remember asking Peeta shortly after I’d first started trading with him.

  “What do you mean why art?”

  “I mean…no offence…but, isn’t it a waste of time, even money?”

  Peeta took his time in giving me a response. It was something I always appreciated about him. He never belittled me, and spoke to me with respect. When he answered he was still sort of staring into space.

  “You can starve physically, but your soul can starve too. You can survive, but have no reason to live. Art feeds the soul.” He pauses and looks over at me. “You know how when you’re tired you can sit down and not want to get up again? You can. But you don’t. You can give up.” Immediately I am brought back to the apple tree where I had sat lost, weak, and weary. I could have gotten up, as I proved when Peeta gave me the bread, but before the hope he gave me, I wouldn’t have believed I could at all. I had no defense. “Art gives rise to hope, and validation of pain. It’s important, Katniss.”

  I nodded, content to never bring the topic up again, but after a lull in the conversation I thought was over, Peeta added one final thought. “Your father used to sing all the time. I always loved to draw, but I dare say he taught me the power of it.”

  I still haven’t truly sang since my father died, not to anyone other than Prim. I once stood at the edge of the lake my father brought me, not long after that talk with Peeta, and considered opening my mouth and letting the song that flooded to the back of my teeth pour out, but when I saw the mockingjays, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sing and know they would take up the call and sing it again, and again after me for who knew how long. I knew singing again without my father would crack through some barrier that dammed the grief in me, and if I started, would I stop? And how could I bear the mockingjays carrying my pain onward and onward and onward, magnifying it for all to hear? I am too small for that. Too weak. So I don’t sing.

  It hadn’t stopped someone else from their own brand.

  It was In the spring, shortly before my sixteenth birthday, that I first noticed it. Graffiti on buildings depicting the faces of fallen tributes, or supporting the miners, or deriding the excesses of the Capitol. I’d never seen anything like it before. We usually try to forget the Reaping exists during the rest of the year, not like we ever do of course, but we tuck our heads down and move on. I’ve never seen anyone calling attention to it before, honouring those we’ve lost. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but Gale loves it, of course.

  He thinks it’s great to stir people up, take down the Capitol. I want to point out that it’s useless if we’re all by ourselves, one tiny district, but know from experience he won’t listen. He says it would be great if some Townie got reaped so maybe they’d fight alongside us. In truth, I never dreamed he’d get his wish.

  I am a mess the 74th games. It is Prim’s first time, and even though the odds are most in your favour the first time, somehow it feels like the worst. I jerkily lead her up to the counter where peacekeepers are taking blood for their records, and guide her through the process. I hardly even noticed when they prick my finger. When I tell her I will find her immediately after the ceremony is done, I know I am reassuring her as much as myself. I love Prim like I love myself…more actually.

  Colleen is waiting for me in the area for sixteen year olds and she grasps my hand tightly. I know she is as worried for Cole as I am for Prim, but she’s been through this a couple of times already. I’m not used to this kind of fear. I squeeze her hand back in solidarity and appreciation. She offers me a tight smile I can’t bring myself to return. I stare fruitlessly at the bowl and beg it will not call my name, not Prim’s name, or Madge’s, or Colleen’s, or Cole’s, or Gale’s, and muse that in spite of my best efforts, I care far too much. I don’t want it to be anyone, but I can’t stop that, so I must protect my own. There is a tension in the air, as Effie Trinket quickly reads the name more intent on maintaining her tenuous grasp on her wig then appreciating what she’s doing.

  “Flouer Mellark!”

  And a fifteen year old girl from Town is reaped: Peeta’s niece.

  Colleen and I exchange looks. I can read in her eyes what must be in my own. Was the Reaping punitive? It must be even worse for her, because Mellark is her last name now too. Peeta had adopted them all a few months ago when Jude’s Bakery took off. Colleen grabs my hand even tighter, so much so I fear the circulation must be cut off, but I do the same to her. WIll it be Peeta’s nephew, or will it be Cole, who is the only other boy Peeta cares about who might be eligible? Or if it is about trading in the Hob, what is it’s Gale? My breathing loosens when it’s a boy from the Seam, Terrence Carter–but it’s still horrifying to see it is a twelve year old boy. Twelve year olds are seldom Reaped, but when they are, they come from the  very back of the crowd, a longer walk, a longer torment, as if the Capitol wants to rub it in our faces what they do.

Tears are streaming down Colleen’s face now, and the moment we are cleared to leave she runs to find her brother, as I run to find Prim. I clutch her in my arms, breath her scent in, run my fingers through her hair. I need to know she is here, real, in my arms.

  “Oh, Katniss,” she sobs, “how awful.” I can only imagine how this felt to her. I had tried to comfort her, comfort myself, saying her name was only in there once, but so had Terrence’s been. Besides, she knows who the Mellark’s are and that drives it home too. No one is safe. How can anyone choose to go through this?

  “Hush, Little Duck,” I say as I pull away and tuck in her shirt again. “How about we bring them some strawberries?”

  She nods and wipes her tears with the back of her hands. Mom is here now and she hugs Prim too and squeezes my shoulder with her free hand, a teary-eyed smile on her lips.

  Gale is waiting at the edge of the crowd, and I motion to my mother and Prim to go on home first. I give him a hug, the first we’ve ever shared.

  “Congratulations.” I whisper, trying to remind myself to also be grateful I’ll never have to worry about him being Reaped again.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about Rory who will be eligible next year. I know I am. “Who’d have thought it’d be someone from Town? Maybe now they’ll know what it’s like.”

  “Don’t joke like that Gale.” I glare at him. He doesn’t comment on it.

  “So,” he puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks back and forth on his heels, “I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate with me?”

  “Celebrate?”

  “Yeah, everyone who’s aged out this year. We’re all meeting in the meadow. You want to come?”

  There’s an urgency in his eyes, and a nervousness in his tone that make me think this must be more important than I realise, but my mind is at the Mellark house, so I don’t think too much when I reply.

  “Of course, I’ll be there. I’ll meet you after dinner.”

  “Great!” His eyes light up, and his smile is wider than I’ve seen in ages, and I am happy for him, so I try not to let my distractedness show as he walks me home and prattles on inanely. I nod and hum at appropriate intervals, a practice I am well-versed in given my conversational skills are nil at the best of times.

  When I knock on the door with the basket of strawberries in my hand, it is Jet who opens the door for me. He motions me in, and I don’t comment on the shadows under his eyes. Inside, Sarai is softly sobbing in Colleen’s arms; Cole, next to her, has his eyes closed and is leaning on her shoulder. Eliot is stiff as board on the sofa. Jet sits down next to them, and rests the strawberries on the table. No one eats them.

  “Is he still at the Justice Building?”

  “Yeah,” Jet’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Jude and his wife’s with him. Or were. Family didn’t want the Seam there.” He sighs and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

  I stand there awkwardly until the door bursts open. My heart falls when it is Jude and Maria not Peeta.

  “He’ll be here in five minutes.” Jude explains awkwardly.

  “How bad was it?”

  “His brother punched him across the jaw.”

  “Shit.” Jet groans.

  “Language!” Colleen reprimands him pulling Sarai in closer. He ignores her and goes up to thump Jude on the back in masculine affirmation. Maria announces she’s going to make dinner and courteously thanks me for the strawberries. I feel out of place as Jude flops down next to Jet. I’m the only one standing, but this isn’t my house, and I doubt it would be polite to sit. Maybe I should go, but I don’t feel I can do that until I see Peeta.

  He walks in not long after, and already there is the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his left eye. His movements are slowed; his exhaustion is evident.

  “Dad,” Sarai rushes over to him, and he kneels to the floor to grasp her in a tight hug. He closes his eyes so tightly I think he must be hiding tears. As the others gather around, I slip out the door feeling like a voyeur.  

  I almost don’t remember I agreed to go to Gale’s celebration, but halfway through washing the dishes after a silent post-Reaping meal, I head off to the meadow.

  Gale is already there. A few people are playing some upbeat songs, and I can tell the Ripper’s liquor has already started to be passed around the large crowd of eighteen year olds.

  “Catnip!” Gale waves me over, and introduces me to his friends, Thom, Bristel, Jason, and Axel. “You all know who Katniss is, of course.” He gestures towards me proudly, but all can think is that of course they know who I am. I know my reputation. The surly, halfie, criminal who can kill you from a distance. Daughter of the the Townie healer, with the sister with the fair features. Other. Alien. Jack Everdeen’s daughter.

  I am deeply uncertain why Gale wants me here. I am useless with conversation, and I don’t know anyone here. Gale and I spend time together in the woods, but we’ve never done much outside of that. But then I realise maybe that’s the point. I won’t be able to see Gale terribly much after he enters the mines. He’ll only be free on Sundays, so I try to put my best foot forward which I think he appreciates.

  I don’t know how well I do, there’s only so much one can say about the weather, the seasons, and the coal. It’s an unwritten rule not to talk about the Reaping, but I still I detect a general sentiment that “at least it’s a Townie this time,” and “now they’ll know what it feels like” which makes me uncomfortable in it’s callousness. They’re all just children. I dance a few dances, and almost have fun, as much as one can at theses sorts of things where you’re never told what you have to do, and what’s expected of you, which leaves someone like me hanging awkwardly wondering how many gaffes they make a second. The only comfort I have is that initially, I can follow Gale’s lead as he drags me around everywhere to introduce me. Once I exhaust my sparse reserves of small talk I cautiously retreat to a corner while Gale takes swigs out of one of the several bottles of white liquor making its rounds. I wonder how long I’m obliged to stay here before I can go home politely. It has been a taxing day and all I want to do is sleep.

  As it gets colder and darker, I wrap my arms around myself and realise I forgot to grab a sweater before heading out. My Reaping dress is thin and short-sleeved. I decide I’m just going to go home when Gale notices my discomfort and slips his jacket around me saying he’ll walk me back. Behind him some boys who notice the interaction jeer and wolf-whistle. I’d shoot them a glare, but I am honestly too tired to care. We are just up at my doorstep when Gale grabs my arm.

  “Listen, Catnip, we’re both older now, and I’ll be in the mines soon.”

  I wearily lift my eyes up to his to hear him out when he grabs my cheeks and pulls my face up to kiss me. I can smell the liquor on him. I am so shocked it takes me a moment to respond. I shove him away with both hands and run inside, trying to ignore the dismayed look on his face. I feel like the ground is rocking under me, and I fall to the ground once I am inside. I wrap my arms around my knees and finally, finally give into my tears. How could he kiss me like that, when he knows how I feel about it, without even asking, and on a day like today when I see what could be all my worst fears realised?

  Prim is a sleep, but Momma comes to the front door. She must hear my crying.

  “Oh, Katniss,” she whispers sympathetically, and wraps her arms around me soothingly rocking me into her chest. It’s been years since I’ve allowed her to hold me like this, not since Dad died, and it turns a key in my chest that makes me sob all the harder. Somehow it feels good. Momma plants a kiss on my head.

  I drop Gale’s jacket on the Hawthorne’s doorsept early the next morning, and go squirrel hunting. Gale, fortunately, is not there. He’s probably still hungover. I work quickly, and soon I am at Peeta’s with fresh meat.

  “It’s not to trade.” I murmur when he opens the door. He nods me in and says I don’t have to do that. I already brought them strawberries. I decide to pretend I didn’t hear him since I don’t know what to say.

  “The kids are still asleep then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It is still quite early.”

  “It is.”

  The stuntedness is more than I can take, so I address the obvious issue.

  “You’re eye looks bad. Is it true your brother hit you?”

  “Yes. It is.” He looks away at the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast?”

  “Sure.” But I know he’s trying to change the subject.

  “Did your brother think it was punitive?”

  “Yeah.” His back is to me at the stove so all I can see are clenched muscles and slumped shoulders.

  “Do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know. They could’ve reaped any of my children if they wanted to do that. Not my nieces. It could just be a coincidence, or maybe they just didn’t want to be too obvious. I don’t know.” He sighs and his hands still. “Either way it doesn’t matter. Over this last year, fewer people than ever have had to take tesserae, which means the odds were less in favour of the Merchants than ever. So either way….I suppose you could argue it’s my fault.”

  I frown, uncertain which side to take. “Are you going to stop?”

  “No,” he shakes his head firmly. It’s the strongest gesture he’s made since I arrived. “I knew the risks when I started this. More people starve everyday then are reaped every year. The bakery helps with that. I just never expected to have to face the consequences so…soon.” He’s gripping the edge of the counter so tightly now that I can see his knuckles whiten. I can’t help myself. I go up and wrap my arms around him, and he reciprocates. We stand there for a few moments until he extracts himself murmuring a thank you.

  “So, how are things for you?” He finally asks, and I grant him the reprieve. There’s nothing more to say in any case. Sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.

  “Gale kissed me.” I blurt out. Against my will I scan his face for a reaction. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but all I get out of him is raised eyebrows.

  “And you didn’t like it?”

  “No!” I cross my arms. “I’ve told him time and again I don’t want marriage or kids. I told him yesterday morning before he even tried. What’s wrong with him?”

  Peeta chuckles which contrasts to the stain of grief that remains on his face. I hate him for laughing at my plight.

  “He’s an eighteen year old boy, Katniss. He’s just survived his last Reaping. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and he wants to share it with a remarkable woman. He overstepped his bounds. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “I’m not remarkable.” I grumble. Peeta places a hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him directly.

  “Yes, you are.” I pretend I can’t feel myself blush under his stare.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” He reassures me touching my cheek in a friendly manner. “Tell Gale how you feel, and if he’s as good a friend as you say he is, then he’ll come around, and accept it.”

  “I just hate all the presumptions!” I hate that I’m whining too, but it is so annoying. “Everyone assumes we’re together. I never thought he would just assume too! And now I’m getting older, and the mines are looming, all everyone seems to talk about is boys and marriage.”

  “I suppose they figure partnership makes it more bearable.”

  “Not me.” I scowl. He laughs lightly.

  “Don’t worry about it. Look at me!” He says as he flips eggs that have been frying in the pan too long. “I’ve never married, and I’m doing just fine.” I crook my lips at that one.

  “You’ve adopted a bunch of kids and have a terrible reputation.”

  “True!” He taps my nose with his index finger. “So don’t be like me.” Then the glint leaves his eyes, and he remembers what happened yesterday. I reach out and grasp his hand. We stay like that a long while as the eggs cool to rubber.

  Gale and I don’t talk again until the day after the bloodbath. It’s clear he’s been avoiding me. When we finally meet up again in the woods I rail at him for kissing me and not even having the guts to face me afterward. I hadn’t appreciated splitting my haul with a man who wasn’t there. He at least has the decency to pretend to look ashamed, but I know he isn’t because he says it was just because he had a bit too much to drink, and had originally planned to “ease me into it.” Whatever the Hell that means. I’m not known for being fickle.

  “I know you don’t like the idea, Katniss, but I also know you hate the mines. They might turn a blind eye to you poaching, but only if you’re working too. What are you going to say when you turn eighteen? Are you going to go down the mines?”

  “I could say I’m a healer like mom!”

  He laughs. “Yeah, like that’s going to work.”

  “It might!”

  “Never mind. Let’s just get on with it.”

  I hate that he’s probably right, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t like being talked down too like that. It is a very tense hunt.

  Flouer Mellark dies in the bloodbath. Peeta leaves the bakery in Town.

  Every time I got to trade in Town I can feel the resentment. I can feel the glares at me, even worse than usual for being from the Seam. I can also feel anger towards the Capitol though. It’s palpable. The Mellarks, Peeta aside, are a respected family here.  Meanwhile, at the Hob, Sae starts up a fund to sponsor Terrence. He is killed by the Careers on the fourth day.

  No one knows what to do with the coin. We hadn’t had a chance to send it in yet, and Sae hadn’t exactly been keeping records of who gave what. It is Jude who suggests they send it to Rue. When we see there isn’t quite enough yet to get her something decent, he convinces Peeta to ask for donations in Town. I am deeply sceptical, but Peeta rallies his few friends and so angry are the people in Town at the Careers and the Capitol, they donate, and we send Rue some bread. When she receives the bread that is obviously not from her District and thanks us, and everyone in the crowd cheers. I notice the Peacekeepers grip their weapons tighter. I notice Gale is grinning.

  We all root for Rue to win, and she lasts longer than I think any twelve year old has before, but she dies when the Careers smoke her out of the tree she hides in. Her death is cruel, painful, sadistic, and brutal. Everyone looks traumatised for weeks. Mockingjays with Rue’s face are found in alleyways making everyone stew. I don’t know if it’s one artists or several that grafiti the District, but they stir us up. Our only consolation is that for once someone from an outlying District wins, someone we actually like: Thresh. If you can call it a consolation when it is a rallying point. There is a curling in my stomach that tells me I need to ask Peeta a few pointed questions, but I decide it’s better not to know.

  Chapter Four: Catching Fire

Summer break begins soon after the Games end, and I don’t see much of the Mellarks. All of them disappear into the woods from dawn until dusk to harvest the wheat. I keep an eye on them intermittently between my own prolific hunting. Summer is when you store up for Winter. Everytime I see them, they are hard at work. Jet and Peeta do the scything. Colleen and Cole bundle, and the youngest two rake. That’s just the beginning of course; they also have to thresh and winnow what they’ve gathered. After that, they’ll have to prepare the land to plant the corn. Whenever I catch them working, I invariably think of Thresh, and how skills like this had helped him survive. He knew how to handle a scythe; he knew how to survive in the forest of grain they provided for him. I wonder if the Gamemakers had planned to have an outlier win this year, to keep things from being too boring. It seemed a bit of an advantage for anyone with farming experience, like people from Eleven raised in fields of grain. I wonder if they’re regretting it.

  Thresh has been a difficult victor to say the least. His shout, “For Rue!” when he made his last kill has been taken by the District as something of a rallying cry. I’ve seen the phrase graffitied everywhere. During his victor interview, much like his tribute interview, he really made Caesar work for every word. There was seething resentment in him, and tears that shone hatred in his eyes when he saw Rue die. He made it clear he thought anyone who participated or enjoyed that kind of thing was monstrous. It didn’t matter how much the Capitol tried to edit his interview. There really was no salvaging it. I worry all the time about the consequences for him, but so far he’s still around. I can’t imagine what the Victory Tour will be like.

  Gale is thrilled by what he’s seen. Ever since he’s started down the mines, he’s been even more of a ticking bomb than ever. Resentment spills out of his every pore. He was made for more than back-breaking minework in unsafe conditions for which he gets a pittance.

  “Don’t you see, Catnip! This proves that the other Districts feel the same way we do!”

  “Maybe they do, Gale, but we’re all still trapped by fences.” I wish he would be rational. “Do you even know how you’d communicate with them? Let alone ally with them?”

  “Thresh is coming here on the tour, isn’t he? We can get him a message then.”

  “How? How are you going to get close enough to him?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “All we need is a signal. Someone to shout from the crowd we support him.”

  “And get us all killed.”

  “They can’t kill all of us, Catnip. Where would they get their coal?”

  “Didn’t save Thirteen.” I point out cynically.

  “Look, we’re all on camera. Maybe they’ll edit it out in post-production, but maybe other Districts will see what we did too.” He looks down at me in frustration. “I don’t know why you’re fighting me on this, Katniss.”

  “I’m not! But there’s no point in having this rebellion if it doesn’t work. I’m not risking my life, let along my sister’s and mother’s on some fool’s scheme!” My chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. “When I’m sure you’ve thought this through, maybe I’ll consider joining.” He internalises this. His eyes are watching me in a manner that is calculating, and, for once, I can’t fathom what’s in the recesses of his mind. Do I know him as well as I think?

  “Alright, Catnip. I will. I’ll give you a plan. It’s simple. We get to Thresh. He gets word out to the other districts, other victors, maybe. We make bows, weapons, grab the tools from the mines, take the Peacekeepers. The miners are angry, Katniss. We���d do it. If we can coordinate that with the other districts, we could take the Capitol.”

  “They. Have. Bombs. Gale!” I spit through gritted teeth.

  “We have a victor who is an ally in the Capitol.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe he can cripple them somehow.”

  “It’s a bit much to hope.”

  “All at once, maybe, but if we plan this over a few years. It could work.”

  It might. I reluctantly concede to that. We spend the rest of out time in the woods in silence, but I can tell from the distant look in his eyes that Gale is scheming. Right before we leave, he shocks me with that he says.

  “Your friend, Madge, the mayor’s daughter.”

“What of her?” I ask cautiously. Gale’s never liked her.

  “She’ll be at the banquet when Thresh comes here, won’t she? She could get a message to him, discreetly. Could you talk to her about it?”

  I muse over it a bit, but Madge has mentioned her Aunt Maysilee a few times. I know she has a rebellious spirit in her, it’s evident if only in who she choose to befriend. And, in truth, as careful as I’ve learned to be, I want to end these Hunger Games. I want to rebel. I tell Gale I’ll talk to her about it. Something this simple is small, not likely to hurt anyone, but could have impact.

  I broach the subject with Madge when she joins me gathering in the woods. She looks intrigued.

  “I’ll need to be able to tell him what kind of support to expect.” She muses. “You’ll need to know how many miners are involved, how far they’re willing to go, but, yes, I’ll certainly do it. Actually,” she adds hesitantly, but I see pride in her eyes as she raises them to mine. “My family has been rebels for ages.” Then she bites her lip, before adding something that confounds me. “Just tell Gale to be careful about running his mouth in the mines. New shafts should be fine, but I’m pretty sure the Capitol bugs them to make sure there isn’t anything treasonous that might translate into action. I can’t be sure, but I’ve heard it speculated that that’s why there was that accident years ago. The one your father died in.”

  “You mean…?” Could it be possible? My father poached. He was hardly a law-abiding citizen, but I had never considered he might have been a rebel in the revolutionary sense. I suppose it could explain the lack of support we received afterwards. I still don’t doubt it was because my father’s marriage was so unpopular, because everyone was too wrapped up to care, but now there might be another reason as well.

  “Yeah.” Madge nods. “I don’t know much, but my aunt and your mother were friends. I think that’s what got your mother into it, when she saw Aunt Maysilee die.”

  My mother, a rebel? I can hardly imagine it, but then again, she did leave everything she’d ever known to marry me father. She’d been brave once, rebellious. I feel a stirring of desire to know her again burning up inside me warring with the urge to keep her at a distance to protect myself. A war that has been going on in earmest since she held me after Gale kissed me.

  I’m going to have to talk to her.

“Yes, it’s true.”

  “Seriously?” She says it so casually. Yes, it’s true. I feel my mind spinning, but at the same time it’s like it’s falling into place, being screwed on right, because it makes a bizarre sort of sense.

  “You were rebels?”

  “Yes,” my mother nods again. She sips her tea before she elaborates. We’re both sitting at the kitchen table. Prim is out with a friend. Despite the fact that we are talking about Dad, or perhaps because of it, Momma seems more animated than ever. “I grew up thinking, if not nasty things, than superior things about the Seam.” She explains. “I never imagined I would ever visit here, let alone live here. But one day, your father showed up, asking to trade meat for antibiotics. A boy had been horribly whipped, and needed help. My father refused him, but I admired his courage in coming there. There was something shining in his eyes. It was well-known that my family believed in doing business only with those who had the coin. Your father went on about how the young boy was the only child left to a widowed woman. Something about the entire scene touched me, so I followed your father out. I got him the medication. That started everything.”

  “You said you met when he came to trade plants with you?”

  “I did. The whippings back then were terrible. After Haymitch won, new peacekeepers were brought in, and the punishments were absolutely barbaric. My parents said we shouldn’t help; the people involved were criminal, and it would only cause trouble. The truth is, I wanted to cause trouble. I watched my best friend die a horrific death on live television. Haymitch tried to help her; they were allies. I thanked him for that once.” She quiets as she becomes lost in a distant memory. She shakes herself out of it. “I was angry at the Capitol for what they’d done, and I was sixteen so sneaking out to heal the backs of those who were whipped for defying them seemed a terribly grand idea.” I can see it now. My mother, before grief diminished her, sneaking out to help those in need. I’m proud of her, I realise. “I told your father I couldn’t help him with Capitol-grade medicines again, so I looked through the Plant Book, and told him which herbs to gather. I suppose I realised interacting with all these Seam families that they weren’t so different, the depth of the unfairness. It’s not often someone from Town is Reaped, but now that I knew how devastating it was…I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to face that all the time.” She shrugs, takes another sip of her tea, and concludes. “So that’s how I fell in love with your father, and, yes, eventually, we joined organised rebellion.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I mumble. I twist my head trying to process what I’ve just heard. Momma reaches out to grasp my hand.

  “It was nothing I meant to hide from you,” she says softly, “but first you were too young, and then…”

  “And then…” I conclude, knowing exactly what she means.

  “When Jack died, I feared it was my fault,” she whispers. “Did I get him killed?”

  For the first time in years, I go up and wrap my arms around my mother. I love you, I think to myself, because I do. My mother has never turned anyone away, has always healed everybody, and I know, once she came back, she did all she knew how to do for us. Slowly, haltingly, those words cross my lips, and as we cry together, our tears intermingle.

  Afterwards she lifts a trembling hand and wipes my tears away.

  “I understand why you’re so reticent to have children, you know.” She says tremulously. “Your father and I waited years to have you, until things were safer. I knew better than most do how to avoid a pregnancy. But, sweetheart, I never regretted marrying your father, or having you and your sister. There’s things I wish I’d done differently, but I’ve never regretted it. And if I hadn’t done it, I know I would have always wondered, and that would have been worse. I don’t know what happened between you and Gale, but if he isn’t for you, then he isn’t. I rejected men too, but if you’re afraid…be honest, and consider if it’s worth the risk. I’d never take back what I had with your father for the pain of his loss. And you’re not alone, not like before. Prim and I will stand by you, if nothing else.” She closes her eyes and I touch her hand, the one that wiped my tears. “If you do want to talk to me about that, Katniss, I can listen.” Then she moves to wash up the dishes, and I help her dry. Momma’s like me that way. She says what she has to say, but she’s not wordy. The silence between us communicates what we cannot. It is not shards of ice that let in a chill wind, but a warm chord that hums between us.

  I warn Gale about talking in the mines, and about what Madge says, and it fires him up. In light of what I now know, I also try to corner Peeta to talk to him, but even past the harvesting and planting season, he’s hard to find. When I come over with some clothes Prim has outgrown, Colleen greets me at the door, and encourages Sarai to try them on. As she excitedly does, Colleen confides in me that Peeta has been distant ever since the Games. He throws himself into his work, and barely surfaces at the end of the day. He’s gone early in the morning.

  “It’s true,” Sarai confirms as she gathers up the clothes that don’t fit her anymore. They’ll likely one day be Posy’s. “He doesn’t tell stories like he used to.” Colleen brushed back her little sister’s hair comfortingly and something rends in my chest.

  I go home and stew for hours before marching into the woods to find Peeta. He’s there, sure enough, and I storm up to him hissing at him to come talk to me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I reprimand as soon as we are out of Jet’s earshot.

  “Farming.” He replies blandly, although I detect shock in his eyes at my dressing down. I suppose it’s true I’ve never dared talk to him like this, then again, have I ever had to?

  “I’ve barely seen a peep of you in weeks,” which hurt more than I want to admit, “and now I have to hear from Colleen and Sarai that you’ve been all checked out?” I fight the tears forming in my eyes, because it brings back uncomfortable memories. “I’m not your daughter, and even I haven’t appreciated not being able to talk to you, how do you think they feel?”

  “I’m sorry.” He stammers. “I-”

  “I really don’t care.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Just stop. Do better.”

  I storm off, but he follows me, and grabs me by the left forearm twisting me around.

  “I am sorry,” he speaks earnestly. “I hadn’t realised I was hurting you or them. I just…I don’t know. Whenever I’m upset, I work.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I have ever since I was a boy, kneading bread is a good way to work out anger. It’s always worked before, and it means things get done that…appease people, I guess.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work now though. I hurt all the time. It never goes away, and now Maria’s pregnant, and-

“Maria’s pregnant?!”

  “Yes. And I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen, and if maybe I’ve screwed up, and my brother won’t look me in the eye, or talk to me, or accept anything from me, and then I go home, and wonder if I haven’t condemned every single one of them. I just…” He looks skyward and blinks rapidly. I know he’s trying not to cry, and I don’t know what to say.

  “Is it true you’re part of the rebellion?” I blurt out instead. He looks gobsmacked again. It seems to be a day for it.

  “Yes. Did you figure out from the art?”

  “Partially,” I admit, “but Mom told me today about how she and Daddy were in with the rebels, and you said you knew him, and you said he taught you about art. You said he used to sing. It reminded me of the Hanging Tree, and how he used to sing that, but Momma would tell him to be careful. So, I just wondered if…”

  “If that’s how we met?”

  I nod.

  “No. We met because he traded with me, but he was the one who brought me into the Rebellion. I felt like I had to get involved.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Jude, I suppose, and the others when they came. So many children starving, I can’t feed them all. Even with the new bakery, I can’t feed them all. Then, I realised I was a father, and how could I be a good father, if I turned a blind eye to something threatening my kids?” He sighs and looks deflated. “My mom used to hit me. My dad did nothing. The Games are worse than being hit, and I couldn’t do nothing the way he did.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s how I got in.”

  “Just tell them that then.” I say. “They’ll understand that you’re fighting for them. You’re all in too deep now.”

  “Do you think they’ll forgive me?” He whispers, and in the curling of his torso I can see what it had cost him to admit this. The family he was born into turned against him. Does he expect the one he created will as well?

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I forgave.” I pause. “And I’m not always good at that.”

  He smiles. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  He laughs. “Yelling at me. I guess, I needed it.”

  I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and head home.

Rebellious sentiment spreads quickly. The idea of trying to make contact with other districts proves popular, and while not everyone is willing to join in actively now, they do say that if the Districts unite, they’ll fight. Our district is small so we’ll need a lot of the population to fight, but with the addition of Peeta’s farming, there’s more self-sufficiency, and that means more people who see hope. Which means there’s a shot. I tell Madge everything and she dutifully promises to relay the information. Gale’s ambitious and he hopes that maybe if they show something on camera, it’ll get through during the mandatory viewing, reach more than just Eleven. I don’t know who organises it, or how it’s decided, but when the Victory Tour finally comes, a recording goes off during Thresh’s clearly scripted speech of Rue’s four note tune, and someone shouts For Rue! And gets carted off. Thresh nods in solidarity. We are all put under curfew.

  Regardless, Madge is able to get her message to him, and Thresh tells her District Eleven had an uprising after Rue’s death, and are chomping at the bit for freedom. And having been on Tour, he can confirm that other Districts are angry too. Word is quickly spread through the mines, and soon people are whistling various four note tunes in solidarity.

  Gale is extremely eager.

  “Don’t you see, Catnip!” He exclaims. “It’s closer than ever!” He crows in the woods, and I let him. In spite of myself, I am excited too. “Maybe a couple more years, and we’ll have them. We’ll have them.” I smile at his enthusiasm, even if I think it’s a bit premature.  “And what about us, Catnip?” He turns around and looks at me with shining eyes.

  “What about us?” I hedge. All the delight in his exclamations dies.

  “I know you’re worried about having kids, Katniss, but if we built a whole, new, better world, it would be different.” He says it so hopefully, almost confidently that I can’t bring myself to crush him. Besides, I don’t know if he’s wrong. Without the Games, with access to food and Capitol-grade medicine, I really wouldn’t object to having kids, but the idea of opening my heart like that hurts. I do consider it though, I already care about Gale, care about a lot of people, maybe there’s no stopping it. Momma’s right too, we aren’t nearly so helpless now. So I say,

  “Maybe I can be different.”

  And maybe I can, but when I dare to dream, since I’m dreaming anyway, I dream of blonde hair and blue eyes. Even though I know it’s as likely to happen as pigs flying.

  It’s Peeta who first tells me about Thirteen. It is Madge who confirms it. It’s a game-changer really. Weapons are an issue for us. We don’t have a whole lot to fight with. Knowing someone could supply us with arms helps. If every district, or even of most districts, can take their Peacekeepers, we’ll have a shot at the Capitol. It’s sensitive knowledge though, and not something we can blast around which makes recruitment difficult. I don’t do much of any of it, but Gale rales in the mines, and Peeta is working on it in Town with a friend. I provide a listening ear to them both. One thing everyone is nervous about, riled up about, is the upcoming Quarter Quell, and both Gale and Peeta are using that to their advantage.

  But Winter is difficult, even more so than usual. Most people become so intent on heating their homes, and overcoming illness, we know we’ll have to wait until spring to really start the conversation up again.

  Eliot drags home another girl from the Community Home. She’s three years old, adorable, and her name is Crystal. She’s recently orphaned. After a couple months, she’s one of the many who fall ill. She’s still far from the last. Mom and Prim are gone all hours of the day and night for weeks trying to keep on top of it all, but there’s not much they can do. It drags on and on. There’s speculation it’s punishment, biological warfare from the Capitol, but we don’t know and it doesn’t matter. Either way, it changes nothing of our reality. I spend a lot of time at the Mellarks for support. Crystal coughs and sputters and tries to breath. We feed her as best we are able, and hold her head over steam to help her breath. We try to bring her fever down, and soothe her cough. Nothing works. Finally, I hold her and sing. It’s all I can do. Peeta stands in the doorway as she falls asleep. I see tears stream down his face.

  She is in the ground come March.

  “This is why I don’t want kids.” I mutter to Prim as we both cry in bed.

  “That’s stupid,” she mumbles. “You cared about Crystal; she wasn’t yours. If you stop caring, I don’t think you’ll like yourself very much.”

  I don’t know how to answer her, but I still feel a bit validated in my opinion when there is the Reading of the Card for the Quarter Quell.

  “As a reminder that they only endangered their most vulnerable by rebelling, this years tributes will be Reaped from only the twelve year old population.”

  My mother gasps. Prim cries. I stare.

  Gale storms up to me and tells me to meet at the Mellarks for an emergency meeting. There I see Gale and Thom, a couple of other miners I know by sight and not name, and Peeta and his friend Melissa Donner. I gather these must be various cell leaders.

  “We need to start the uprisings in May, before the Reaping.” Gale starts off the conversation, “People are furious about this. It’s perfect timing. They want to stomp us down, but we’ll rise up.” The conversation spirals from there. People are only just starting to recover from the harsh winter; we don’t have the numbers yet. It’s hard to organise a community of thousands. That’s why next year was more feasible. Just because Twelve was ready, didn’t mean all the other Districts were and so on. I agree to wait and Gale glares at me, but I don’t see and alternative.

  Things don’t really fall apart until Gale and Peeta get into an argument. Peeta makes a reference to offering the Peacekeepers the choice to surrender, and Gale says it would endanger lives.

  “Not all the Peacekeepers are bad, Gale.” He points out. I think of Darius and agree.

  “If the White Shirts want to join us, that’s fine by me.” Gale growls back. “But I’m not giving them another opportunity to get one over on me.” He is met by enthusiastic agreement. “It’s Us v. Them.”

  “How are they going to know to side with us, if we don’t offer them a chance?” I can see by the tenseness around Peeta’s eyes that he is angry, but his voice is carefully modulated and even. “We shouldn’t kill without mercy.”

  “It’s war. Sacrifices have to be made. They’ll shoot with us or against us. That’s their choice, but I’m not taking any kind of risk that loses this for us. Anyone who sides with the Capitol is the enemy.”

  “I’m so grateful to know, Gale, that anyone who even looks like something you don’t like is the enemy. It’s a wonder you’ll talk to us Townies at all. But, of course, it’s because you get something out of it, allies. I wonder what you’ll do when being allies with the Capitol benefits you more than not.”

  Gale swings a punch and the meeting is quickly ended as we break the two men up.

  “Are you alright?” I ask Peeta as he sits back down. He seems to need more from me than Gale.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You didn’t seem to be at your best.”

  “I think Dad’s sick.” He whispers and I walk over and hug him tightly where he sits. “It’s no surprise. Dad’s getting on anyway. He’s almost sixty. It was really only a matter of time.” Releasing my hold a bit, I card my fingers through his curls trying to soothe him. When I’m done I caress my hand down his jaw. He stops my hand and looks up at me. There’s a focus in his gaze that’s raw, even new, and I immediately become aware of how close he is, how fast my heart is beating, and how my breath started for just a second. I don’t know who does it. I think I do it. But it’s the easiest thing in the world to press my lips to his. Slowly, oh, so slowly, our lips move, part in a gasp of pleasure, so light and tentative, like dragging your finger against a flower petal. Then closer, I press closer, feeling his hands on my hips. I change the angle of my head, and he bursts away. Footsteps pad down the stairs.

  “Dad, is it over? Is everything okay?” Cole sidles up to us rubbing at his eyes, and we burst apart.

  “It’s fine, son.” He ruffles the boy’s hair. He bounces his eyes past me, and I know we won’t be talking about this today. “Just a disagreement in method. You should be in bed.”

  I take that as my cue and awkwardly say my goodbyes.

  Peeta doesn’t meet my eyes at the door, and I wonder if I’ve ruined everything.

TBC….

[whiskeykneat]

One More Saturday Night [1]

Notes: trying something a little different since the ao3 link doesn't seem to be working for some people. I made a cut but if it doesn't work this is tagged #long post. // Summary: For everyone else, it's just one more Saturday night in 1964, but for Gale Hawthorne and Peeta Mellark, they’ve both received letters that will change the course of their lives forever. // Rating: this chapter is T, but some parts will be N*FW

I. Fortunate Son (1964)

CHAPTER ONE

It's eight o'clock on a sultry July night in Twelvetrees, West Virginia. Down at the carhop, Katniss Everdeen has just switched shifts with Joanna Mason, and as she leans against the freezer, stretching her sore calves, she's unaware that the boy who's just rolled up in the parking lot with his brothers, the one who carries fifty pound sacks of flour to the back door and gets tongue tied in her presence, would give her the world if he could.

While Joanna slicks red lipstick on her sultry mouth and clips on her garters under the flickering yellow light of the washroom, Peeta Mellark sits in the parking lot of the carhop and turns the words he'll say to Katniss Everdeen over and over again in his mouth, the official decision letter from the draft board burning a hole in his pocket.

He ain't needed here. Got some brothers. That son of yours has always been useless. Let the army straighten him out, Mr Mellark. His mother's words feel like they've been seared into his soul, deeper than the burns from his many years of tending the ovens in their family bakery.

[[MORE]]

"Peet! Cat got your tongue?" Delly giggles, elbowing Peeta in the side. Delly is like a sister to him, they grew up side by side in the garden between the shoe shop and the bakery, fast friends since the day she found him hiding from his mother under the rose bushes.

Unlike Peeta, Delly has always known what she'll do when she grows up, and that's marrying the boy with the easy, charming smile who sits even now with one arm slung over her shoulders -- Peeta's second eldest brother, Wheatley. Their lives are laid out before them like the instructions for a gingerbread house, all it takes it for the pieces to be iced together, like a fairy story, falling into place.

The letter crinkles in Peeta's shirt pocket when he pats it, and as if he knows what's on Peeta's mind, Wheatley nudges him unsubtly. "You gonna tell her?" Peeta has never been close to his older brothers, and this spirit of bonhomie at the eleventh hour feels like they've already picked out a plot at the VA cemetery for him.

Peeta shrugs, feeling a blush heat his cheeks as Katniss skates on by.

"My, I wish I could pull off those dungarees!" Delly chirps, pointing at Katniss.

"I think she looks..." Like a stone cold fox. "...Outta sight." And Katniss does. She's got her dark hair pinned up like old posters of Rosie the Riveter, with a plain scrubbed face and not a hint of makeup. Yet something about her is still so inexpressibly arresting that Peeta can't help but stare at her, lost in thought, as she skates between the cars, taking orders left and right.

She's a devil on skates: her form needs work, but she can serve five cars in under fifteen minutes, with nary a drop of root beer float spilled in a single lap. She never smiles, but Peeta knows any boy in town would love to take her to Lookout Point for some necking. The sexual revolution may not have made it this deep into the mountains yet, but when there's nothing else to do, people make their own fun.

Still, the line is drawn between the Seam and Town, Katniss is the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, and Peeta may not want to admit it to himself, but that's the real reason any town boy would take her out, to see if she'd go all the way, or if she'd keep her legs locked up tight.

As she passes by the finned Buick Electra, she looks up and meets Peeta's eye, and though she never breaks the flow, he sees her look back again, and he could swear she almost smiles.

•••

I don't know how you do it, Joanna had said earlier, with a tone in her voice that might have been a slap or a smile. You might just make something of yourself and get out of this town, kiddo. What she doesn't say is written on every silver scar that marks her flesh, but Katniss lets Joanna keep her secrets, and that's why they're friends.

When Joanna slams out the back door, Katniss hears a Caddy roar in the alley like a tiger, and there's the scream of her friend's high laughter before the only sound left in the waiting night is crickets and the catchy song trickling from the kitchen radio: Do wah diddy diddy dum diddy do...

For a moment, Katniss is lost in the past, and she stares out the back door as the moths flutter at the neon lights, feeling every year of her eighteen summers and twenty more besides, as though she's faded to a pale reflection of herself before she's ever gotten her or Prim out of this place.

"You look like you're run off your feet, girl. Sit down and take a breather. Them Town kids can wait." Chaff plucks the order pad from Katniss's fingers and starts putting up the tickets as he steers her to a chair beside the fan. "'Sides, Mitch would kill me if you fainted on my watch." Chaff passes Katniss an ice cold bottle of pop, and she feels herself sag in relief.

Chaff once flew planes with Abernathy, back in the war with Germany, but beyond that she hardly knows him at all, for Chaff never talks about the city he left to come to their little town that sleeps as the rest of the modern world passes them by.

The bottle of pop sweats in her hands, and it makes her think of the way her pa would bring home one as a treat when she was little, to be shared sip by tiny sip with her baby sister, each fizzy bubble held in their mouths for as long as they could, to make the sweetness last.

"Shit, Miss Undersee was supposed to be here an hour ago." Chaff smacks a hand on the counter, but Katniss can tell he doesn't half care. "If she's late one more time, I'll fire her ass. I don't care who her daddy is."

Before Katniss can make up an excuse for Madge (the secret of how sick Madge's mama is lies on her tongue like a wedge of pitch, sticking her gums together), Chaff passes her a twist of greasy fries and a milkshake (strawberry, like the wild berries she used to sell door to door with her best friend Gale, before he went down the mine). She can't believe how ravenous she is, anyone would think she hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that's as close to the truth as she's willing to admit to herself.

Ever since the mine explosion that killed her father, back in '55, Katniss has had to shift for herself and her sister, keeping their small family afloat. The mine owner sent their mama to a sanitarium in Richmond to recuperate. When she returned, she seemed half the person she used to be, and had to return again and again to be put back together for something called hysteria.

But that's all water under the bridge now, and Katniss is no longer that frightened eleven year old girl, forced to survive on the kindness of strangers. Abernathy took pity on her and hired her as soon as she turned fifteen to work for him at the carhop, and she'll spend her life trying to repay a debt that can never be quantified.

Mr Abernathy passed out hours ago, he's almost as fond of white lightning as Katniss is of making extra tips, anything to get out of this town before it's too late. She's got a scholarship to the university, the same place Abernathy went to, even though she's no more likely to study physics than she is to sprout wings and fly away from the dust of this coal town.

At midnight, when the neon lights shut down, and all the moths in town flock to the lustrous glow the stars make over the quarry pond, she and Chaff will use all of their combined strength to roll Abernathy over and make sure he doesn't drown in his own vomit. That's part of her debt, and she'll be deep in it until she shuffles off this mortal coil.

So when Madge bursts through the door, not a single strand of blonde hair out of place, Katniss is too full of sugar and grease to protest when Madge insists she'll take the next orders out.

"Been pilin' up." Chaff nods to the tickets. "That little Cartwright gal came by and dropped 'em off while Katniss took a breather. By the sounds of it, they're gittin' liquored up out there." But he doesn't make a move to stop Madge from going out the door.

Madge blows a strand of golden hair off her forehead and adjusts her headband, her pale fingers flying over the laces in an intricate pattern as she re-ties her skates. They're pristine white, the kind that Katniss's little sister Primrose would give her eye teeth for, but nothing in the Seam stays white for long, not with the coal dust that gets onto everything, coating it like funerary ash.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says to Katniss, biting her lip and looking away from her friend. Chaff makes a sound of deep disgust in his throat, and passes Madge the tray. Once she's skated from sight, he turns back to the fryer, and turns up the radio.

Come gather 'round friends and I'll tell you a tale / Of when the red iron pits ran a-plenty / But the cardboard-filled windows and old men on the benches / Tell you now that the whole town is empty (North Country Blues, Bob Dylan)

•••

Madge has skated eleven blocks to get here, refusing to take her daddy's car like some spoiled little debutante, although she might have a year ago, before she went to university, before everything began to fall apart. There's a run in her stockings that will have to be repaired soon, and a burning in her lungs that reminds her she's alive. Now that she's been to university and back, this town feels smaller than ever, but it's a good feeling, as if nothing bad could ever happen here, cocooned from the world outside.

When the lights turn down low, and the town sleeps, she'll lie in her bed and listen to the hum of the locusts in the sycamore tree, where the initials M+G are still scarred across the trunk, as if life followed a pattern, laid out like a children's jumping rhyme.

•••

It is quite propitious, as far as plans go, Miss Undersee. Seneca dabbed at his lips with his napkin. His mustache was damp with moisture, and she felt her stomach curdle at the way it gleamed wetly under the lights. She just hoped he got this whole breakup over with soon, because she was sure that one more minute of having to endure his rubbery lips and his mechanical groping on her knee would make her commit an entirely unladylike act.

As Madge fantasized about flipping Seneca the bird, he laid a clammy hand over hers and took a deep breath. With my money and your breeding, I think a marriage would suit the pair of us, don't you agree?

But my degree... I haven't finished it yet. Madge's smile froze in place, suddenly entirely too aware of the predatory gazes of the waitstaff, as though the entire moment had been orchestrated. She felt blindsided, and furious all at once. But good manners won out, and she smiled again, with a cheer she did not feel.

Seneca laughed, a touch of condescension creeping into his voice. I'm not marrying you for your mind, Margareta. Your father said you might be stubborn.

Madge reeled back in shock, stunned. Suddenly it all seemed too much: the soft candlelight felt as garish as the cheap lights of a carnival fanfare, the white wine in her glass tasted like rotgut mash. She tried to tug her hand back from Seneca's, but he held it fast. You talked to my daddy already? Her voice seemed to be coming from far away.

Why, of course I did, darling. Seneca squeezed her arm tight, a warning. Now, if you want to finish your university degree by mail, that's fine with me, but you won't need any of that when you're Mrs Seneca Crane, wife to the next senator of West Virginia. He continued his monologue, the room fading to a single pinprick of light until all Madge could see was that flashy diamond, all she could hear was the sound of champagne corks and applause, and all she could feel was the tightness closing in on her, as if Seneca's ring was around her neck instead of her finger.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

I wish you would write....a fic where Katniss and Peeta are dating but go to separate schools. Peeta goes to private school so his friends (or enemies) doesn't believe Katniss exists. Maybe some sexy time when she tries to cheer him up. Then she shows up at his school or their schools are at the same sporting event and she makes it clear that he is hers.

Well this was…specific. I did my best, Anon. Hope you don’t mind some cheesiness with your smut. ;-) RATED M for the hanky panky.

The Lies That Bind Us

“Now this is what I like to call a ‘target rich environment.’Nice specimens,” Johanna says as she cranes her neck to check out a passinggymnastics squad wearing the colors of our biggest rival and our host –Mercator University.

“We’ve been here five minutes and you’re already scoping outfor your list? From them?” I ask, standing on my toes to gage our progressthrough the line to check into the dorms.

“Come on, Kat. Private school, lots of money, plenty oflonely and horny students with Daddy issues—”

“Bunch of entitled assholes who swap partners and STD’severy other month,” I mutter.

“So hide it before you ride it, Brainless,” Johanna sneersand someone coughs beside us.

As I turn to face them, my cheeks warm considerably and Ihope Johanna is too focused on her quest for a hook up to notice my reaction tothe specimen in front of us. Medium height, stocky build, ash blond hair thatfalls over his forehead in waves, freckles dusting over his nose and cheeks,warm blue eyes. He’s wearing a black and gold t-shirt declaring that heattends the host university, the sleeves and shoulders loose enough to hint atbut not give away too much of what lies beneath.  Nicespecimen indeed, I think before I can remind my chest and nether regions ofwhy we’re really here.

I’m almost as wretched as Johanna, I scold myself forspacing out and have to ask him to repeat himself.

“I said, ‘Welcome to Mercator and the 74th annualPanem Collegiate Olympic Games,’” he says and Johanna’s gaze sweeps over him. Down,up. Down, up. She circles him and nods in approval at his ass then steps rightinto his face.

“When was the last time you made a girl orgasm via oral sex?”

“Excuse me?” he asks, and now his cheeks are turning pink. Threemonths ago. Three very long monthsago, I mentally answer but keep my mouth shut. At least about that.

“I can’t take you anywhere, Jo,” I snap, grabbing my friend by the arm and yanking her back. Hiseyes widen with understanding.

“What? I’m assessing viability. We’re only here for twoweeks. I gotta lay the foundation now to work fast later if I’m gonna hit allthe marks on my list,”

“Marks on your list?” he asks as I cringe internally butglare at Johanna, hoping she’ll actually figure out when to shut up this time.The odds are not in my favor today.

“Yes, Blondie,” she says and digs her Bucket List out of herpocket to brandish it in his face. “My List.”

He reluctantly takes it and reads off the first three itemswhile I wish that the floor would swallow me whole. “Gold medal swimmer, silvermedal gymnast, bronze medal sprinter—”

“I know what’s on my own list,” Johanna says and then tapsit while grinning at him. “Now tell me what I need to know…are you a viablecandidate?”

“Uh,” Peeta stammers and his eyes dart between me, the list,and Johanna.

“She’s asking what event you’re competing in,” I tell him tospeed him up, already knowing the answer to whether or not he’s a potential tofulfill her list. It’s the only reason I’m maybe slightly and selfishly hopinghe doesn’t win gold next week.

“Oh, I’m a wrestler,” he tells Johanna with a bright smile.She returns it with glee.

“Win gold and I’ll let you pin me anywhere you want me andhave your wicked way with me,” she purrs. I can tell he’s trying not to laugh atmy expense as he figures out exactly what her list means. But the line hasthankfully moved, so I grab Jo’s arm again.

“We need to get checked in; nice to meet you!” I shout overmy shoulder and sigh in relief as we reach a split in the line, placing toomany people between us and Peeta to continue the conversation.

“Hot damn, this is gonna be fun.Should’ve gotten his name,” Johanna cackles as she types Blondie – Wrestler*** in her notes on her phone. “This’ll work fornow, though.” I resist the urge to smash in her face with my suitcase and tryto tell myself that it has nothing to do with the fact that she placed onlythree stars next to his info when he clearly deserves five.

Great. Now I somehow have totalk my friend and roommate out of propositioning my boyfriend for sex withoutrevealing that we’re together. This is going to be the longest two weeks of mylife, and I brought it all on myself.

The music pounds against my temples as I search the crowdfor a dark braid and the only face I want to see. It was just a bit of luckthat I managed to catch sight of her in the crowds waiting to check in while inbetween escorting groups of athletes to their dorms. Now, she’s nowhere to befound. I slip my phone from my pocket and send a quick text.

Are you busy? I’vemissed you and was hoping we could spend some time together before things getcrazy tomorrow.

My teammates pound their fists on the table beside me andchant as Cato chugs another beer. When he finishes, he slams the bottle downand Marvel whoops. Glimmer cheers and wiggles her ass, bumping her hip intoCato’s crotch before settling on his lap to watch Thresh take his turn. Catopulls her down to whisper in her ear and while Glimmer giggles and blushesprettily, Cato’s eyes are already glazed in drunkenness. Whatever he justpromised her, I doubt his ability to deliver later tonight.

While the drinking game started as a friendly competition,I’m not interested. As it is, I rarely get a chance to see Katniss with both ofour busy schedules and the distance between our schools. All I want right nowis to find her and maybe a spot for us to have a few quiet moments.

“Dude, are you just gonna stand here?” Marvel elbows me andI shrug, confused over what he’s talking about. “That red head’s been trying toget your attention for the past five minutes.”

He nods his head to draw my attention across the room and Ido find a pretty red head watching me. Heather. Pole vaulting. I showed her toher room earlier today and I think she may have taken my friendly smile andgreeting as more flirtatious than it was. She smiles then winks and for just asecond, I feel the thrill of being noticed. Wanted.

I knew that Katniss would brush me off when I approached herand Johanna this afternoon. She asked me back at the start to keep ourrelationship under wraps, claiming that she needed to focus on her studies andcouldn’t afford the constant prying, questions, and judgement that came withlong distance relationships with someone attending a rival school. We agreed tocontinue keeping it a secret during the Games. Still didn’t completely mitigatethe sting of having her pretend to not even know who I was earlier today. Wedid grow up in the same town and she could’ve at least gone with thatexplanation rather than pretending that we’re total strangers.

Although there was a hot moment I was sure I saw green smokerolling out of her ears, while Johanna hit on me. I know I shouldn’t revel inKatniss’ jealousy, but it was a much needed boost to my ego to witness it forthe first time.

Sending Heather a small wave so as to not be rude, I returnmy attention to the game just as Thresh slams his empty beer bottle on thetable. Someone hands Cato his next one and he starts chugging. My phone buzzesin my pocket and I pull it out immediately, disappointed when I see that it’s aGood luck! message from my brother.

“Pathetic man,” Marvel mutters when Cato’s done. He swaysfor a moment and the other team taunts him, but then Glimmer smacks a loud kisson his mouth and Cato holds his hands up with a yell of triumph at his own fakeout.

“What?” I ask as I take another sip of my beer.

“You. I’m telling you you’ve got a guaranteed score acrossthe room and you haven’t budged.”

“It’s not guaranteed,” I argue. “And I have a girlfriend.”

Marvel snorts at this and takes his own sip. “Sure man,whatever you say.”

My ears burn a little at the jibe. I should be used to it bynow. The doubt, the cracks about my imaginary girlfriend. We’ve been togetherthree years, almost four. Just because Katniss doesn’t give me public lapdances like Glimmer’s doing right now to Cato, or threaten the eyeballs of anygirl who so much as looks at me, the way Clove does with Marvel, doesn’t makewhat we have any less real.

The secrecy does eat at me a little. But Katniss is worthevery second of my discomfort. Especially after I spent years harboring a crushon her. It took both of us leaving town for school and a chance run in overwinter break our freshman year to help me find the courage to actually speak toher with some level of intelligence. I couldn’t be happier that I finally did.

My phone vibrates again as the attention shifts back to Catosince Thresh is still matching him beer for beer with no sign of wavering orgiving up. Marvel is distracted enough for me to check the message unnoticed.

Jo is gone for thenight. My room. Now. 412, Auger Hall.

I smile at the cryptic message and toss back the last of mybeer, drop the bottle in the recycle bin as I slip away from the welcome party.I basically run across campus to the dorms.

There are a few luxuries that I hate going without. Sleepingin Peeta’s arms is easily at the top of that short list. I wriggle in hisembrace, trying to get closer to enjoy the last few minutes before he has toleave. The opening ceremonies are later today and my first shooting slot istomorrow, but I’m glad I managed at least one night of uninterrupted sleep inhis arms. Already I feel lighter, freed of the crushing weight of the stress Inormally carry on my shoulders, if only for a few moments.

Without the fear, I have room for other feelings.Contentment, hope, and as his warm breath tickles through my hair to my scalpand his palm covers my hip in gentle warmth, protecting me from the rest of theworld…desire. A low ache settles in my core and I shift experimentally. Peetasighs and his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me into him. I can feel him,hard and erect against my backside, but he falls still again and a soft snoretells me he’s still asleep.

While I don’t want to wake him until I have to, I know thatthis feeling won’t let me get back to sleep either. Besides, we have timebefore I figure Jo will be back from her own night escapades and I don’t knowwhen I’ll be able to wrangle another time when both Peeta and I aren’t busy andcan sneak away to be alone. Last night, we were both too tired to do anythingmore than curl up in my bed, kiss a few times, and talk around our yawns as wefought sleep in an effort to catch up.

“Peeta?” I whisper. Then more loudly when he doesn’trespond, with a quick thrust of my hips back into his. “Peeta.”

“Hmmm?” he hums and shifts again, halfway sitting up to lookaround the room before dropping back to the pillows. “Five more minutes.”

I laugh quietly into my hand and count to thirty before oncemore moving my hips back into his. This time, his fingers clench on my abdomen andhis breath hitches. I do it again and Peeta moans, his lips brushing over myneck in gentle kisses.

“Are you still asleep?” he whispers and I shake my head.“How much time do we have?”

“Enough,” I gasp as his fingers slide under my shirt,drawing circular patterns as they meander up over my ribs to just below mybreast, back down to my hips. He repeats this as I slowly roll my hips intohim. Our breathing turns harsh in its quietude. When I’m not sure I can waitanother moment without combusting, I break free of his embrace and lay on topof him, kissing his neck as I continue the soft undulations of my hips overhis. Peeta’s hands slide beneath the waist band of my shorts and I lift my hipsenough for him to push them down to my knees. Then I have to wriggle and mutterin frustration as I work them the rest of the way down.

Before I can manage it, the world upends itself and Irelease a puff of air to remove the hair from my face as I roll my eyes at theceiling, although I don’t protest the movement of Peeta’s lips down my body,over my shirt as I finally manage to kick away my shorts.

“Using me for practice, Mellark?”

“I don’t pin the guys like this,” he murmurs and nips at mynipple through my shirt. “And they certainly don’t have the same effect on methat you do.”

His hips press firmly into mine, pushing my legs wider andhis cock against my clit. With a moan, I grab his face and drag him up to kissme, wrap my legs around his hips to hold him close where I want him. Where I need him. It’s while we’re kissing thatI realize just how starved I’ve been for this. For him.

We move in sync, a rhythmic harmony of soft moans and gentlethrusts that delight and tantalize until he grips my wrists and plants them onthe bed on either side of my head, lifting his to grin down at me.

“When Johanna asks me that question of hers later on today,because you know she will, I want to be able to answer This morning.” I’m a little lost as to what he’s talking aboutuntil his fingers curl around my waist band and he drags my shorts and pantiestogether down my legs, discarding them at the foot of the bed with a muttered,“Fuck, you’re wet for me, aren’tyou?”

I sigh and relax into my pillow, letting my legs fall openas his nose and lips nuzzle soaked and eager flesh, teasing me and then finallytasting me with one hand pushing down on my belly, keeping me immobilized andservant to his tongue and the feelings he draws forth with it. I comb myfingers through his hair and allow it to fill me, make me boneless and utterlyblissful.

My hipsrespond when he sucks on my clit, lifting into his mouth with the rise ofeuphoria, lowering back to the bed as it ebbs. The tide repeats until I growfrustrated, needing more. Peeta must feel my impatience in my movements becausehe moans into me, tilting his head and flicking his tongue at a new angle thatmakes me gasp. The rise of pleasure sharpens as he shoves my shirt up, baringmy chest to him. One hand kneads my breast and I cup one of mine over his tokeep him there. My fingers flex on his scalp as I search for the words to tellhim what I need.

“So close,Peeta,” is all I can manage. He keeps going, and while it feels impossiblygood, I’m still not able to make that last leap. I slam my palms on themattress and huff. “Peeta, we’re running out of time.”

“Fuck,” hemutters and slides off the bed, picking up his jeans and searching the pockets,returning to me with a condom. He hands it to me and strips off his underwear.While I’m focused on ripping the condom open, Peeta’s mouth attacks my clitagain. My hands jerk in shock, the condom jolted from its wrappings in theprocess to land on the bed, but I am flung skyward so fast as he sucks andflicks and sends me reeling. He moans and shakes his head back and forth,wriggling his tongue deeper and the light scrape of his teeth on my clit iswhat finally gives me wings. My entire body goes rigid and shudders, a strainedsound leaves my throat, and my eyes roll back in my head while white hot shardsfly through my veins.

While I laythere in the aftermath, my legs twitching and heart stampeding in my chest,Peeta searches the sheets for the condom, rolling it on himself since I’mcurrently useless, and settles between my still spasming thighs. His head tipsback as he enters me, catching the last few tremors of my walls on his cock.

“Fuck, yes,”he moans. I hold onto his arms as he starts thrusting, his hot breaths puffedover my lips as our eyes meet. I wince as my orgasm fades and the angle ofPeeta’s motions rub the wrong way. He sees it and pauses, lowers his mouth tokiss me as he rolls his hips for a moment. Need stirs back to life, growing instrength which each rejoining of our bodies. It wells up inside of me,threatening to spill over in words I can’t afford just yet. I try to keep ourmouths together to prevent them, crying out softly when Peeta tosses his headback with a long moan.

“Katniss, I’mclose. Can you come again?”

“Don’t stop,”I tell him, grateful for the distraction from my feelings as his hips shift tosoft thrusts again. He drops his face to the crook of my neck and murmurs sweetwords to me, but a glance at the clock tells me that we’re cutting it closenow.

I grip hisass and lift my hips. His hand slides beneath me to hold me aloft as histhrusts accelerate. Gentle thrusts morph into harsher ones as the bed creaksand Peeta’s lips contort against my skin with groans and effort. He loses hiswords and the sounds he makes border on hiccoughs timed with each smack of ourbodies together. His fingers dig into me and he holds our hips together,rotating his as his abs clench and shudder. Our bodies pressed tightly togetherfrom shoulders to thighs so that I can feel each twitch and pulse as he fillsthe condom. My name a reverent whisper on his lips, embraced with his eroticmoans.

Ourlegs relax and we bounce a little as our hips land on the bed with a finalcreak. I wind my fingers through his hair and draw random patterns on his backas he recovers. Eventually, his softening cock slips from me and Peeta liftshis head, eyes shining brightly as he caresses my hair off my face and cradlesmy head in his palms. He kisses me deeply until my toes curl and I wish formore time.

Butmore time is not a luxury that I have right now.

Excitementpulses through the air as the athletes pour from the stadium, making their wayback to the dorms. Rock music still blasts through the loud speakers, makingconversation difficult until we make it out into the open night air. I glanceback at the torch burning at the top of the stadium. The Games are half over,the concert tonight meant as a celebration and an opportunity to socialize withthe student athletes from other schools. While I had vague thoughts of tryingto meet up with Katniss, she never answered my text message and finding her insuch an overwhelming crowd turned out to be an impossible task. Instead, Ifound Thresh and a few of the other athletes from A&M to hang out with, awelcome relief from my own teammates.

Stuffing myhands in my pockets, I walk alone back towards my dorm hall. My fingers brushmy phone and I pull it out, heart sinking when I see no messages or anything. Iknow I’m being selfish and maybe a little greedy. Katniss is focused on winninggold in her event. It means an extra scholarship for her that will make thingseasier on her family. I guess I just thought that we’d be able to spend moretime together with her so close for so long.

“Mellark!Dude wait up!” I slow as Marvel’s voice reaches me. He slings an arm around myneck and I bend with the force of the headlock. “Where the fuck did that movecome from this afternoon and why the fuck are you hiding from us?”

Before I cananswer, the other members of my team catch up with us and second Marvel’swords. We’ve been struggling a little and my win today was what we needed tonudge our team into the next bracket. “We need to celebrate. Marv, let him gobefore you break his neck.”

“Sorry,” Marvelmutters and releases me, but he doesn’t go far. The others try to come up withsuggestions, the obvious one of a night out drinking immediately nixed. None ofus can afford the extra calories if we want to make our weights tomorrow.

“Hey!Blondie!” Her voice cuts through the night and I can’t help it, my pulse skipsand I have to fight back a smile. If Johanna’s here, that means so is Katniss.Finally. I’ve been starved for just a glimpse of her. I turn to face her andsure enough, Katniss follows four steps behind, a desperate look on her facethat she wipes off and replaces with a scowl the second she spots all of my teammates. Johanna’s determined strides slow as she approaches and a sly smilecurves up her lips.

“My, my, whathave we here?” she purrs and pets Branden’s bicep, even as her eyes skim over theother faces in the group.

“Pretty muchthe entire Mercator wrestling team. Here to shop around for your list, Jo? It isJo, right?” I ask, hating the charade and yet keeping it up just the same.

“That’sright, and this is my friend Katniss. Good luck getting her to warm up, but allof you tasty brutes are welcome to try,” she says, turning her attention to meand leering a little. “I caught your match today, Peeta. Medal or not, you’ve got a special spot on my list. I mighthave a weakness for letting a clutch athlete fuck my brains out. It’s a highlike nothing else because they tend to be so…determined.”

I swallowheavily and let my eyes flick to Katniss for a second. Marvel’s guffaws keepeveryone distracted enough to not notice it, or the hurt I see in Katniss’ eyesas Johanna traces swirls on my chest with just her fingertip. I grip her handand hold it away from me.

“I’mflattered, really,” I murmur to her. “But—”

“I’ve got agirlfriend,” Marvel mimics in a nasty voice and my entire body flushes hot. “Noone believes you anymore, man. Can’t you drop the damn act for five seconds andjust get laid for once?”

Jo pins mewith her brown eyes, and I feel like my soul has been turned inside out as sheplumbs the depths. “You have a girlfriend, Blondie?”

“No, hedoesn’t. Just says he does when he’s trying to get out of something,” Catotells her.

“Usuallytalking to some chick who’s desperate for his dick for some unknown reason.”

“Maybe we’dhave believed it if we ever saw this girlfriend, or ya know, you at least toldus her name.”

“Or her brasize.”

“Or prettymuch anything about her.” The jokes continue at my expense and I releaseJohanna’s hand. One eyebrow creeps up her forehead as she watches me.

“It’s nothingagainst you. You’re beautiful and vivacious, but I won’t help you with yourlist,” I tell her as I stuff my hands in my pockets and nod towards myteammates. “Any one of them would be happy to, though. And it took all of us toget our team into the semi-finals, so it still counts, right?”

Ittakes everything in me to not look back at Katniss as I turn around and walkaway.

Shoot straight, Katniss.

I finger thenote he left in my bow case at some point during the night we slept together atthe beginning of the Games. The paper is wrinkled and the ink on the heartsmeared from so much contact with my hands. I glance back up at my target andthe tight cluster of arrows in the bullseye.

Gold medalachieved.

I haveeverything I set out to gain when I came here. So then why do I feel as thoughI am breaking apart inside?

Slipping thenote back into the pocket where I’ve been keeping it, I shut the case and heftmy gear onto my shoulder, ignoring the sounds of the crowd or the questionsshouted at me by writers for student newspapers. Everything else is a blur,even the medal ceremony.

The closingceremonies are tomorrow, so I return to my dorm and start a load of laundry,setting a timer on my phone before climbing into the shower. The timer goes offwhile I’m drying my hair, my thoughts enough to distract me into lingering inthe water longer than I normally would. Wrapping my hair in a towel, I go movemy laundry and sit on the hard, plastic chairs with a book. The words don’tsink in, though, and before I know it, the buzzer alerts me that my clothes aredry.

I drag themback to the dorm, braid my hair, and start folding and packing clothes. Unableto focus on anything, I wander to a different task and then another. It’s onlywhen I pull out my gear to make sure it’s clean and ready for the trip hometomorrow afternoon that I spot it. Another bright yellow scrap of paper tucked betweensome of my practice arrows.

Hit the bullseye every time. Knew you coulddo it. Congrats on the gold.

There’s noheart or initial on this one, but I don’t need it to know who sent the note. Hestopped texting to meet up with me after the night of the concert, although hedid send a few words of encouragement before each of my shooting times. I don’teven know how his matches are going, too afraid to find out whether or not he’sstruggling or succeeding and if I’m the reason.

The sound ofJohanna slamming our door jolts me free of my thoughts. I shove the note backin and shut the case, move back towards my pile of laundry.

“Alright,Brainless. Get dressed. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“I amdressed,” I say, waving at my shorts and Panem State t-shirt.

“You can’twear that ratty shit where we’re going,” Johanna says, cocking her hips andglaring at me with narrowed eyes.

“Wherever itis will have to wait. I’m packing.”

“Oh forfuck’s sake. You’re avoiding, not packing.”

“I am notavoiding anything,” I insist.

“Bullshit,you’re a horrible liar,” Johanna sneers and marches over towards my bed. Shegrabs something from the bottom of my laundry pile and yanks. My heart stops asI stare at the black and gold t-shirt that’s at least two sizes too large to bemine.

“That’s—”

“Blondie’s,isn’t it?” Johanna asks with a grin. “I’ll give you props for subtlety at least,I didn’t suspect a thing until the night of the concert when his teammatesragged on him over his imaginary girlfriend. Then I didn’t even think of youuntil I went digging through your laundry to borrow that denim skirt of yoursand found this instead.”

She shakesthe shirt in my face and I snatch it out of her hands, remembering Peeta’shasty retreat that first morning and how I shoved him, half-dressed, out mydoor before Johanna could get home. I scowl and throw the shirt into my bag. He’sprobably got a dozen more just like it. I know I’ve seen him wearing one atsome point in the past two weeks.

“So?”

“So?!”Johanna says. “You’ve been miserable the past week. It’s eating you up inside,Brainless. The lies, the secrecy. You’re just not cut out for it. Whatever yourdeal is or reasons for keeping it a secret, you need to get over it.”

“How do youknow it wasn’t his idea?” I ask angrily, crossing my arms and glaring at her.

“Puh-lease.The guy is dying to shout it from the mountain tops. I’ll bet he had yourschedule memorized and sent you messages wishing you good luck before each ofyour shooting slots, didn’t he?” My silence is her answer and she nods in smugsatisfaction. “Just so you know, he got silver in the individual and the wholeteam has their final matches for the team event today. They’re up for the gold.Blondie’s is in twenty minutes. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

She flopsonto her bed and folds her hands on her stomach, a serene smile on her face asshe closes her eyes. I groan and grumble, but I know she’s right. More thanthat, I want to be there for him, knowing that he somehow made it to watch atleast my last shoot.

Once I’mchanged, I smack her leg and she calmly opens one eye to examine me in my oliveshorts and black t-shirt. “There. Happy?”

“Almost,” shesays and digs through her drawers before pulling out a long gold chain with anarrow pendant on it.

“Hey! That’smine!” I protest as she drapes it around my neck.

“And I thankyou for loaning it to me. It’s gorgeous, really honey. But it’s not my style.”I am prevented from reminding her that I never loaned it to her to begin withby Johanna grabbing my wrist and racing out the door with me in tow.

The crowd inthe coliseum is a little disappointing and provides nowhere to hide. A handfulof scattered groups with poster board signs supporting a specific athlete orteam. A quick scan brings up none with Peeta’s name on it and I bite my lip. Iknew his family wasn’t going to be here, just like mine, but I guess I alwaysthought that they’d find a way. It’s not like they don’t have the money or the abilityto leave their lives behind to support someone they love. But then I think ofhis cold mother and his distant father. His brothers busy with their own livesand guilt overpowers me at how selfish I’ve been the past two weeks.

Johanna leadsme down to one of the front rows and I duck my head, covering my my face with onehand, but I needn’t worry. The wrestlers are all focused on warming up orgrappling with one another to pay any attention to a random spectator, andPeeta is no exception.

From beneathmy fingers, I scan the floor and see there are at least four mats set up withreferees and wrestlers at each. A whistle blows and a grunt follows as one ofthe matches across the floor comes to a close. A hulking guy with dark brownskin stands and the referee lifts his hand, announcing him as the victor as hisopponent rolls and slowly stands. They shake hands to scattered applause and Ifocus back on Peeta, a black hoodie covering his torso as he stretches, headbent and earbuds in, the world cut away from him through music.

“I gotta say,Brainless,” Johanna says as she pulls out a package of candy from her bag. “Ididn’t figure you for broad and brawny. Thought you’d go for a lean huntertype. Like that dude who was always around freshman year.”

“We didn’t…workwell,” I mutter and slide down in my chair as Peeta stands and peels off his hoodie.My palm flattens over my face, but not before I get a good look at him in hissinglet. The damn thing reveals everything. Everything!And I am suddenly fuming that all of him is on display and I’ve never once beenin the audience until today.

“You shouldbe proud that all of that everythingis yours,” Johanna laughs and I groan as I realize I said that out loud.

“Not if he’sprancing around, showing it off,” I mutter and Johanna nudges me.

“Hey, you’re the one who gets to touch everything. And he’s not walking around naked,” she tries to mollify me.

“Might aswell be,” I growl and Johanna pries my hands away from my face.

“You don’twant to miss this,” Johanna says and forces me to watch as Peeta shakes handswith his opponent and they square off.

I’m surprisedat how quiet it is. I guess I expected more shouting and slamming of bodies.Less contorting and slow patience. Or maybe that’s just Peeta’s style, I thinkas the match on the next mat over turns loud and that rude beefcake from theother night yells in triumph over his victory. The referee warns him and heswitches to a cocky smirk before yanking his defeated opponent off the mat andsmacking him on the back. I don’t understand the rules exactly and get a littlefrustrated as time passes and each of the other matches concludes, leavingPeeta’s as the only one still going. And I still can’t tell if he’s winning orlosing. But Johanna knows and elbows me.

“Sour PatchKid?”

I accept heroffer of candy because I need something to distract me or keep my mouth busy.

“See, this iswhy I hate you,” Johanna says and tosses back a few more pieces of candy.

“What are youtalking about?” I mutter.

“Histechnique. He holds them off and fools them into thinking they’ve got him butthen evades until they’re so worn out that he can overpower them with ease. Coolhead and patience of a fucking saint. Body awareness and reading his opponent.I’d bet a month of drinks on me at the pub that he’s a fucking stud in bed.”

I choke on mycandy and Johanna hurries to hush me and help me control my coughs. I almostmiss it when Peeta gains the upper hand.

“There we go!”Johanna hisses as my coughs fade. “Now it’s getting good. So tell me…are the drinkson me for the next month?”

I watch,fascinated as Peeta’s opponent wriggles helplessly in his hold, waiting withbated breath until the referee calls the match. He releases the other boy andhelps him stand and they shake before the referee can tell them to. Strangelyenough, the two smile at one another and talk for a moment. As Peeta turns towalk off the mat, I clench my fingers until my nails dig into my skin, butPeeta doesn’t even bother looking in the stands.

Disappointmentstuns me speechless and frozen for a moment at the clear evidence that Peetadidn’t expect anyone to be here for him at all. Johanna shoves my arm and Irise, moving to the railing elevated around the floor, separating those in thestands from the competitors. Peeta’s already removed his head gear, tugged on apair of sweatpants and his hoodie by the time I reach the railing. I wait as hechecks his phone, his shoulders slumping a little as he tosses it and his waterbottle into his bag.

Instead ofturning towards me, though, he heads towards the other end of the floor and Ipanic that he won’t see me at all, won’t know that I was here or how I reallyfeel about him.

“Peeta!” Ishout and he freezes before turning around to face me. A few of his team matespause and stare, but I really don’t care about any of them as I wave at him. Hemoves towards me cautiously and his lips are just forming my name when I flingmyself over the railing and Peeta catches me, just like I knew he would. Becausehe loves me and is always there for me, no matter what.

“What are—mmfph.”I cut off his words with my lips and ignore Johanna’s loud whistle as I wrap myarms around Peeta’s neck and stand on his toes so I can reach him better. Hetries to pull away and I grab hold of his hair and keep him right here. With me.He gives up on talking after that and holds me tight, allows me to kiss him foran obscenely long time. Until a cough behind him and a few doubtful wordsfinally cuts through the little world we’ve escaped to.

“Hey Mellark…uh,what about your girlfriend? She okay with this?”

I slowlyseparate my lips from Peeta’s and he stares at me with a dazed expression onhis face. I enjoy it for a moment before glaring at the intruder.

“I am his girlfriend, numb nuts,” I say andJohanna whoops behind me as I tell Peeta to get us out of here and he does sowith a wide smile on his face.