#I love Katniss but sometimes I do want to shake some sense into her

[beautyofattolia]

I think this is the moment I truly started to dislike Gale.

After reading the first book, I definitely loved Peeta, but I didn't know enough about Gale to either like him or dislike him. He was just there. Katniss's friend and potential love triangle participant. But then Catching Fire starts and in Chapter 2, we get this scene and it really left a bad taste in my mouth that only increases as the series continues.

This really does an incredible job of setting up Gale's entire attitude about Katniss. Their relationship is about him and what he wants. About what he feels like he deserves from her. He kisses her because he wanted to, without any warning or checking in with her to see where she is. He doesn't talk to her about what she's going through or think maybe the best time is not right after she survived an extremely traumatic experience. Gale wants a kiss and he is owed a kiss so by god he's going to have one!

Contrast this with everything we see with Peeta in the first book and even though he too is in love with Katniss and has been for ages, all physical affection is on Katniss's terms. He makes jokes about kissing, but in every kiss, she is the one who initiates and he makes no effort to take that choice or control away from her.

Peeta respects Katniss and her wishes in a way Gale never does and it's never more clear than when comparing the two first kisses.

[shesasurvivor]

May 8 (2023 Update) [fic]

Every year I have a hard believing it's already been a full year since my last update to this fic, but it feels especially so this way. I've learned a lot of lessons over this last year, including how to open my heart and let someone in... and that sometimes, you have to get over yourself and communicate what you want from someone! All that influenced the contents of this year's entry to my annual fic celebrating Katniss's birthday.

Credit also goes to @rosegardeninwinter for providing inspiration for this fic by asking whether or not Katniss or Peeta would be the one to propose. This was my solution.

Read on AO3.

--

"Do you think Peeta will finally propose?"

Johanna's question catches me off guard. "Propose?" I repeat, only too aware that I know exactly what she means and I'm only trying to buy more time while I process her question. And my response.

"Yeah, dummy. You two have been together for years now. Don't tell me you think one of you might think there's someone else out there for you. You two are so in love and perfect for each other, it's gross."

The question makes me feel uneasy. Because I'm mid-conversation, I don't have the additional resources at the moment to examine why. I'm just grateful this is over the phone, and Johanna can't see my reaction for herself. I'm transported back to those moments in the cave, years ago, when I wanted to close the curtains to keep prying minds out of my personal business.

"Oh. I don't know," I give what I hope is a convincing light laugh. "What do we need to get married for, anyways?"

There's a beat in which I sense Johanna may be conceding I actually have a point. "You District 12 types always seemed so traditional, I just assumed you would want to," she finally says. "It doesn't matter to me either way."

A silent sense of relief washes over me as I realize she isn't going to press me any further. I try to think up an adequate response, but she changes the subject before I even have a chance to do so.

"So what's Peeta making for your birthday?"

Another question I'm unprepared to answer, but at least this one isn't as loaded as the first. I give her an answer that I barely register, and after some small talk about my birthday plans, she moves on to some story about something in her own district.

I'm still thinking about the conversation hours later. Johanna's question really dug under my skin. Why, I couldn't tell you. Not the one about my birthday; that's never been something I've made a big show of. It's the question of whether or not Peeta will propose.

Since the war ended, Peeta and I have basically been left alone by the Capitol, the press, and everyone but our remaining loved ones. For this, I couldn't be more grateful. It allowed Peeta and me to grow back together and pick up the maimed pieces of our fractured relationship so we could knot them back together. It was something we could only have done in privacy, and it was sorely needed. I'm still grateful that everyone left that part of us alone when we needed it most.

But maybe in the privacy, we grew too complacent? Would marriage be the next step? Is it supposed to be?

District 12 has always been one of the more traditional districts in Panem. Old-fashioned, some have even called us. Maybe we are, though things have changed since the district borders opened to others. I had never planned to marry when I was a kid. But there was no denying it was considered the natural culmination for anyone in a romantic relationship at the time.

I ruminate over it as I prepare dinner for us that night. Should Peeta be proposing? The more I think about it, the more confused I become. Maybe he should propose. Maybe it's something he should have done already. Why hasn't he?

My stomach drops at the thought. Is there a reason he hasn't proposed? No. I shake my head slightly to clear it. Of course not. Peeta and I have a great relationship now, even if it started out so rocky. Everything is so peaceful between us now, marriage isn't even necessary.

Right?

He comes home and kisses me on the cheek in greeting, just as he always does. "How was your day?" he asks me.

"Fine," I say, trying to sound as normal as possible. But am I imagining the peevish edge in my tone? Maybe, because Peeta doesn't seem to show any sign of noticing it. I ask about his day in return and learn it was fine as well. Then we sit down and enjoy our dinner together.

I was right, I think to myself as I relax while we eat. This is easy. Peaceful. There's nothing wrong with us. Not anymore. This is what I want forever.

My eyes fall on my parents' wedding picture, which I have nestled on a shelf I can see from the doorway to the kitchen. They wanted forever, too. Look what happened when they made it official.

You're just scared, a voice says in my head. There's no doubt it's the influence of my old head doctor, Dr. Aurelius. This was the kind of thing he would help me with back when Peeta and I were still trying to find our way back to each other. Honestly, I probably wouldn't have what I have with Peeta today if I hadn't had Dr. Aurelius's help. That doesn't make it any less annoying having his advice haunt me now.

"What do you want to do for your birthday? Peeta's words cut through my thoughts. It's jarring, being torn from this new conundrum, but I'm grateful for the distraction. Even if I don't have a suitable answer to his question.

"I don't know," I say with a shrug. I've never been one to celebrate my birthday much, even back before I was reaped and my family was still around. Peeta has made a few more efforts over the years, refusing to let me forget the day entirely. According to him, we should celebrate that we've been given the chance to celebrate them at all. I'm not saying he's wrong. But they've never felt the same since the war.

Peeta lifts a brow. "I guess I'll just have to surprise you, then," he says with a mischievous glint.

For some reason, I'm back to thinking about the proposal thing again. I know it's common for marriage proposals to happen around special events, like holidays. Or birthdays. In the Capitol, they even like to make a big deal about them, putting on lavish events for when they pop the question. Things are a lot more simple in District 12, but even here they were considered a special occasion.

We're three days from my birthday. And over the course of the ensuing three days, it seems I'm hit by a barrage of weddings and proposals. Some famous person from the Capitol gets proposed to on the news program the next night. One of the workers at Peeta's bakery takes time to attend his sister's wedding. But the real kicker comes when Delly arrives the day before my birthday to announce she and Thom are getting married.

"That's great, Delly!" Peeta seems genuinely thrilled for her. "Congratulations!"

"I know! Isn't it just the greatest?" she gushes, holding out her hand to show off the modest engagement ring Thom had bestowed on her. "I've been waiting for Thom to propose, and he finally did! Oh, I can't wait to tell my brother." Delly launches into an explanation of all her plans to tell people, and what she wants to do for the celebration. "It'll be a traditional District 12 ceremony, of course, with a toasting and everything," she says.

Peeta smiles. "I'll make the bread."

Delly's face lights up. "Oh, thank you, Peeta! I was hoping you would!"

I do my best to seem as excited for Delly's pending nuptials as she and Peeta both are. But I can't help the sinking feeling that settles in me. With the lively conversation around me, though, I don't really have a chance to examine what exactly it is.

"Well, Katniss and I both are really happy for you. Right, Katniss?" Peeta says the last part in such a pointed way, I realize I must be coming across as rude. I realize I haven't said too much tonight.

"Yes, of course!" I say, forcing myself to give a big grin. Just to make up for things, I even lean in and give her a hug.

"Thank you, Katniss!" If Delly had noticed anything about my behavior, she does a good job of hiding it. "Well, I should be getting back. I still need to fix our dinner for tonight!"

We both walk her to the door and bid our farewells. As soon as the door closes behind her, Peeta turns on me. "What was that?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" It doesn't sound at all convincing. I usually can't hide my moods from Peeta, not after we've been together for so long. But I haven't even had a chance to figure out for myself what's bothering me.

"Delly just announced some big news. And you barely acknowledged it at all. Except for that hug at the end." Peeta makes a face that shows he could tell that hug was an act. He's gotten good at spotting them over the years.

"I don't know," I say, shrugging and turning away from him.

"It's a big deal," he says. "It should be celebrated."

I wouldn't know, I think to myself. And that's when I figure out what it is that's bothering me. I excuse myself because I need some time to work through these feelings on my own. Peeta also knows me well enough by now to know when to give me space. But I can tell he's feeling a little annoyed right now.

Join the club.

The issue doesn’t come up again for the rest of the night, though there’s a chill in the air between us. We still share our bed that night, but there are no kisses before the lights go out. There definitely isn’t anything else.

Despite all this, Peeta is awake before I am the next morning. I find him puttering around the kitchen when I go down. He turns when he hears me coming, flashes a brow as if to say he’s not sure how he should act, or how I’m feeling. “Happy birthday.” Even with the greeting, I sense the apprehension in his voice.

The sight of him cooking breakfast for me on my birthday makes me feel guilty for how I acted last night. I still haven’t figured out what was bothering me. Maybe it was just pre-birthday jitters. Either way, I decide to let it go.

“Thanks,” I offer him a smile. He visibly relaxes at the sight of it. “I made breakfast,” he continues. “Lots of cheese buns.”

I melt a little. Even after all these years, he knows I still love his cheese buns and he still makes them, especially for me. I cross over and kiss him. “Thank you,” I say. I sit down at the table and let him serve me breakfast.

My birthdays are usually quiet, and this year has been no different. Peeta took the day off at the bakery so he could spend time with me. I’d just as soon forget about it, and pretend it’s any other day. He’s the opposite and thinks we should savor every birthday we’ve been given. I can’t resist letting him do so, and so my birthdays usually have some sort of celebration anyways.

Today, it’s a small birthday dinner with our friends still in District 12. I field phone calls from my mother, Annie, Johanna, and even Effie beforehand. With that out of the way, we sit down for our meal, followed by the cake Peeta made for me.

“Great cake,” Thom says as he shovels another piece into his mouth.

“Peeta always made the best cakes, even when we were kids,” Delly tells him. “He has to make the cake for our wedding, too.”

Peeta smiles. “Of course. I’d be happy to, Delly.”

Just like that, the feeling from last night returns.

It’s normal for me to be quieter than everyone else. It always has been. But tonight, I must seem quieter than usual, because, after about 15 minutes of wedding chatter, Haymitch speaks up.

“You should probably change the subject because Birthday Girl here doesn’t look all that thrilled with the subject,” he slurs. He’s already several bottles in and inspecting the bottom of his current bottle, so he doesn’t notice the way everyone turns to look at me. Or the way his comment only puts me in a worse mood.

An awkward silence falls over the group since no one knows what to say. I try to avoid looking at any of them, but I can’t help meeting Peeta’s eyes and seeing his own frustration reflecting back from them. It makes me feel defensive, so I avert my eyes before I say something I’ll regret out loud. Probably I should say something to the group, or apologize, but no words come out. I’ve never been very good at this stuff. And alright, maybe I don’t feel like I should even have to say something in the first place.

“Katniss, I’m so sorry,” Delly finally says. “Here it’s your birthday, and I’m taking all the spotlight!”

“It’s fine,” I mumble.

“No, it’s your birthday! Tonight it’s about you.” A murmur of agreement echoes through the group, and slowly the conversation starts again. But not for long. After another half-hour, Delly and Thom make up an excuse to leave. Greasy Sae follows suit, and when Haymitch sees everyone else is leaving, he does as well.

Despite my mood, or maybe because of it, I follow them to the door and bid them goodnight. Once the door is closed, Peeta turns on me. He’s clearly aggravated now, but I can see he’s trying to hold it back since it’s my birthday and all.

“Alright,” he says. “What is it? What’s bothering you so much?”

“I don’t know!” I say, more forcefully than I mean to.

“Yes you do,” he counters. “Why else would you keep throwing a fit every time Delly brings up her wedding?”

“Why do you care so much about her wedding? Is it because you want to marry her?”

Peeta just stands there, gaping in shock. He’s too taken aback to know what to say. To be honest, so am I, because I hadn’t expected to say that. I’m not even sure I knew I was thinking it. But now that it’s out, there’s no taking it back, and now I feel like I have to defend myself.”

“Of course not!” Peeta finally sputters. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, you’re sure obsessed with a wedding for someone who doesn’t want one!” I turn before I get to see his reaction and march out of the room.

I need out of the house. It’s too stuffy in here. I need to be outside where I can see the stars and the moon. My legs carry me to the back porch and immediately feel some relief when I’m alone. I pause, take a deep breath, then settle down on the edge of the porch with my legs dangling over the side while I ponder the darkness that stretches out in front of me.

Is that what’s bothering me? No, I know Peeta doesn’t want to marry Delly. He’s had plenty of chances in his life. He would have done it long ago if there were any interest there. They’re like siblings. And Peeta loves me. We have a bond no one else could replicate, after everything we’ve been through together.

So why doesn’t he want to make it permanent? A shiver courses through me as I realize I’ve struck the heart of the issue. It’s not that I think Peeta wants to marry someone else. It’s because he doesn’t make any effort to marry me.

I guess Johanna’s words really did get the better of me. I never cared about this kind of thing before. I never wanted to get married. Of course, I also never wanted to fall in love either and look how that changed. Would marriage be so bad? My parents did it. So did his. And the toasting ceremony is so inherent in District 12’s customs, maybe a small part of me really would like to participate in one.

Heavy footsteps come up from behind me; Peeta stops when he reaches me. “Can I sit down?” he asks. I nod, and he settles in beside me. For a long while, we both stare into the night in silence.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta says at last. I turn to look at him, surprised. “Delly is right. It’s your birthday.”

I’m taken aback, so all I manage to do is tell him it’s okay. Besides, I’m not even sure how to broach the subject with him.

Finally, he reaches over and closes my hand in his. The warm steadiness his hand brings is immediately soothing, and I feel myself begin to relax. Whatever comes next, it won’t be an argument at least. “What’s bothering you?”

I look at him, and the words nearly come out. I catch myself just in time and look back to my patch of blackness across the yard. I’m relieved I stopped myself from saying anything. And then the words come out anyway. “Why don’t you ask me to marry you?”

Peeta freezes. It’s so abrupt, that I’m almost afraid I’ve triggered one of his episodes somehow, and immediately kick myself for bringing it up. Panic rising in me, I turn to assess the situation. But he’s only staring at me. Shocked, yes. But still unmistakably him.

“I- I didn’t know you wanted to get married,” he says at last.

Yeah, well, that makes two of us. Until today. “I didn’t either,” I admit.

“Then why are you making such a big deal out of it?”

“I’m not making a big deal!” I shoot back, feeling defensive for some reason. But I catch myself because that isn’t going to help us right now. “Johanna asked me when you were going to propose,” I explain. “I guess it just got me thinking.”

“I’ll marry you,” Peeta says. “If that’s what you want.”

Is it? I expect the very prospect to make me feel a sense of panic like I’m trapped or something. I’m surprised when I realize it doesn’t. Aren’t I already planning to spend my life with him anyways?

“Do you want it?” I know he did, back when we were teenagers. Before the hijacking. I know he still loves me. But have his opinions on marriage changed since the Capitol messed with his brain?

Peeta clasps my hand in both of his. “Katniss, it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just didn’t think you did. I didn’t want to push it.”

“Well… I do,” I finally admit.

A large grin spreads across his face. He turns his body towards me, taking both my hands in both of his. “Then Katniss,” he says, “will you marry me?”

I can’t help smiling myself. For the question, for the fact that this conversation went far better than I was afraid it would. All I had to do was tell him what I wanted. If I had any qualms about our future together, that already makes me feel much better. “Yes.”

His face lights up, and a familiar mischievous glint reflects in his eye. “Real or not real?”

My heart warms over, thinking about how I once was so sure this day would never come. First because of my own guarded heart, and then because he was stolen from me. But he is here, and he’s the one birthday present I’ll ever want year after year.

“Real.”

[kahlanmars]

BAD FEELING part. 28

This has been a hell of a chapter to write so PLS comment or like if you liked it!

MASTERLIST

taglist: @crimsonincursive

28. I stand with the Mockingjay

Three days pass and nothing changes. President Snow is being captured in a palace with a beautiful garden, surrounded by his beloved roses and you can’t help but think that Alma Coin is trying to make an example out of it. Presidents should be treated with kindness and respect even after being captured. You can torture civils and guards if you want, but not the President. It’s just a coincidence that she is a president. 

Katniss is always with Prim, she reads her stories and she sings for her, while her mother is catatonic again, staring at the wall for hours. You sometimes talk to Katniss, but you can sense she is desperate, she stares at her sisters for hours and hours and she doesn’t talk to Gale Hawthorne anymore, which means she knows something about the theory about Snow and Coin.

Peeta is a little better. He has to continue the therapy and he spends an awful lot of time thinking he is in the Capitol being tortured, but now he knows that he loves the Mockingjay, he knows he is not in danger anymore and he even remembers some things.

He is a patient of Doctor Aurelius too, but today she wants to see you.

«So, how's it going today? Do you want to tell me something?»

«The nightmares are a little better.» You can tell her that. You have to deny all the other things, because she is on Alma Coin’s payroll and you may like her but you definitely don’t trust her. «And when I wake up Haymitch helps me.»

«Haymitch is your boyfriend.» She asks, but you don’t know why. She knows him, she’s seen you with him.

«Yeah.» You answer her nonetheless, because it’s the polite thing to do. And he hates the term, by the way. He keeps saying he is too old to be anyone’s “boyfriend” and “partner” is more than okay.

«He is a victor too.» She points out, maybe in a sense that tells you “He needs to be helped too”. You know it, every victor should be in therapy, but he in particular is a stubborn mule. Maybe after all this mess you will insist.

«He was my mentor. Like Annie and Finnick. And we fell in love. Are you going to tell me he is not right for me?»

«No, Daisy. You know what it’s right for you. I was just wondering if you thought about what we talked about last time.» 

You thought she wanted to ask you only about the murder, and it would’ve made sense, but Dr. Aurelius wants to know about your life, so you told her about Portia’s offer and how it makes you feel. 

It felt safer than talking about Caius or Clark, at the beginning. 

«He doesn’t know that. It’s not exactly a priority right now.»

«And you still want to go to learn from Portia?» 

«Yeah I mean, I like clothes very much. I like making clothes, you have that perfect image in your head and then you try to sketch it and in the paper it’s not sure, but then you cut the fabric and you sew and you embroidery… and it’s yours. It’s exactly how you wanted and you can have it because you did it. It’s fantastic.» You explain, quickly full with enthusiasm. 

Since you were little you’ve done dresses for your doll, Olivia, with little pieces of fabrics that Holly couldn’t use anymore. She wanted you to learn, because in the district life is hard if you don’t know how to do things yourself. She made you learn how to clean, how to cook, how to hunt (that’s not something you want to do) and a lot of other skills but you really enjoy sewing, you’ve always done it even when it wasn’t a necessity anymore. You used to do it for your friends and for their dolls, when they had them. 

«But you don’t want to stay away from Haymitch.»

You just shake your head, aware this is not right, it’s a person, not an addiction. But you don’t think you would be happy without him. «He hates the Capitol.»

«What about District One or Two? They are very close to Capitol City, so you can take the train everyday.» 

This is actually a good idea. An idea that could save the day, if you survive the last straw of the revolution.

You go out of the psychologist with a great headache and you decide you need to be in your room. Your room is not even yours anymore, you spend all your time at Haymitch’s room or the hospital and Effie is always there with Portia. And here you find her, alone, so you open your arms and you cuddle against her. 

«Friend.» You request with a little pout. Effie and Haymitch can’t resist a pout or big eyes. Then again you always want to snuggle against them and they humour you more times than not, so perhaps they just like to spoil you a little. Their last tribute.

«Of course!» She pats your head. You can only imagine the state of your hair right now. «Is everything okay? Is it Little Prim?» 

«No, she is stable. I just missed you.» You get to be whiny and spoiled with her. When you are with Haymitch he is your partner, so you can ask for a cuddle but you also have to prove to him that you are independent, and if you would try to act like this with Holly she would scream to you to stop it. Effie is different, she enjoys being the big sister and you get to have a holiday from being the strong one all the time.

«Haymitch told me he loves me.» You confess after a while. You don’t even know if you can say that to her, it feels a little like cheating. You don’t completely get people like Haymitch or Perla, so private. When you are happy you want to share it with the world, you want to scream it to everybody and you are glad to hear it from others.

«That’s wonderful news!» She hugs you again. «In times like this I-»

She can’t end the sentence, because two guards burst into the room. The door was closed, so they had a passepartout. They could have entered any time, you realise with a shiver down your spine. District Thirteen is a horrible place. 

«Miss Trinket, President Coin requested your presence for an interrogation.» The guard orders, and you watch her in disbelief. For an interrogation? About what? Effie has been nothing but perfect in this dreadful district since the moment you arrived. Much more perfect and well behaved than you.

«Miss Trinket has immunity.» You get up, shielding Effie with your body. Effie is taller than you, but she is so frightened and you, well, you did the Hunger Games, you are strong. The guards are not impressed, though.

«Not anymore.» Is the only answer you get. 

It makes sense. You got arrested, you don’t have immunity anymore, let alone give it to other people. 

Still, Effie was part of the revolution. Maybe not from the start, but she was. She was the one who said to you to hold on during the Games, she was aware of the plan and she is Cinna’s friend, she is not an enemy. She was a face of the Hunger Games publicly of course, being an escort for Twelve, but so was Plutarch being a Gamemaker.

You try to take their hands off of her, but they immediately out strong you and you see this scared, afraid woman in a grey jumpsuit taken away from you.

No, no, no, not Effie.

«Let her go, she didn’t do anything!» You scream.

«It’s just an interrogation.» The guard tells you, but you don’t believe him. If you let her go you will never see her again, and she doesn’t even have a bracelet.

«She is part of the revolution!»

Just for a moment you think you will hurt that man, but the blonde woman sees the glimpse in your eyes and stops you before you could do anything you would regret.

«Find Katniss or someone who could help us.» She instructs you, so calm despite the situation.

Not Effie. Not again.

You run as fast as you can, but you don’t know who to run to.

It’s Perla who finds you before you could catch her, though. She is still in bad shape and she has bruises all over her body, but she is up.

«They have Cinna.» She pants.

«Cinna?» You ask, worried.

«All the people from Capitol City. Cinna, Portia. Cinna was with me, I was about to leave the hospital and they took him.» She has trouble breathing, her face is so red you want to let her sit down, but you have more urgent problems now.

«They have Effie too.» 

«It doesn’t make any sense! Cinna basically started the revolution! Portia and Effie were part of it. I don’t understand.» She is panicking. You start to think about who you could call for help, because you have no idea. The victors have little power over Coin, and Plutarch never listened to you one day in his life.

You rush into Haymitch’s room, but he is not there, so you try to go into the hospital room to see Finnick, but he has vanished. You don’t get it, you don’t understand and you try not to be scared, but there is no chance Haymitch would have gone without telling you.

He doesn’t know about Effie, you reason. He loves Effie, she is his friend. He will help you.

If he is somewhere. What if they took him too? 

You go to the hospital again, thinking that maybe Finnick and Lora are there, but you only find Mags.

«Mags!»

When you spot the old woman in the hospital you are so relieved. She is still there. The grandmother with grey hair and a sweet smile, who has been in the hospital since she was retrieved. You nearly forgot about her.

Then you remember she doesn’t talk and she barely remembers you.

«Where are all the victors? Where is Finnick?»

She gestures something, but you are too on the verge to understand anything. Fortunately for you, Perla is more intelligent than that.

«They are in a room with President Coin?» She asks, and finally Mags nods.

Snow is captured and the victors are in a room with Coin, something big is going on.

Finally they open the door and all the victor go out. Finnick and Annie storm out of the room so quickly they practically bump into you, and Peeta looks at everyone with sad and judging eyes. When Katniss passes next to you she doesn’t even see you. Perla decides to follow Finnick, and you kinda think it’s the better choice instead of Haymitch, but you have loyalty to him.

Johanna Mason eyes you with a smirk. You don’t know what she has to laugh about. You don’t like Johanna very much, it’s like she brings trouble, and the only times she met you she always smiled at you kinda cruelly. The dark haired girl has been through hell like you, but she’s definitely not your favourite victor. 

Haymitch is the last to exit. His face is blank, but you can sense he is not right and his hands are trembling. He looks like he wants to drink so badly you just want to hug him forever and take him away from this madness. 

«Haymitch!» You call him, and you jump into his arms for comfort. «They took Effie.»

Now everything will be okay. The victors love Effie. They will rescue her one way or another, Haymitch and Finnick always know what to do.

«They did what?» He wants to know, and he is shocked. If he doesn’t know about the imprisonment they didn’t talk about it in the room.

«They took Effie for an interrogation.» You say again. «We have to go, we have to save her. They wanted information from her.» 

«Good.» Johanna gets in the conversation. «She is Capitol.»

«She is part of the Revolution.» You snarl. You almost assaulted a guard before, you can hit a victor now. Actually you want to punch a victor now, a victor like Johanna Mason from District Seven, but you are adult enough to stop yourself. 

«Once a Capitol, always a Capitol.» She talks back. Haymitch must see your expression, because he takes your hand.

You don’t handle well violence under stress.

«Johanna.» Haymitch growls. «Stop it.»

«Oh don’t be such a hypocrite! You voted with us.» The District 7 Victor reveals, and you don’t get it. There was a votation in the room? Is that why Finnick and Annie were so upset with everybody?

«What did you vote for?» You have a bad, bad feeling.

«I’ll explain in my room.» He tries to cut it off, but the woman interrupts his words again with a satisfied grin.

«New Hunger Games.» Johanna explains taking his place. «With Capitol kids.»

New Hunger Games. New… it’s not possible. Coin really thought it was a good idea. Kids from the Capitol being reaped. The Games, the television, the arena. Memories creep in your mind and you have to close your mouth with your hand, free from your boyfriend’s. 

«W-what?» You barely manage to talk. 

This is not possible, this is not true. The Games are part of your nightmares. They are all the victor’s nightmares. They were supposed to end forever.

«Sweetheart…» He searches for your eyes, but you don’t see anything. 

«This is not true. Haymitch would never.» You look at him. «You didn’t vote yes, right?» 

Haymitch is many things, he is an addict, he is rude, he is not gentle and he is rough more times than not, but he is not cruel. He is not one for vengeance on innocent people, and they are innocent people.

You are District Twelve by luck, or the leaking of it. If you grew up in the Capitol, that wouldn’t have made you a bad person. Yes, maybe a spoiled one, but not bad. Not all Capitol citizens are pro games. Not everyone is rich. 

And kids. Kids the same age Snow bombed. Or Coin bombed. Kids the same age you teached for. 

«It’s complicated.»

«Not really. Did you vote yes?» You start to shiver. Your world is collapsing. In these months the war was upon you and you were about to die, but Haymitch was a certainty. A good man. A man of honour. The man you are in love with.

«…Yes.» He sighs.

He tries to hug you, but you take a step back. His touch is weird now, this is not your Haymitch. «Don’t you dare.» You spat. 

Your head is spinning. Other blood, another game, another television show. Nothing is changing from this revolution, just the name of the tyrant. 

«Sweetheart, please.»

«Kids, Haymitch! Cinna’s family. Effie’s family. They are with us. Capitol doesn’t mean Snow… how is that fair?» Ivy is a Capitol kid, you want to scream. The sweet girl you saved, the sweet girl he saved.

«You have to understand-»

You slap his hand because he wants to stroke your cheek and right now you can’t handle his touch. «I don’t have to do anything! Now we save Effie. Then we can discuss.»

It takes hours to finally make them release Cinna and Portia. Coin has no leverage against them, they are part of the revolution since the beginning, and the President just wants to get them out of the way because she wants the Capitol to be the enemy. 

Effie has to stay in the cell for now, for “dubious connections”, but you can pay her a visit. Dubious connection, you don’t have any clue on what it means. Maybe her parents are on Capitol side, or her friends from her past life. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to keep Haymitch and you on track, because she knows you love her.

The room is little and grey, without any window. It’s claustrophobic, tiny, you can’t live in a place like this for more than two hours without screaming. No air whatsoever. There is a - grey - bed and a bucket you really don’t want to know what is used for.

«Darling girl.» She approaches you and she is trying to smile, but you can see she is frightened. 

She is not a fighter. She is a TV host. An escort. Yes, she reaped the names of the kids, but she is not a mastermind, she doesn’t have a great plan, and she is an active part of the revolution you morons.

«I’ll take you out of here.» You promise her, reaching for her hand. She is cold, and you didn’t think about bringing her blankets. 

«You are in danger too.»

«I don’t care, Effie. You will be free.» You smile through the tears. «You have to host me in Capitol City, okay?»

You are scared too. If the new games are real nothing reassures you Coin won’t torture her to get informations or kill her like she is about to do with President Snow. 

«Okay.» She reassures you. «I promise.»

«Good, a promise is always good. You promised. I promised I would outlive the Games and I did it. Don’t break the promise, Effie.»

You hug a little more, until a guard tells you to exit. When you go out of the room you start to walk really fast, because Haymitch is behind you.

«If you just-» He begins, but you are furious this time. No amount of kisses and caresses will fix this.

«If I just what?» You turn around and face him with fire in your eyes. «And what? Your precious mockingjay said yes and you followed her?» This is mean. Katniss is a broken child herself but damn it, she should know better. You are angry at her too. Prim is the same age as Capitol kids. 

«…Yes, but-»

«Kids, Haymitch! Capitol kids are still kids!» You shout, and you don’t care if all the district watches you. You are on a black list anyway, not really beloved by Thirteen. You are definitely the next after Effie. 

«Don’t scream, it’s dangerous.» He whispers and takes your shoulders, but you scoff him away.

«I don’t give a flying fuck! You condemned kids. There will be a new mentor. A new you. A new Effie and a new me, but maybe she will be Prim’s age! Are you ready for it? You will watch it on television, I bet it will be mandatory.»

«Look at me.» He takes your wrist and dear heavens you are about to slap him. «Do you trust me?»

«I trusted you.» You reveal. You trusted him with your life, and you still trust him that he thinks he is doing the right thing, but if he’s doing it to save Katniss he is trading a child for a child. 

«Remember who the real enemy is, Daisy.» He murmurs. 

Coin. He wants to do something about the Coin situation. He probably knows everyone is in danger as long as she is in power. 

Still, he said yes. The risk is too high. If whatever the plan is, if the plan fails, the “yes” will still be active and children will be reaped again. Children are not a price to pay. Children are the spark for the revolution. You don’t sacrifice children if you are not Snow or Coin. 

«You still said yes.» You whisper, trying really hard not to cry. «Are you one hundred percent certain of what you are doing?» 

He is about to lie, you see it on his face, but he closes his eyes. «No. Not one hundred percent.»

So children are a risk he is willing to take. «If anything happens, it’s on you.»

[katnissmellarkkk]

I *DEMAND* part 3 of shattered pearl. I repeat. I *DEMAND*.

Hahahahaha omg. Well, I decided to legitimately dig through the archives of my writing drafts and found chapter three of the Peeta-Wasn’t-Hijacked fic. It’s been given like 1,000 different names on different sites. I’ve never loved any of them. And I don’t really think this is my best writing ngl. But I also figure ... why be so stingy, ya know? If I have an incomplete draft, that I probably won’t finish, why not post a little bit? Especially since I literally left everyone and their brother who were reading this fic on a cliffy for over a year.

With that said.... I wrote this part like ... 15 months ago? 14 ? 13 ? Something like that. And I haven’t edited it since so ... yeah! Here’s a small chunk of chapter three! 🥳🥳🥳 Hope it’s better than I remember it being!

But it’s lacking something and it’s only then I realize, what I’m searching for inside Gale’s mouth, is the spark that only Peeta’s ever ignited in me. I keep waiting in vain for the warmth that started in my stomach and then rose up and exploded in my chest, for the craving that no matter what I couldn’t manage to satisfy, for the thrilling, almost hysterical, tingly feeling, to overcome me and leave me lightheaded in a completely foreign way. A way that couldn’t be attributed to lack of oxygen.

But it never does. I pull back and wipe my mouth carelessly on my arm and sigh, already sensing Gale’s demeanor taking a nose dive at my lackluster reaction.

I’m not disappointed when I look to see his expression. His eyes are frustrated, his mouth is downturned, his eyebrows are pinched together. And I feel as bad as I knew I would. Because no matter what, I’m hurting someone I deeply care for.

But how I feel upon seeing Gale’s face isn’t even comparable to the amount of remorse that fills me, that overtakes my entire being, when I see Peeta standing in the doorway, having watched our entire exchange.

/

I yelled his name as he disappeared down the hall. I tried to rip out all the needles and wires connecting me to the machines and the stiff, sterilized bed but Gale used all his strength to push me down flat. I was overpowered and exhausted and my left side was screaming mercilessly, and I don’t even know what pain was the bruised lung and what pain was my hurt ribs and what pain was my heart violently smashing into the pit of my stomach.

All I know is that if I had been able to reach Peeta before he evaporated, I have no clue what I would have said to him.

What I could have said to make it alright.

Gale tried to talk to me again after that but I entirely tuned him out, no longer caring if I wounded his feelings, or anyone else's for that matter.

It seems like no matter what I do, no matter how careful or cautious or preemptive I try to be, someone still got hurt in the end.

I wish I could just shut out the world, like I did during those first few weeks in Thirteen. Hide inside closets when I had a flashback. Shove myself into a minuscule crawl space with every nightmare. Refuse to speak to anyone who wasn't Gale or my family. Only eat when my mother nearly forced me. Show no remorse for how rude or how clinically insane I came across.

But now there was an agreement in place, an agreement I made to protect the victors—namely the one who just disappeared down the hall on me—and the people who had no voice on their own. The people who’s only chance was a half-crazed, shell-shocked, battle worn seventeen year old girl, who was just gunned down on national television.

Even if I wanted to retreat to some safe haven inside my head—if such a thing even existed for me—like Annie Cresta, I knew it could never happen.

For me, that wasn’t an option. If I don’t fulfill my duties to Coin, Peeta, Johanna, Annie and probably countless more people will suffer. The districts would undoubtably suffer. Gale would suffer. My mother and Prim would suffer.

I was proven right when later that same night Plutarch came to visit me again. I'd been lying on my side to avoid having to see Gale, who was still soldered to my bedside. My good side was thankfully opposite his seat.

When the Gamemaker spoke I thought I would be forced back to work. Forced to head back to the rebels and engage in their plans.

And I was resigned to it, well aware all along that I wouldn't be given the luxury of time to grieve the hurt I just caused Peeta. Or even the pain I knew I was inflicting upon Gale. The constant seesaw my heart was bouncing up and down on.

I was endlessly thankful that I was still pumped with morphling when Plutarch said that I was needed in Coin's office, because it heavily suppressed any real emotion I had brewing deep inside.

Morphling can cause you to let down your guard sometimes, make you say or do things you wouldn't otherwise or allow things to happen you'd ordinarily have the sense to stop. But it also causes all your severe emotions, all your heightened feelings, to dull as well. And for that, in light of everything that had just transpired, I was eternally grateful for.

When the doctor had removed all the needles from my arm, and I had been given a robe to go over my hospital gown—which, shockingly, was even uglier and thinner and itchier than the gowns they gave in the Capitol hospitals—Gale escorts me down the halls, through the corridors and to President Coin’s office.

I don’t speak to him the entire time. Looking at him makes my stomach churn with remorse and regret, though I’m not even sure who those feelings are directed towards. I’m not even sure how to articulate the way I feel right now.

And, as much as I try to force him out of my mind—as much as I do my best to rip him out from wherever he crawled beneath my skin and flooded into my veins—I inexplicably miss Peeta.

In more ways than I even know how to decipher. Even inside my own head.

I thought that feeling of longing would have ebbed away once he was rescued from Snow and his twisted mansion, but even knowing he’s safe here in Thirteen, I still crave his presence next to me.

I still want him next to me almost all the time.

It’s at least partially attributable to the fact that for so long, it was me and Peeta against the world. He has been my partner in this whirlwind rollercoaster since the first games and, even when I feel like every single aspect that could potentially go wrong has, sometimes it seems like I couldn’t have gotten luckier with who was chosen that fateful reaping to stand by my side the entire horrific ride.

I wipe my eyes as inconspicuously as I can but Gale sees and almost instinctively puts his hand on my shoulder. And proves he knows me better than I give him credit for. “I’ll talk to him, Katniss.”

“Don’t,” I immediately hiss. “You’ll just make it worse, Gale. He-he,” I struggle with explaining what I want to say and I curse my best friend for even addressing my moment of weakness because now I have to go talk to Coin, looking like an unstable mess—with a near bullet wound—and I blurt out the very first thing I can think of. “He doesn’t even know you, okay? You’ll just-“

There’s no malice in Gale’s voice as he softly replies, “Well, he was fine when I went and saw him before you woke up.”

I stop now, dead in my tracks. “You saw him? After I was shot?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, I felt like should check on him. I know...” He pauses and looks upwards and I recognize, once again, this whole thing isn’t easy for him either. “I know he means a lot to you. And I heard what happened when he saw you go down. So I went and checked in on him...” He stops again before shrugging nonchalantly. “He was calmer by the time I saw him. He was nice. He’s always been nice.” At that Gale rolls his eyes. “Too nice. Probably why Snow wanted to hurt him.”

I start walking again, moving ahead of him a few paces. “You’re not helping,” I state, my voice a monotone.

“I’ll talk to him,” Gale offers again, running to catch up.

“Please don’t, okay? Just let it be. I don’t even know if he’ll speak to me, I don’t want to have to worry about what you’ll say to him.”

I vigorously shake off his hand on my shoulder when he tries to comfort me again, and feel him root into place as I make the rest of the way to Coin’s office.

And I wonder if I hurt him now too.

I wonder if I managed to completely annihilate them both from me in one night.

/

Much to my surprise and, to be completely honest, my utter disappointment, Coin doesn’t want me to head back out and fight for the rebellion. She doesn’t want me to even film more propos.

Plutarch does, but his ideas now are pretty frivolous and have more to do with him being still stuck in the fantasy of putting on a good show and less to do with fighting for the good of the country.

Coin simply says, “You did your job, Miss Everdeen. You united the districts,” in her calm, disingenuous—completely unsettling—tone.

And argument I put up is met with a simple shake of the head and a pursing of her lips. All indisputable rejections, her cold, blank eyes telling me wordlessly that in no way could I sway her once her mind was made up.

Still doesn’t stop me from trying though.

“I want to help the rebels,” I plead, looking to Boggs behind Coin’s chair, his face still stoic but his eyes giving me a look that isn’t altogether dismissive.

That was something. It was more than I was getting from either Coin or Plutarch.

Coin though brushes off my words and cuts me down infuriatingly quick with a single sentence. “Plutarch wanted to see Peeta earlier, talk about some propos. But when he sent for him, one of the doctors working with Peeta said he wasn’t having a good day.”

Her tone is smooth and pleasant enough but there was an undercurrent to her words that she knew I would hear. “Do you know how Peeta is? I would have thought with your waking up this morning, he’d be in better shape than he was but if you two aren’t getting-“

“Me and Peeta are fine,” I snap, not liking whatever she’s implying.

She nods, slowly at me, choosing her next sentiment carefully. “Well, let’s hope so. We need both of you now to remain the faces of this revolution. And I wouldn’t want you to do anything rash because of... problems between you and your... between you and Peeta.”

I’m shaking my head, feigning certainty, before she even finishes. “That’s not why I want to help the rebels,” I insist firmly.

“Irregardless, Miss Everdeen, we don’t have a job for you. You aren’t qualified to go into the fight and we no longer need your propos to unite the districts. Your job is done. Thank you for your help.”

And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I’m being definitively dismissed now. Indefinitely.

I don’t make any effort to keep my cool, instead choosing to storm out of the room, slamming the door cacophonously behind me and wonder why I let that woman get to me so much. Why her words and implications slice me open like a knife.

Why no matter how much I try, I just can’t like her.

Something about her rubs me the wrong way and, once again, I wish Peeta was here with me in the room, because he of all people could understand what about Coin felt off and strange and so familiar.

I curse myself again, as I suddenly miss him even more than before.

Unable to force myself to put my focus elsewhere—especially now that Gale is surely angry too—I change directions and head towards the recovery room.

I don’t even knock before entering. I push the door open, only to find him sitting on top of his bed, a sketchbook in hand, a lot more tranquil than I pictured.

He looks up as I enter—and then, simultaneously freeze in the doorway, like the coward I truly am inside. Before he can speak though, I blurt out, “I know you’re mad about me kissing Gale and I don’t know how much you saw or heard, but it wasn’t... it wasn’t exactly...” I stop because once again, I’m unprepared and out of my element and have no rhyme or reason in what I’m trying to say. I don’t know the right thing to say. I never know the right thing to say.

Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t screw always everything up. “It wasn’t,” I finally force myself to continue, off his patient and somewhat bewildered glance. “It wasn’t what I wanted... I didn’t want it to happen. I don’t, I don’t even know what-“

He finally puts me out of my misery now. “Katniss,” he speaks my name along with a sigh. I watch carefully, feeling a lump build in my throat, as his blonde brows furrow over his baby blues.

He shakes his head, slow and calm. Far more reasonable than I ever anticipated. “I’m not mad at you, Katniss,” he promises, with all the genuineness in the world.

I bite my lip, befuddled by his words. “But... where have you been then?” Why did you leave me? A small voice in the back of my mind demands.

He shrugs, his gaze falling down to his bed now. His demeanor is almost embarrassed, I realize with a start.

“I wanted to give you and Gale space. I’ve been practically mauling you since you woke up so I thought-“

“But I didn’t want you to leave,” I abruptly burst out, unable to shove the words down any longer.

A pang of embarrassment shoots through me though, for the pathetic crack, evident in my tone. And I mentally berate myself.

Not for the embarrassment. For the pathetic crack itself.

And for the fact that somehow I’m the frenzied one here and Peeta is the voice of reason.

Which used to be our norm but after everything that’s transpired, I would have thought things would be reversed by now.

He just stares at me for a long moment, carefully considering his next words.

Finally, he opens his arms slowly and utters, “Come here,” in a tender murmur and I practically fly into his arms before I can second guess the offer.

I feel my injured side screaming as I curl up like a ribbon in his arms, but I surpress the wince to the best of my ability and instead bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in his sweet scent like a mad girl.

He softly presses his lips to my messy locks, carefully massaging the back of my head soothingly. “I’m sorry I ran away,” he whispers, barely loud enough for even me to hear. “I was just embarrassed. I know—I’ve always known deep down—that it’s not right for me to constantly hold you to the things you said in the games. Or to project my own feelings onto you.”

“You didn’t,” I refute venomously, my brows knitting together.

“Katniss, I know you and Gale have had something between you for a long time.”

“Gale was just a friend until me and you came back from our first games. Maybe he wanted to be more even before, I don’t know, but I never felt anything romantic for him. I swear.”

“You don’t have to defend your feelings to me,” he states softly.

“I know, it’s just...” I sigh, moving to sit upright across his thighs. “No matter what I do, it’s wrong. If I say I’m confused, you’re both hurting. If I say I want to kiss you or sleep with you or just be with you, I’m leading you on because I can’t-I can’t make any promises about my feelings right now, because I don’t even know up from down anymore. And if I say I do or don’t want to kiss Gale or be around him or hunt with him still, I’m hurting him or giving him the wrong idea or telling him the wrong things, and it all gets confused and there’s an entire rebellion that I’m the face of, and now I don’t even know if I’m a part of that, but Snow and his followers all hate me still so I know family still won’t be safe until this is all over. And you. You and Johanna and Annie went through the ringer over me. And Gale gets upset whenever he sees us together—it hurts him to see us—but I can’t always seperate you two from one another and I just-I don’t know what I can do. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Peeta lets me rant the whole entire spiel out, his hand slowly moving in circles to rub my back, from the top of my spine down to my backside. “Katniss,” he whispers once I’m done. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me. I get it. You’re under immense pressure. The last thing I want to do is make things harder on you.”

“You’re not,” I say, shaking my head insistently. “You’re not making anything worse, Peeta. It’s-it’s not you.”

“Okay,” he concedes and unconsciously wraps me up tighter in his arms. “Just relax, okay? Relax and breathe.”

I quiver and quake against him. “I don’t think I can.”

I barely realize I’m crying until Peeta leans down to kiss my tearstained cheek softly. “Katniss, it’s okay. I’m not mad. And Gale shouldn’t be. If he is, then that’s on him. The rebellion isn’t just your responsibility. Do not let them put all that weight on your shoulders. I know they already have but it’s not all your responsibility. And no one is going to let anything happen to your mom or sister.” He pushes my hair away from my forehead, pressing his lips there for a long moment. “Or you. I promise I will not let anything else happen to you.”

I swallow hard as he rests his forehead against my temple. I squeeze my eyes shut in hopes that it will make my head stop spinning somehow. Deep breaths to center myself fail miserably and in the end, I feel my bruised ribs and lung disagree with the movement and ache worse than before.

Peeta feels me cringing against him in pain and remains careful as he shifts, reaching for something off his bedside table.

I’m in too much pain to react as pushes off my robe and tugs my hospital gown down in order to slide against my skin, his hand holding it firmly to my side.

The icy temperature brings some sort of relief to me almost instantly, and I let out an audible sigh of relief, feeling my rigid body relax even a minuscule amount for the first time.

“I don’t blame you for having feelings for Gale,” Peeta murmurs, drawing my attention back to our conversation and away from my painful left side. “And if you want to be with him, I won’t hold it against you. I’m not going to lie, I’d be ... sad but... it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still be your friend. It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still be at jere for you however you needed me. There’s no ultimatums here, Katniss. I’m still here for you, even if you’d rather be with Gale.”

I pause for a long moment, absorbing his words. He’d be willing to be my friend, even if I hurt him? Even if I chose someone else over him? Even after everything we went through, even after all the ways he’d been abused because Snow could see how much I care for him? How much I need him. He’s still willing to put it all aside and be there for me, no strings attached.

And I try not to compare but my brain draws the conclusion almost involuntarily, and I can’t stop myself from realizing that, in the same position, Gale would likely not be telling me the same thing.

I burrow my face deeper in his shoulder, shutting my eyes in exhaustion.

Peeta catches me off-guard, moving my hair aside to kiss my neck, eliciting a flare of heat in the place where his lips brush my skin, and I may not know exactly how I feel, but I know in that moment exactly what I want right now.

“The only person I want to be with tonight is you,” I whisper honestly, looking up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to somehow understand an emotion I don’t know how to admit. “The only person I want right now is you, Peeta.”

[bill-y]

INURE

Peeta Mellark x Reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part four: Click here, rooroorara shooty shooty vang vang

Part five: You're right here, silly!

Part six: Click here, war criminal of 1878!

Wattpad acc: L0calxDumbass

The moment the anthem finished, we were taken into custody. It's not as if we were cuffed or anything; a group of Peacekeepers simply marched us through the front door of the Justice Building.

Each year, at least one of the tributes tries to escape; I've never seen one successfully do so.

Once inside, they put me in a room. It's the most prosperous place I've been to. With a thick carpet in the ground and a weird couch made of fabric, I've never seen before.

It was a strange texture, almost like the weird fuzzy stuff in deer's antlers. My father called them velvet; was this the same thing? If so, that's a bit gross.

Despite this, I still caressed the couch; it was oddly comforting. Almost like you're patting a nearly hairless kitten. It switched from smooth to rough each time I ran my hands through it.

Then I remembered that we only had an hour to say goodbye to our loved ones before leaving for the Capitol. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath in. I didn't want to cry at all; the cameras were trained on me. I'm sure the Capitol would eat my tears up.

The first people who came in were my mother and my brother. Kunal let out a sob as he ran towards me, practically throwing himself onto me. I hugged him, staying silent as he buried his face into my neck, afraid that if he let go, I would disappear.

But I needed to break it one way or another. "Mother," I called, my voice detached. Her green eyes met mine, her lips quivering. I gulped down my spit, taking another deep breath in. "Do you. . . Have any idea on how you'll support yourselves. . ?" I asked.

Her eyes landed on the thick, red carpet. "Not as of now," she answered grimly, "But Katniss' mother offered me some work at the apothecary,"

My arms around my brother tightened. Maybe Gale and Katniss could bring them some of the game as well, though I wouldn't count on it. Why would they help us when they have other things to worry about? It's not as if I could teach Nal how to hunt either. The boy's frightened by his own shadow.

All he's good for right now for picking flowers as much as I love him. A sigh escaped my lips, my chest falling slowly as the reality sunk in.

"Well, you must think of something," I told her, my brows furrowing. "I'm not going to come back; I won't be able to support you and—"

"No!" she barked, "No! You will come back, Y/n." she proclaimed, her eyes shaking. She clenched her, fists, "Swear that you will."

Bitterness rose within me. "Tell that to the Capitol, mother," I said coolly. "If I die, then I—." My words were cut short by the sobbing of my brother.

He sniffled, pulling away from my now wet neck. "You'll win, won't you?" he croaked, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his reaping clothes.

I felt my heart stop; what was I supposed to say to him? "No, Nal. I will surely die, don't count on it,"  a lump formed in my throat.

My eyes landed on my mother, who gave a stern look.  It told me to lie, if not for her sake, then for my brother's. With shaky hands, I held my brother's shoulders. "I'll make it out; then we can— gather some flowers in Victor's village, yes?" 

Nal nodded, hugging me once more. I took a deep breath before I started explaining what they should do. With mother possibly getting a job at the apothecary, perhaps they have a  chance to survive, after all. Though I'm not sure, that's such a pleasant thought with the fact that I will die. 

Soon enough, a Peacekeeper was at the door, telling them their time was up. I gave Nal a hard squeeze before pushing him off. My mother nodded at me; her strawberry blonde hair bounced as she did so. "I love you both," 

The words were stuck in my throat; I couldn't say them. Maybe it was because of my strained relationship with my mother or because I hated the fact that I had just given my brother a false sense of hope. I simply watched as they walked away, hand in hand. 

Nal's watery blue eyes looked back at me one last time, a look of sadness. He knew I was lying. I sounded unconvinced when I told him. My posture slumped; I felt horrible. Our maker is siis merely, I suppose.

The next visitor was unexpected; Peeta's father, the baker. My gut churned; I was off to kill his son soon. Why has he come to visit me? Perhaps he has come to beg me not to kill his son? Not that I could either way, Peeta was stronger than me: it was clear as day.

He handed me a small piece of parchment. It was filled with warm cookies. A delicacy. He must've visited his son; after all, why would he just me cookies? I was about to die anyway; why feed a dead man?

I let out a huge breath, "How was the squirrel?" my voice pierced through the thick silence. He shrugged, "Alright," he answered. Then another wave of silence hit us. I sniffed awkwardly, the scent of fresh bread entering my lungs. 

I couldn't think of anything to say. What was I supposed to do? ApoloApologisebe, but I never really liked apoloapologisingee no need to. If I'm sorry, then I'll show it. We sat in awkward silence before the Peacekeepers told him his time was up. He stood up, clearing his throat.

"I'll keep an eye on the little boy, make sure he's eating," He stated before leaving. I felt the pressure lift from my chest. They may not like me much, but Nal was practically an angel to them. An angel born in a family of rebels, I'm guessing, is their thoughts.

The next guest then entered. Madge. Her expression wasn't weepy nor evasive, nor did she wear that bright smile she always had when she was around me. It looked urgent. She walked straight to me, the urgency in her tone quite surprising, "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home, will you wear this?" she holds out a circular gold pin that was on her dress earlier.

My brows furrowed, "Your pin?' I said. Does she really to die wearing rich-people-things? That hasn't even crossed my mind. . . 

"I'll put it on your tunic, alright?" She said, not waiting for my answer as she leaned in and fixed the bird on my chest. "Promise me you'll wear it to the arena, Y/n. Promise me," She took my hand, her thumbs rubbing the back of my own.

Compared to Peeta's, hers was cold yet soft, almost as if she was nervous, worried. But why would she? I barely talk to her; she's the one who always strikes a conversation. All I do is nod and disagree at certain times. 

She leaned closer to my face; I gave her an uncertain smile, pulling away. "Thank you, Madge," I muttered. She nodded, letting go of my hands. "Please, stay safe," her voice trembled as she rushed out of the room. I was left standing there, confused. What was that? Why did she visit me despite my rudeness earlier?

Next was Gale and Katniss. I didn't hesitate to hug both of them before pulling away with a sigh. "Hey, you'll be fine," Gale reassured, patting my shoulder. I stayed silent, only nodding. Katniss gave me a pity smile, "I'm sure it would be fairly easy to get knives, Y/n."

A sigh left my mouth, "I know— I just— Don't want to—" I stammered, making a stabbing motion with my hand. Gale gave me a pitied look, "It's just like hunting, Y/n. You're the best hunter we know," he said.

"They're not animals. They think; they're armed."  I reasoned, my voice trembling. Why did I have to feel these emotions now? Maybe reality has finally settled in, the truth that I'll never see any of these faces again. On the off chance that I do, I'm sure they'll view me differently, a cold-blooded murderer.

"What's the difference, reale said grimly. Those words echoed in my head as they went away with the Peacekeepers. What is the difference? We're all just feral dogs forced to fight or cocks pit against each other.

I took a deep breath as I got called to ride a wagon to the train station. It was a relatively short ride. We never really had the luxury of these; we always had to travel by foot.  

I silently thanked myself for not crying; there were insect-like cameras trained onto my face. Thankfully, I knew how to act, to bite my tongue. If I hadn't, I'd probably be screaming profanities. My eyes glanced onto the television screen; I look bored. Which, I surprisingly was.

It was as if my spirit left me already.

Peeta Mellark, on the other hand, had obviously been crying. However, he didn't even try to hide it, which was quite odd. Was this his strategy? To appear weak and vulnerable to assure the other tributes that he was no threat? This worked for a girl from district 7. Johanna Mason.

She seemed frightened, a cowardly fool that no one bothered about her until only a handful left. She then killed them all, with no problem whatsoever. I remember watching this game, quite shocked. She sold her act to me, but then again, maybe I'm just oblivious.

This worked for her because she looked frail, weak. Peeta applying this strategy was quite odd. Not only did he not look soft, but he was also jacked. He just looked like a big doofus. All those years having bread to eat and hauling trays made him physically capable.

Annoyance rose through me when we had to stand by the train's entrance while cameras gobbled out images up. I was sure I no longer looked bored but rather pissed. It wasn't like I was about to put on a pretty smile for them. These jester-dressed-worms should know how I feel.

Finally, we boarded, and the train began to move at once. The speed took my breath away. It was going faster than I could ever think of. The scenery around us just blurred—a mix of the neutral colour palette that made up District 12. 

We were taught about coal in school. Some basic maths and reading before it circled back to coal again. Our district was used for coal mining, even hundreds of years ago.

Then there are the weekly lectures about the history of Panem, which never fails to annoy me. It's all blather about how we owe the Capitol because of the rebellion and whatnot.

I knew they're hiding something; we couldn't have lost that easily. I always think about this whenever I'm up in the trees, daydreaming, which is why I'm always the last one to arrive at the hill.

The tribute train was much fancier than the room at the Justice building. We were given our own rooms, a dressing area and private bathroom with cold and hot running water. We've never really had hot water readily available at home; we had to boil it.

Though I can't say, I like it, with all that effort I just end up not liking the bath. I much prefer the cold, flowing current of a river.

There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Effie Trinket told me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel off my father’s tunic and take a cold shower. I’ve never had a shower before. It’s like being in the rain, inky much tamer. I dress in a dark green shirt and pants, trying my hair to the usual, small pa

At the last minute, I remember Madge’s little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It’s as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wingtips. I suddenly recognise it—a Mockingjay.

Funny little birds, my favourite creature in the forests, that's for sure. These were a slap to the Capitol's face. They genetically altered animals as weapons. Muttations as we call them, or Mutts for short. One particular kind was a bird they labelled Jabberjay, able to memorise and repeat whole human conversations.

Homing birds, exclusively male that were released into regions where the Capitol’s enemies were known to be hiding. After the birds gathered words, they’d fly back to centres to be recorded. It took people a while to realise what was going on in the districts, how private conversations were being transmitted. Then, of course, the rebels fed the Capitol endless lies, and the joke was on it. So the centres were shut down, and the birds were abandoned to die off in the wild.

But they didn't die; instead, they mated with the female mocking birds and produced this weird species that can replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. They've lost the ability to enunciated words but could still mimic a range of human vocal cords.

My father used to sing them a lot. I guess he passed that habit down to me. Whenever I'm not doing anything, I find myself singing to the hummingbirds, who surprisingly listen and replicate my Father's song. It was a simple melody, made of 10 notes at least.

It warmed by heart, especially at times where I miss him. I smiled, fastening the pin to my shirt, the dark green as its background.

Effie came to collect me. I followed her through a narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. There waiting for us was Peeta Mellark, the chair beside him empty.

"Where's Haymitch?" Asked Effie Trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him he said he was going to take a nap," said Peeta. "Well, it’s been an exhausting day," said Effie Trinket. I think she’s relieved by Haymitch’s absence, and who can blame her?

Food came in courses. Though I barely touched the carrot soup, the chocolate cake, lamb chops nor the mashed potatoes. I wasn't going to eat this, not from the Capitol.

My jaw clenched as Effie told me to eat up, smiling brightly at me. I gave her a pained smile, slowly taking a bite of the lamb on my plate before swallowing it roughly.

A swirl of guilt formed in my stomach, was I eating really this luxurious food whilst Nal and mother struggle? I sighed, digging my nails into my palms.

Peeta looked at me oddly as he stuffed his face, he nudged my side and nodded towards the food. I simply shook my head, pushing the plate away.

Effie put her lips together at my stubbornness. She was muttering something about having no manners.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the Capitol could really do that since none of them has to attend reapings themselves.

One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be in our competition. A few stand out in my mind.

A monstrous boy who lunges forward to volunteer from District 2. A fox-faced girl with sleek red hair from District 5. A boy with a crippled foot from District 10. And most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from District 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes, but other than that, she’s very like Nal in size and demeanour. Only when she mounts the stage and task for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There’s no one willing to take her place.

Last of all, District twelve. It showed Nal getting called and me volunteering. The commentators weren't sure about what to say regarding the silence. I only smirked at this, crossing my legs in amusement. Just in time, Haymitch fell from the stage, earning a comical groan from the commentators.

Peeta silently took his place on the stage; we shook hands and then just cut to the anthem.

Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behaviour."

Unexpectedly, Peeta laughed. "He was drunk." He said. "He's drunk every year."

"Everyday," I added, finally breaking my silence streak with a smirk. Effie makes it sound kike Haymitch just had rough manners that could easily be dealt with.

"Yes," She hissed "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" he slurred. Then he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in a mess.

"So laugh away!" said Effie Trinket. And so I did, I barked out mocking laughter as she hopped in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and fled the room.

Word count: 2974

Tags:

@nin3s

[xerxia31]

Author Self-Interview

It’s author self-interview day :) And while it’s really challenging to speak about myself, regardless of how passionate I am about Everlark, the always incredible @hutchhitched convinced me to give it a whirl.

Several authors who are far more creative than I have posted some excellent questions, I hope they will forgive me for stealing some of them.

Do I outline or just start writing?

I seldom outline, but I always have a fairly good idea where the story is going before I start writing it. I see my stories as scenes in my head before I begin writing them, which means even before I put pen to paper, I have a solid idea of plot and scene, and often snippets of dialogue too. I think that’s why I’m best at short stories and ficlets, clear scenes as opposed to longer, more involved sequences of scenes (though I write those too).

Do I use a beta?

Seldom. For my long stories, I have both a grammar/language beta, and a content beta, but for shorter stories, drabbles, etc, I self-edit.

Where do I write?

Everywhere….. I do an extraordinary amount of writing on my phone (in google docs), which means my stories are always in my hand. I write when I’m a passenger in the car. I write when I’m waiting for the kids at choir or karate, I write in bed at night before falling asleep. I sometimes wake up in the night and tap out fic ideas or bits of dialogue into my phone.

Listen to music? Make a playlist?

Never. If there’s music playing, I’ll want to sing along, and that’s super distracting for me. 

Do I post right away or wait until several chapters are done?

Little of column A, little of column B. Sometimes I wait. More often I do not.  Depends on what I’m feeling in that moment.

Which voice do I use most often?

I’m predominantly a first person present writer. That’s the voice in which our sourse material is written, so it’s the voice that makes sense to me. That said, I do deviate from time to time, partly as a challenge, partly because specific stories feel like they need to be told in third. I keep stats on everything, so I can tell you that I’ve written:

First person present: 93 stories

First person past: 1 story (that’s It Started With a Contest)

Third person present: 27 stories

Third person past: 21 stories

I also wrote a little drabble in second person present, partly because, again, the source material is written in second person present, and partly, I think, because I’d just finished reading You by Caroline Kepnes (which is in second person present and hooboy it’s creepy, like having the narrator wandering in your head. Tough to shake off)

Which character is easiest for me to write?

Peeta, always. His slightly snarky brand of optimism aligns fairly closely to my own attitude. Though I definitely relate to canon Katniss’s stoicism too.

Let’s talk about specific stores now.

Not Real - I dreamed this story, almost in its entirety, though the dialogue was far better in my dream :) It was so intense and vivid that I had to wait a couple of days before writing it down because I knew I couldn’t have done justice to it while it was so fresh. I love the plot, and the moment when she ends the simulation. It’s one of those stories that shows I am incapable of judging my audience, because I really like that story, but it barely got any attention.

This Used to be my Playground - People got upset with me for rating this story M when there isn’t any smut in it. I kid you not. I love this story, especially the line “Why?” I ask, the word crystallizing on the window. If I was going to change anything in that story, though, I’d tighten up the ending. To me, it feels rambling. But the banner than Fran made for it is one of the most gorgeous things I’ve ever seen.

Destiny was written as a birthday gift for @madamemarquise, who is an incredible everlarker, and the pressure I put on myself to make it worthy of her was huge. It’s not a masterpiece, but I’m pretty proud of how it turned out. Stylistically, it’s a different tone than I typically use, and when I re-read it, it feels more like prose.

And one I’m currently writing - Cassie 7, the seventh vignette in The Cassie Chronicles (each chapter is a standalone, though they are all chronological). I only add to this series when I think about specific situations I want them to tackle, so it’s a meandering thing. But I really wanted to explore Katniss meeting Cassie’s biological mother. That’s what #7 will be about, and I’m pretty excited about it so far.

So that’s a little bit about my writing process, thoughts, etc. I’m happy to answer more specific questions. If anyone is interested in asking any, hit up my ask box :) And I especially love talking about fics I’ve already written, so if you’ve always wondered why I made some specific choice in one of my stories, please ask!

[softpeetabread]

University Life part 5

This turned out to be a decent size, yay. Since this is an au and they’re not in the Hunger Games, I figured Katniss and Peeta would deal with some things differently. You’ll see what I mean. This was a bit rushed, though, but like I mentioned before, this is heading towards some directions I didn’t anticipate. It’s fun, it’s taking me for a ride lol. I hope it makes sense and you guys enjoy!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Peeta’s yawn broke Katniss out of her daydreaming as she directed her attention to him. They had been in the library for a couple of hours trying to get some studying done, but Katniss had taken a mental break of twenty minutes from reading her textbook. Sometimes, she wondered why she had chosen to study plants until she remembered she actually liked them. Still, the subject could be boring at times and her attention span was limited when she tried to cram so much information in her brain. Peeta was hard at work on his laptop completing a design, but from the look on his face, he didn’t look so engaged either. Katniss couldn’t help yawning herself and it made Peeta chuckle.

“We deserve some sleep,” he said as he rested his head on his hand.

“Or some coffee,” Katniss suggested. After spending an awful long time sitting in one place, a trip to the campus café in the first floor of the library didn’t sound like such a bad idea. “Want some tea?”

Peeta thought about it for a moment before he looked at her. “Please.”

Really, when either of them said ‘coffee’, they meant anything else but that. They had learnt each other’s orders, which weren’t difficult to remember unless they wanted a fancy concoction of a drink, but that was rare. Peeta always fancied tea over coffee because he wasn’t a fan of the rush from the caffeine, even if to Katniss that didn’t make much sense since tea also had caffeine.

“Yeah, but tea’s never betrayed me. Coffee’s made me have convulsions and some heavy anxiety. It’s not fun to experience.”

That sounded like a fair reason to Katniss. She, on the other hand, didn’t like the bitter taste of coffee, and instead preferred hot chocolate. The first time she tried it had been when she first heard someone order it in the coffee shop at the beginning of her freshman year and she’d fallen in love with the drink since.

As she waited in line to order, Katniss looked around casually, not intending to focus on anything in particular. She saw a group of people gathered around a table, but didn’t pay much attention to them as it was a common occurrence, even at the small space of the café. That was until she saw someone staring at her. Maybe they were just looking in her general direction and she was thinking too much into it, so she turned away in hopes that this would pass. But after ordering and waiting for the drinks, she caught the same guy looking at her and it made her feel uncomfortable.

She heard her name being called from the front counter indicating her drinks were ready to be picked up and made her way towards them when she saw the guy that had stared at her approach her. Great, what did he want? She wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, especially since she was so tired and groggy from reading.

“Katniss? As in Katniss Everdeen?”

She raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

“I saw you on the news.”

That sounded…a bit creepy. So, what if he’d seen her? It was just…

“The news?” At first, Katniss thought he was joking, so she didn’t believe him and figured whatever he was saying sounded absurd.

“Yeah, Caesar Flickerman was talking about you. And the guy you’re with, Peeta Mellark.”

It had taken her a moment to absorb what he was saying, but it was a moment too late to realize the group had gathered around her. Needless to say, the ambient became overwhelming very quickly. How could she escape them?

“Uh, thanks.”

Katniss wasn’t sure how to react. She had two hot drinks in her hands, her mind was scrambling to gather as much useful information as she could, and she felt like the claustrophobia was closing in on her. Her stomach felt queasy and she felt nervous, her eyes looking from right to left to find a space where she could fit so she could walk past the crowd. What did that mean? Surely, it shouldn’t be such a big deal.

She gulped and tried to walk past the crowd as nonchalantly as she could, hoping that she wouldn’t drop her drinks and would be able to make it to the elevator. Or maybe taking the stairs would be more convenient? They had to get tired of walking three flights of stairs, right?

It seemed like a good plan. It didn’t matter if she spilt hot tea or chocolate on her hands. All she knew was that being followed by people wasn’t something she was comfortable with. She didn’t want to stop to pull her phone out to text Peeta because that would slow her down and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to type else her fingers threatened to shake. And it’s not that she was scared of these people. She just didn’t like their proximity. She didn’t want to call attention to herself. She didn’t want to have notoriety.

When she approached the table she and Peeta were sharing, he took in her expression, which must have looked the way she felt, and stood to take the drinks from her.

“What’s the matter?”

Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt her stomach flutter and churn. “Just being followed by a crowd of people.” Her attempts to sound as casual as possible didn’t seem to convince Peeta.

“What?” His eyes were wide and any signs of exhaustion were gone as alertness replaced them. He looked around her, but Katniss wasn’t sure if there were still people behind her. She was just trying to breathe after walking up all those stairs and focusing on walking as quickly as possible.

“We can get out of here if you want,” he said. Katniss noted a different tone of voice in Peeta she’d never heard before. He sounded defensive—protective—and she wasn’t sure how to take it, but she appreciated it. She could take care of herself, she knew that, and she hadn’t depended on anyone else to defend her, but she couldn’t deny that having someone look out for her felt…nice.

“No, let’s just wait until it dies down,” Katniss responded, still out of breath. She could tell what she said made Peeta uneasy—being followed was already something to worry about, but followed by a crowd was something else entirely. She sat down and Peeta gave her the hot chocolate she had momentarily forgotten. Peeta was still looking in the general direction from which Katniss came, but she wondered if he spotted people that wanted to approach them.

Katniss wasn’t sure for how long they sat there in silence, but all throughout, she felt the warmth of Peeta’s hand as it gently held her free one. His comfort along with the drink she loved helped calm her down.

“Why were they following you?” Peeta finally asked. He was still concerned for her and Katniss had a feeling he wouldn’t let it go.

A few moments passed by as Katniss hesitated to answer. “The guy that came up to me told me he saw me on the news. We were on the news with Caesar Flickerman.”

Peeta intently looked at her, confusion crossing his face. “We’ve only talked to him once.”

“It’s probably about your painting, then,” Katniss added.

Peeta reached for his laptop and began to search for something until he found a video. Katniss gulped as she read the tiny letters on the screen. The video was marked with the day’s date and it seemed to have been posted earlier on in the day. She vaguely remembered then where she had seen Caesar Flickerman. Of course, he was a talk show host for the Capitol! The only reason her memory was fuzzy was because she hadn’t had the time to watch television from how busy she was. Remembering celebrities was beyond her care, except for a select few for films and authors she actually liked.

She took the earbud Peeta offered her so they could watch together and things began to make sense. The pictures that he and Katniss had taken at the art gallery with Caesar were on the screen in a form of slideshow. She disliked taking pictures because she didn’t think she was photogenic or attractive to begin with and they seemed pointless to her. However, Madge had done a great job with her hair and make-up that evening when she accompanied Peeta to the art show. She couldn’t recognize herself. And then there was Peeta in his flattering suit. Beautiful, confident, and charming. She felt out of place in the picture beside him despite own appearance.

Caesar discussed his adventure in District 12 and his visit to the art show that evening, talking about how talented Peeta was and his smart use of colors. He also complimented his inspiration, and pointed out Katniss’ beauty. His fellow host, Claudius Templesmith, commented on how breathtaking Peeta’s painting of Katniss was. No doubt, there was nothing Peeta couldn’t do with a paintbrush.

“Do you think there is something between the two of them?” Claudius asked with a playful smile.

“I would like to hope so. They look adorable together,” Caesar admitted in a charismatic and teasing tone. “I would paint my lover as well, if I could.” And then, he laughed in amusement.

They changed the subject to give the highlights of a following broadcast before the video ended and Katniss couldn’t stop dwelling on their conversation about Peeta and Katniss. She felt heat flood her face, but she was more than positive it wasn’t because of the hot chocolate she was drinking. She glanced at Peeta out of the corner of her eye and noticed he, too, was blushing.

Peeta closed his laptop and removed his earbud, but hesitated to say anything for a couple of moments.

“Well…at least we know why those people were following you.”

“Yeah… They’ll follow you, too,” Katniss pointed out.

“But it was just a short section,” Peeta said. “Why is it such a big deal to people?”

“Maybe because they know we’re here.”

They put their things away even if they hadn’t discussed leaving or staying. Katniss wasn’t sure why she was bothered by what the show hosts said. Peeta was a great person. She spent most of her time with him and enjoyed his companionship. They shared multiple activities together despite not having the same major and bonded about similar taste in books and music. If she had to pick anyone to share some kind of intimacy with, it would definitely be Peeta. However, the bad taste that was left in her mouth was because of the assumption Caesar and Claudius made about their relationship. They couldn’t see two people being close because then they automatically assumed they were in a romantic relationship. Whatever happened to friendship? She didn’t like the pretense of it all. She wondered if this bothered Peeta the way it did to her, but she doubted it because he tended to have different interpretations from her.

They discussed what their best option for exiting the library was in case there were people waiting for them and eventually agreed to walk out from the western entrance. It was less crowded and it led to the architecture building where Peeta’s car was parked. It was a miracle to Katniss that they were able to make it with relative ease. There had been a couple of people that greeted them, but that was the most attention they got now that they were aware of what could happen.

Katniss let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as she settled into the passenger seat. Both of them looked around, making sure they hadn’t been followed before Peeta began to drive. They rode in silence, but she always appreciated that it wasn’t bothersome. It gave her time to think and it meant Peeta understood that she didn’t want to talk. She was stressed and uneasy, and even if she didn’t mean to do it, she knew she would end up ignoring anything Peeta said. How he came to understand her was beyond her because he was a talkative person and could pick up a conversation with just about anyone. Why would he even consider being her friend when she wouldn’t provide the same kind of energy he had? Johanna and Finnick were chatterboxes with Peeta, and she was always the quiet one of the group compared to them. Yet here he was taking her to her apartment, comforting her, giving her space. Maybe since they were both opposites in that sense Peeta saw a balance between them that wasn’t available with their other friends. Katniss got along with Gale and Madge, but Madge could be quiet like her and that’s why they got along fine. Gale had more to say, but they were still quite similar in terms of experiences and tastes. How did she and Peeta fit so well? He made her laugh when she could have sworn it was difficult to get a smile out of her. They spent endless time together. They worked out together, which Katniss hadn’t even thought about as an issue. Before Peeta, she was a solitary person, wanting to run on her own and swim by herself. Then Peeta began to join her and now she was so used to his presence that any sort of absence would surely disrupt the balance of time itself. Maybe that’s why her stomach would flutter when she was with him.

Peeta found a parking spot near her apartment, but he didn’t make any move to leave the car or even open the door. The silence now became a bit tense and Katniss felt a new kind of uneasiness.

“I’m so sorry, Katniss,” Peeta said, his voice hushed and raspy.

She turned to look at him, wondering why he offered an apology until she remembered why they were so worked up in the first place.

“It’s not your fault,” Katniss responded, placing her hand over his. He knew that always comforted her, so she hoped that would have the same effect on him. “You couldn’t have guessed this would happen.”

“But…people are following you. You don’t have to go through that.” Katniss could tell Peeta felt more than guilty about the situation. Perhaps the guilt was about more than just their attention. Perhaps he also carried the talk show hosts’ conversation in his mind.

“I don’t think there’s that much we can do about it. We can try to get around it, though.”

“Avoiding people won’t be that easy, Katniss.”

“Maybe they’ll forget by tomorrow,” she offered, though she knew her comment held no hope in it and Peeta would read it as such.

“We’ll find a way… I won’t let them do anything to you.”

“I can defend myself just fine,” she muttered.

“I know you can. I just don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a little bit of help.”

Katniss wasn’t sure when it happened, but they had an unspoken agreement that they would protect each other. It was what they did and it felt strange not to offer a helping hand to one another. This was a situation she wasn’t sure how to even approach, much less handle, but at least she and Peeta would face it together.

She gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance. “Thank you.”

Peeta gave her a gentle nod before he looked out of his window. “Is that all that’s bothering you, or is there something else?”

He knew. Katniss didn’t have to read his mind to comprehend his question. He just wanted for her to talk about it.

“They think we’re dating,” is all she could say.

“Is it true?” Peeta asked. She felt his thumb gently brush over hers.

“No…we’re best friends,” she answered, confused as to where Peeta was going with this.

“So we both know what’s true.” He turned to look at her, a hint of a smile on his lips. “They live for rumors, Katniss. As long as we know where we stand, then the problem won’t be as big as we think it to be.”

Katniss let out a sigh. “Right.”

Even though Peeta’s reassurances weren’t enough to ease her mind, Katniss told herself over and over that what he said was right. There were various conflicting feelings in her head that evening after she and Peeta headed towards their apartments, but she failed to sort them out and hoped that by the next day, they would quiet down.

Instead, as she and Peeta drove to school the following morning, he talked to her about the phone call he received from Caesar Flickerman that morning, requesting another painting of his with his newly found muse. The painting wasn’t the issue nor was Peeta’s request the problem. It was his commissioner who would surely talk about it some more on his show and give them more notoriety. She didn’t want to feel so uncomfortable about it, but she had to talk about it with Peeta.

“Is there any way…to clarify things with him?” she asked, not wanting to make it such a big deal, but probably failing to do so.

She didn’t need to explain to Peeta what she meant. “Of course, Katniss. I’ll tell him when I give him the finished work.”

Somehow, that was able to calm her nerves, the strange feelings she had that wouldn’t settle.

“Would you mind if you pose for me this time?” she heard him ask. The question was timid and he paired it with a smile that was just as shy, but also genuinely sweet that warmth rushed through Katniss and she couldn’t deny his request.

“Of course, Peeta. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“Well, you’re going to have to be on fire this time.”

If Katniss hadn’t been waiting for the red light in front of her, she was sure she would have hit the breaks to hear him correctly.

“So you want to burn me?” she asked in disbelief.

“You have to live up to your name now,” Peeta shrugged as he laughed at her reaction.

Katniss rolled her eyes at his humor. “If I have to be on fire, so do you.”

“It’ll be synthetic fire!”

“Maybe Caesar will mention that in his show.”

Peeta couldn’t contain his laughter. “They’ll never forget us then.”

“Why does he want me on a painting, though? You could draw anything and it’ll look amazing.” She had a vague feeling Caesar was drawn to her, but she wanted to believe he liked the way Peeta’s paintings looked. Caesar didn’t have the creepy vibe.

“He probably likes the Girl on Fire theme,” Peeta said.

Katniss couldn’t think of a better explanation. “Great.”

I relate so much to Caesar. Also to Peeta because I, too, prefer tea over coffee. Anyway, Peeta as a painter wasn’t anticipated to be a big part of this au, but I mean, it is now and I’m not complaining. He’s getting to paint the love of his life, what more could he possibly ask for, besides a relationship, but I WON’T GIVE TOO MUCH AWAY and it’s not like it’s a huge secret, come on. I’m just building on their friendship because Katniss is the one that needs to catch up orz. I’m rambling because I finished this at 3 am. Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for this au, whether Katniss and Peeta are friends or dating (we’ll get to this at some point), feel free to send them to me. 

[dazeyrains-blog]

Cold outside - A fluffy Hayffie one shot. (Hey, it's Christmas)

"You're late" Haymitch said, making his way up to Katniss and Peetas porch at the same time as another familiar figure

"And you're here" The figure replied, just as surprised when they eventually met at the front door.

"Trinket"

"Mr Abernathy"

"Its been a while"

"Only a year since last Christmas"

She was cold.

"Yeah...last Christmas. When you left early"

"And you didn't bother to come at all..."

And she was bitter.

Effie turned to the door to knock but Haymitch suddenly stopped her, sliding his fingers around the wrist of her raised arm until she halted.

"Can we...start over?"

Effie dropped her arm reluctantly. The gift wedged in her other arm was heavy as she adjusted it against her hip.

"Why not" she said bluntly and he sensed hostility in her tone too.

Haymitch looked at her as she looked at the door. They could both hear the commotion inside, the music, the children, Katniss calling to her mother, Peeta laughing, an array of chatter and laughter from other guests...

They'd been passing ships for the last three years Effie and he, both of them purposfuly avoiding the other but neither of them understanding why.

She was angry with him, she knew that much. He'd called her a coward for staying away so much a few years back and she hadn't yet forgiven that... Even though it was said out of anger after she had missed the twins birth and the naming ceremony. It hadn't been her fault, she worked hard to keep Cinnas fashion line going, she couldn't just bail whenever an occasion arose. He had apologised, many times, just not to her. He'd done it through Katniss or Peeta and unfortunately for Effie, it wasn't good enough. So she had stayed away, she'd kept herself busy....She had been miserable. No matter what, she knew she still cared about him. Cared about his health, his well being, his journey in life. She had thought about him alot...and she had hated that.

Of course, he had thought about her too. Sometimes when he had least expected too. She would pop into his head at the most unusual times like when he was making coffee, or stacking fresh logs on his fire. Then he would wonder to himself about how she was or where she was. Then he would quickly shake the thoughts out of his mind, because, why should he care...

"Let's just...get tonight over with" she added, but she hadn't meant it hurtfully. He could tell by the sadness in her eyes "Then we are out of each other's hair for another year"

Before he could argue she had knocked on the door. They waited together in silence as quick footsteps approached.

"Effie! Haymitch!" Peeta beamed "You came... together?"

In unison, they quickly replied 'No'

"Well, good timing" Peeta continued "we're just about to start a game of charades before dinner"

"Great...a game" Haymitch said unenthusiastically, which made Effie purse her lips.

"A game sounds like wonderful fun" she declared, passing Peeta her gift, saying it was for the whole family. Then, just to add fuel to the fire, she turned back to Haymitch, spying his baren grasp "I notice you've arrived empty handed"

Peeta swallowed, waiting for an argument to erupt. He closed the door slightly, not inviting them in fully just yet. He then looked at Haymitch, waiting for a harsh reply to come but...much to his and Effies surprise, Haymitch just smiled and held his hands in the air.

"You got me, Princess" he said, equally turning his attention soley on her "But then, I already left the new play set that i hand carved in the back yard for Peeta, Katniss and the kids to see later on...as a surprise, so...thanks for ruining that one."

Effie went crimson.

This situation was not getting any better.

Suddenly Peeta had an idea...

"Well...please, do come in" he offered, but as they both made their way towards the threshold, Peeta stopped them and pointed upwards "But don't forget the Thistletweed tradition" he grinned, knowing that Haymitch had caught on straight away to his devious plan.

"Excuse me?" Effie replied in confusion "The what?"

"Peeta..." Haymitch warned, but Peeta was having none of it.

"What?" He said innocently "It's a tradition that's been around for centuries Haymtich, you know it's bad luck to pass under the Thistletweed without respecting tradition...don't you"

The boy grinned as Haymitch shifted uncomfortably

"Ive strict orders from Katniss not to let anyone inside without adhering to the tradition..." Peeta carried on "You know how suspicious she can get. I'll let you explain to Effie, Haymitch and I'll see you both inside shorty" and with that, Peeta left them at the open door, taking his gift inside with him.

Effie looked at Haymitch inquisitively, awaiting his version of the so called district 12 tradition that she clearly had never even heard of before now.

Haymitch sighed, knowing full well he couldn't get away with a lie as she would only ask someone else later. He turned to face her again.

"See that, princess" he said, pointing up above their heads to the bundle of what looked like dried weeds hanging above the door frame.

"That's Thistletweed..."

He waited for a response, some sign of recognition but Effie remained none the wiser.

Haymitch rolled his eyes.

"Look...It's an ancient tradition ok. One that states that any man and woman, unrelated, who happen to pass beneath the leaves of the Thistletweed, must share a kiss before taking a further step"

Effie blinked and her jaw fell open at the words "share a...a kiss?"

"Yeah... those who do are said to enjoy a life of fulfilment, but for those of us that ignore the tradition...are doomed to a much unfulfilled life, and condemn those they love around them the same fate"

He rolled his eyes uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets, waiting for her to laugh out loud...

But she didn't.

"Oh" she replied simply taking in the story and remembering the promise she made to herself a few years ago about this place, to respect the odd and baffling ways of district 12 and their folklore tales. Especially after they had granted her permission to return here after the war...

"So...you have to kiss me?" She asked

"Well, I have to ask you first...you can refuse"

"And if I did?"

"Then life goes on, whatever, it's a stupid tradition, let's just go inside-"

"No!" She said sternly, wrapping her hand around his wrist "tradition is tradition I suppose" she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath in anticipation "We wouldn't want to bring bad luck upon our friends now, would we?"

"Guess not"

"Well then..."

"Well then."

He looked at her for a moment as she looked at him, the two of them silently figuring each other out.

"Well Princess, may I kiss you?"

That name again. She clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I suppose you may, and don't call me prin-"

His lips caught hers in one quick swoop.

The kiss felt rough and a little forced at first and Haymitch must have felt it too because instead of pulling away and making the kiss short and simple he allowed himself a second or two to adjust the pressure of his lips against hers, stepping in towards her a little more and gently, slowly guiding her lips apart for a deeper kiss.

As the two of them stood there, both eagerly trying not to make their kissing technique an utter disaster, seconds flew by into a whole minutes as their mouths slowly moved in a rhythmic pattern against oneanothers, his hands came up to cradle her face as he felt the sweet tip of her tongue, slip across his, sending an ache down his belly and into his groin.

They carried on like that until they eventually heard a throat clear beside them and suddenly, they were awake again, fully conscious of the fact that they had been kissing one another...like, really kissing one another, outside, on the porch, in the snow, for nearly 5 whole minutes.

"I...ah...I see your done arguing" Peeta smirked "We're all waiting, so we can begin the game but I'll...um...I'll distract them a few minutes longer" He closed the door again, leaving them alone

Effie cleared her throat. She could feel the burn at her chin from his stubble and it made her feel warm inside.

"We should...head inside" she said and Haymitch cocked a grin.

"I really can't stay..." he said suddenly and Effie was stunned

"What? What do you mean...can't stay?" She replied, fearful that it was her fault, the fault of the kiss

"I have to go away..."

Away? Where? Away away or back to his house away? She was confused

"But it's Christmas, Haymitch, where are you-?"

"This evening has been..."

And then it dawned on her

"Sooooo very niiiice"

"Oh, Haymitch!"

He laughed, watching her turn pink again

"You will never change!" She said, and it took her a few seconds but she eventually warmed to the joke, and found it quite funny.

She hit him playfully.

"If every kiss we share comes with its own song, you can bet your bottom dollar I'll be burning every piece of Thistletweed in sight!"

"Every kiss?" He grinned "So, they'll be more?"

"Don't push it, 'baby'" she winked "Come on, it's getting...cold outside"

~ Fin

Merry Christmas and a happy New year xxx

[ellanainthetardis]

I would like to read about the 74th hunger games, haymitch and effie make lots of noise during sex and the designers of the district, peeta and katniss listen and the next day talk to them about it, I think it would be hot and funny!!! I love your stories, you are a great writer !!!! (I'm using google translate, if I have something spelled wrong, I'm sorry)

Here you go! [x]

Making this vt becauseI don’t think stylists sleep in the apartments

The Pirate’s Bounty

Effie was burrowing into the source of warmthat her back before she even properly woke up, letting out a hum of contentment.Haymitch, for all his claims that he disliked sharing a bed, had a tendency totake up all the space and while that was a little annoying, there wereadvantages to this new habit of his to crash in her room: he tended to wraparound her like an octopus in his sleep. His leg was tossed over hers, herpillow was an arm that was curled around her head and there was a strong handholding her breast.

She was sticky in unpleasant places and soreall over. Her thighs, her right arm… She sighed softly and glanced at theclock, not surprised to find it was later than planned. Haymitch had a nastytendency to tinker with her alarm behind her back. She liked to be up and readyearly, so that she could keep an eye on everyone and have everything undercontrol. The Tour was bad enough without anything going amiss. But Haymitch –and Cinna and Portia – insisted she was pushing herself too hard and she wouldcollapse well before they reached the Capitol if she went on like this,reviewing schedules and working on speeches until the early hours of morning. Theywere conspiring behind her back to force her to get more rest.

They weren’t due in Six until the next daythough and the schedule for the day was light. She had insisted on some dancinglessons for the children because she didn’t want to be embarrassed at the ballat the Presidential Mansion but they weren’t in any hurry. If she could getHaymitch to actually work with her on the speeches in the afternoon, she mighteven go to bed at a proper time that night. Why, she might even have time for a manicure before that.

She gently tried to remove the hand from herchest and Haymitch grunted in protest.

“Go back to sleep.” he muttered against herhair. “Too early.”

“It is well past eight.” she argued in awhisper. “Everyone will be up.”

There was another groan and then he lifted hisleg from her thigh to push it between hers. It became obvious to her, shewasn’t the only one who had been enjoying the tight quarters. She giggleddespite herself when she felt him poking her and he snorted, kneading thebreast she hadn’t managed to get out of his grip.

“None of that.” she chided, whacking his wrist.He pressed his thigh harder against her core and she couldn’t help a smallfrustrated moan. “I am serious. I need to get out of bed.”

“You need to relax.” he argued, pressing longkisses on her nape. “I’m all about helping you with that.”

“I need to use the bathroom.” she protestedwhen he flicked her nipple. “And I need a shower. And I honestly do not think Ican take another round right now. Last night was…”

“Fuckinggood.” he smirked, nipping at her nape. “Thought I had died for a moment there.”

She chuckled and twisted to plant a kiss on hislips, feeling genuinely happier than she had in weeks. It was silly but theprevious night had been rather… athletic andcreative and it made her feel young and reckless. She used to feel that wayall the time but nowadays…

The kisses grew deeper and they eventuallyshifted as he rolled on his back and took her with him.

“Not this morning.” she insisted between twokisses.  

He pouted but eventually shrugged. “Fine.”

“You arewelcome to join me in the shower though.” she grinned.

It took a little more convincing but heeventually let himself get lured out of bed and into the bathroom. Inviting himinto the shower or the bathtub with her was the best way to make sure he wouldwash that day and it was a trick she had long mastered. Even if she sometimesthought he abused it as much as she did.

They fooled around a little in the shower, bothof them in an uncharacteristic good mood. She wondered briefly if that was howit could be like if there were no Games and no poisoned berries dangling overtheir heads. If amazing sex could be enough to make them feel good and brightabout the upcoming day. If they could have been just… happy together.

He sneaked out of her room while she finishedgetting ready. She just hoped he would have the good sense of not gettingcaught.

She was in such a good mood she couldn’t shakea stupid smile off her lips. She was humming a catchy popular song when shemade her way to the dining-room car, the last one to join the group for once.Haymitch was already there, as his usual seat, staring at the bottom of his cupof coffee as if it held the answers to every question in the universe. His greyeyes darted up to meet hers and a hint of a smirk briefly floated on his lips.

“Good morning, everyone!” she called outcheerfully, elegantly dropping on her seat at Haymitch’s right, barelylistening to the greetings she got in return.

Katniss was already sulking for reasons thatwere her own, Peeta was trying to cheer her up, Cinna was very focused onbuttering his toast and Portia had wrapped her hands around her mug of tea andwas studying her with a twinkle of mischief in her dark eyes. Effie knew herfriend enough to know it meant troubles. She lifted an eyebrow in the otherwoman’s direction but the stylist simply took a long sip of her tea, clearlyamused by something she wasn’t willing to share yet.

Effie was sure she would learn about it beforelong so she let the matter drop and poured herself a cup of coffee. By the timeshe grabbed a toast, Haymitch had placed half of his blueberry muffin on herplate, muttering about it being the last one because Katniss couldn’t betrusted around pastries. There were plenty of muffins left but, she saw, noblueberries, so she accepted it with a grateful grin.

He must have thought the night to be asincredible as she did because he also poured her some orange juice without herhaving to ask. It wasn’t like him to be so thoughtful. She discreetly hookedher foot around his ankle, the cup paused for the smallest moment on its way tohis mouth but he covered it well.

“Did you have a good night, Effie?” Portiaasked, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Why, yes, I did, thank you.” she hummed. “And yourself?”

“We did not get much sleep.” her friendexplained.

“Really?” she frowned. “You weren’t ill, Ihope?”

“You didn’t hear the noises?” Katniss cut inwith a frown of her own.

Effie forcedherself not to glance at Haymitch as she assumed an expression of fakepuzzlement, too aware that everyone else had stopped talking to follow thediscussion. Cinna, like Portia, seemed to have trouble not laughing. Peetasuddenly seemed fascinated with the croissants.

“The noises?” she repeated in a tone of politeinterest, quickly but surely taking her foot away from Haymitch’s ankle.

“Yeah.” the girl confirmed, nodding her head.“It sounded like a wounded animal or something.”

“Yes, I dobelieve that is an accuratedescription of those strange, strangenoises.” Portia agreed, obviously fighting to keep her countenance. She turnedto Haymitch with a bright smile. “What did you think, Haymitch?”

Haymitch was chewing on a big piece of muffin,which afforded him a few seconds to school his features. “Can’t say. I wasdrunk. Passed out, you know.”

“Were you, now…” the stylist hummed. “How peculiar. I could have sworn I heard you call out to Effie atsome point…”

“Whywould Haymitch be calling out to me in the middle of the night, Portia?” Effieasked with a fake laugh. “Do not be preposterous.”

“My bad.” her friend teased. “I did think I heard you call back, mindyou, didn’t I, Cinna? We thought perhaps the two of you had gone to… investigate.”  

“I wanted to go look but Peeta said it wasprobably someone watching TV.” Katniss shrugged, completely oblivious.

“How clever of you to figure it out, Peeta!”Effie exclaimed with some relief. “Yes, it musthave been that. Someone must have been watching TV. I will have a word with thetrain attendants. Pass me the orange jam, would you, Cinna?”

Portia allowed the conversation to be stirredto safer topics but Effie knew her friend and she also knew that nobody at thattable, except for Katniss, was fooled by the TV excuse. As soon as she deemedit safe to do so, she glanced at Haymitch who was resolutely staring away from her.

“Would come with me to check Peeta’s outfit fortomorrow?” Portia asked after breakfast, before Effie could make the sort ofgrand escape Haymitch was already attempting.

“Of course.” she granted, unable to refuse.

Portia linked their arms together as soon asthey were a safe distance from the living-room car where the children usuallyspent their free time. The train’s corridors were narrow and it wasn’t reallypractical to walk like that but her friend was clearly in a teasing mood soEffie allowed her the fancy.

“Strictlybetween you and me, at one point I was unsure if he was trying to kill you or pleasureyou.” the stylist laughed.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”she denied.

Portia rolled her eyes. “Darling, only onething does that kind of noises and there are only six people using that car.Now, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t Katniss… The conclusion wouldn’t be that hard toreach even if you hadn’t shouted hisname at the top of your lungs.”

She flushed crimson, battling her fakeeyelashes to hide her embarrassment. “Portia…”

“It sounded reallygood, I was jealous.” her friend pouted.

Effie cleared her throat and glanced around,but they were alone in that part of the train so she sighed. “Was I really that loud?”

Portia patted her arm in a comforting gesturebut didn’t part with the teasing smile on her lips. “You should probably keepin mind those compartments are not soundproof next time.”

“Oh, god…” she muttered in mortification,raising her free hand to her burning cheek.

“The banging of the headboard against the wallcovered most of it.” Portia mocked gently. “And, of course, there wasHaymitch’s triumphant grunting at the end… We could not hear you anymore bythat point, I really was scared hehad finished you off. That last cry of yours sounded almost painful.”

“So painfully good.” she confessed, biting down on her bottom lip at the memory.

Portia chuckled. “What was he doing to you?”

“Ravishing me.” she deadpanned with a chuckleof her own.

“That much, I gathered on my own.” her friendteased as they reached the car where the outfits were stocked. They crossed theone that carried Cinna’s work and moved on to Portia’s.

Effie hesitated a second but then threw cautionto the wind. At that point… “Two words for you: pirate’s bounty.”

“Oh, that isa nice one!” Portia approved with a knowing look. “You must be very flexible.”

“That has never been a problem for me.” sheconfirmed smugly. Even if her muscles were sore now. “Do we truly need to check Peeta’s outfit orwas it just an excuse?”

“His outfit will be fantastic as usual.” Portiadismissed with a wave of her hand, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Now,tell me everything. Does the piratehave a long sword?”

“Portia!” she rebuked, eyeing her up and downwith her lips pursed. “A lady does not kiss and tell.”

“A lady should share with her best friend.” thestylist argued. “Besides, you forget I am his tailor. I know which side he dresseson.”

“Portia!” she gasped.

“Well, I cannot help but notice what is rightin front of my eyes.” her friend argued. “Impressive even at rest… You are a lucky girl, no wonder you were screamingso loud.”

Effie wavered between rolling her eyes andlaughing and ended up leaning against the wall next to her friend, shaking herhead at her stupidity today. As if her sex life was so important compared toeverything that was going on.

But it was good to be silly once in a while.

[beautyofattolia]

Me, every time Katniss mentions Gale when she's with Peeta:

[kriscme]

Untitled This is the first section of a new The Chance You Didn’t Take by Ronja fanfic (which is also a Hunger Games fanfic) I’m working on at the moment. When it’s finished the whole thing will go on AO3.

Summary - Katniss has had enough and gives Peeta an ultimatum.  Picks up from where Peeta tells her she can no longer to visit his home at night as comfort from nightmares.  

 Chapter 1.  

“Katniss I . . . hope you know that no matter what happens you will always be a very important person in my life.” A very important person.  No matter what happens.  

And that’s how Peeta broke the news that I wasn’t welcome in his house at night anymore.  An invitation rescinded.  A comfort denied.  For Lace.  A more important person than me, obviously.   And the added cruelty of taking me out walking first, our arms linked like any courting couple.  To be treated at the ice-cream parlour with a triple scoop of ice-cream, and to sit together, just the two of us, in the middle of a grassy field in the warm sunshine.  It wasn’t a date, of course.  But I could almost imagine it as one.   And then . . . I ball my fists into my eyes to prevent a fresh flood of tears.  Feeling sorry for myself won’t help.  I have to face reality.  I’m no longer Peeta’s priority.  Another girl is.  Peeta has made his choice - when it came down to protecting Lace or me, he chose Lace. I can’t keep telling myself the situation will change, and that Peeta will one day want me again.  With every day that passes he seems further and further out of reach.   I don’t know what to do.  I thought the romance with Lace was temporary and he’ll soon come back to me.  That seems more remote than ever.  Hopeless, even.   I go to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water.  What looks back at me from the bathroom mirror is splotchy and swollen with crying. My hair is dishevelled, the braid half undone, the end thin and scraggly.  When was the last time I had a haircut?  I can’t even remember.  Maybe it’s no wonder that Peeta has turned to another.  The girl Peeta loved, the girl he called beautiful, is almost unrecognisable. Too thin, dull hair, covered in burn scars.  Plain. Ugly, even.  Perhaps he views me as a charity case and that’s why he came back to 12.  Fatten the girl up with cheese buns.  Let her to sleep in the guest room as comfort from nightmares.  Build her up.  Tell her how important she is.  Until someone more important comes along, that is. I wish I had someone to talk to.  A shoulder to cry on, at least.  I so miss Prim. There’s only Haymitch and he’s of no use.  The only other person I’m close to is Peeta. I haven’t bothered trying to form new friendships.  Perhaps that’s half my problem.  I’ve come to rely too much on someone who has proven to be unreliable and there’s nowhere else to turn.   I can’t blame Peeta for that.   Only me. The lights are on in Peeta’s sitting room. I can see them from my bedroom window.   Peeta uses the back half of the house if he’s alone at night.  He most likely has a visitor then.  Lace, probably.  I have some things to say to him but it’s clearly not the right time.  He can come to me, anyway.  

It’s late in the afternoon when I get a visit from him.  I don’t know if he tried earlier; I spent most of the day in the woods trying to unravel all the conflicting emotions I have about him.  There’s my love for the boy that was.   My love for the boy that is.  And my ever-growing anger and frustration with him.  Sometimes I think I actually dislike him.  On top of all that is guilt.  Overwhelming guilt for what he suffered at Snow’s hands because of me. For the first time I question how that helps Peeta though.  I let him get away with things he shouldn’t.  I stop myself from saying anything that might upset the false façade he’s made for himself.  Maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong. Typical of Peeta, he comes bearing gifts.   He does this whenever he thinks I might be mad at him, or about to be mad at him. Yesterday it was ice-cream.  Today it seems to be a bag of cookies and a parcel wrapped in brown paper.  It’s a large flat square that’s almost certainly a canvas.  It’s probably the painting of a primrose I asked for.

The smile he gives me is hesitant, apprehensive.   I guess the way I ran out on him, threatening not to come over for dinner anymore, may have given him the impression that he might not be welcome.   He follows me into the kitchen and I go through the motion of putting the kettle on for tea.  Not that I plan of this being a long conversation. Peeta puts the parcel down and places the bag of cookies on the kitchen bench just behind me.   He stands so close, we’re almost touching. “Are these to compensate me for not being able to stay over anymore?” I ask.   “They’re to show you how much I care for you,” he says, as he leans down to kiss my cheek.  “I don’t think you realise how much.  I was worried sick when you didn’t come home the other night, not knowing where you were or if you were lying injured somewhere.  If anything were to happen to you . . .  He trails off and gives his head a shake. “I don’t even like to think about it.” “I’m sure Lace will be a great comfort if that should happen.”  I train my eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.  There’s not enough space between us to look at the floor.  I know I sound bitter and jealous and as much as I dread being exposed and vulnerable, at the same time I want him to notice – to actually see me for once and why I’m hurting. He cups my jaw and turns my face back to his.  His thumb gently strokes my cheek. “I know this must seem like I’m neglecting you and Haymitch in favour of Lace, but it’s really not like that.  It’s just that I have to consider Lace now.  There are aspects of my life where she has to come first. I want to be a good friend to you, but I also need to be a good boyfriend to Lace. We had a very public romance, and I have to think about how you coming over at night would look to others, even if it is perfectly innocent.  This doesn’t make you any less important to me.”

Yes, it does, I remind myself.  But his voice is soothing and placating, his caresses lover-like.  I want to drift in it, believe that somewhere down deep, he’s still in love with me.

“I’ll still be here for you,” he goes on. “You can call me anytime of the day or night if you have a nightmare and want to talk.  Anytime at all.”

I say nothing to this.   That won’t happen.  I do have some pride. A tendril of hair is tucked tenderly behind my ear.  I gaze into his eyes, mesmerised by his voice, and his touch.  He’d only have to bend his head, or for me to raise myself on tip toe for our lips to meet.  Why doesn’t he just kiss me?   “Please understand,” he says.  “You’re not just a friend. We may be platonic now, but I know I must have been overwhelmingly in love with you.” “You were,” I say softly.  “I don’t think I’ll ever be loved like that again.” His hand comes to rest on my cheek again. “I hope that you will, and it will the kind of love where you both feel the same way about each other.  As for me, I care so much about you but I have to put Lace first.” He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but he is. How can he touch me like this while at the same time express his preference for Lace and so casually give me over to another?  It’s as if the hijacked version of himself is still inside, intent on destroying me anyway he can.   And I can’t even heap all the blame on Peeta for this, because I let him do it.  But at least it gives me the jolt I need.  

I push his hand aside and slide my back along the bench until I’m free of him. “Why did you come back to 12?” Peeta is so surprised, it takes a few seconds for him to respond. “What?  Um, because . . .  Why are you asking?  What does it have to do with anything?” “A lot, actually,” I say.  “It has everything to do with what you want from me. Because frankly I’m confused.  One minute I’m merely a friend and told not to come over at night and the next minute you’re kissing me on the cheek and standing so close, I can’t move an inch without bumping into you.  If I were Lace, I’d be more concerned with all this touching you do than a platonic friend using the guest room occasionally.” He stares at me, bewildered.  I don’t think he’s even been aware that he does it. “So why did you come back?” I persist.   “It can’t be because you’re in love with me. You’re always making sure to tell me that you’re not.  It can’t be because I’m a friend because you don’t have any memories of my being one. In fact, you’ve even said you don’t trust me.  And it can’t be because you want help getting your memories back, because you want nothing to do with them.  So why come to 12?  Of all the places you could have gone to, why bombed out 12 with only a depressed recluse and a drunk for company?” “Because you were here . . . and Haymitch.   And my house,” he flounders.  “I can’t explain it. I was just drawn here. And it’s not like I have no memories at all.  They’re just a tangled mess I can’t make sense of.  All I know is that I feel there’s a deep connection between us and I need to be here.  It may not be in-love anymore, but I care a great deal for you.” There it is again.  He cares for me.  A lesser form of love.  Generic, non-exclusive.  It should wound, but at the moment I’m numb to it.  More than anything I’m tired.  Tired of pretending, tired of holding onto a hope that simply exists to take one blow after another.

“You want to know what it meant to me when you returned to 12?  Well, I can’t tell you.  Because I’d have to mention our past, and you’re determined not to know about it.  I don’t know what happened between the mission to kill Snow and when you came back here that made you give up the fight. All I know is that that boy had courage.   It didn’t matter what horrific memories were dredged up as long as it meant finding himself again.  But you don’t want “real” anymore.  You just want a pretty picture to live in.  Like one of your paintings.”  I point to the parcel he brought with him where it leans, still unwrapped, against the wall.   “That’s not fair!” he exclaims. “You have no idea what it is to be me.  I didn’t choose to have my memories erased and distorted.  I was tortured, Katniss! The little I do remember is bad enough.  I don’t see you handling it that well, by the way.  Not if you have to run over to my house to sleep in the guest room to escape your nightmares. Or stay in bed until well past noon because you’re too depressed to get up.  And then there’s Haymitch, who can’t go a day without a drink.  Several, in fact. Why would I want that?”

Stung, I’m about to retort that I’d rather have nightmares than forget my family, as he’s done, but then recall that his memory loss is more selective than that.  He’s blocked out memories of the torture, understandably enough.  But he also has no memories of me, other than those which Snow thoughtfully let him keep, such as his jealousy of Gale.   Before I can formulate a response Peeta is at my side, immediately contrite.  “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.  I had no right.  And it’s not as if I don’t have my own problems to deal with. It’s just that if I have a chance to avoid what you and Haymitch go through, I don’t see why I shouldn’t take it.” I make one last appeal. “But . . . but you’re also turning your back on the good memories too.  They’re all part of who you are.  Even the bad ones.” Peeta shrugs. “Do you think I don’t know that? All I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be part of who I am now.  Some really awful things have been done to me and I have a choice not to make it part of my future.  So why not? If it’s meant to be, the good memories will come back.  And if they don’t, well, I can make new ones. Better ones.” His answer shouldn’t surprise me.  We’ve had this conversation before.  And when I offered to help him, he told me he didn’t trust me enough.   My stomach sinks. That’s it then.  It is hopeless.  If he can’t, won’t, remember then I don’t see a way forward for us.  He’ll become increasingly attached to Lace, and I’ll be increasingly sidelined.  To him, I’ll likely always be a friend, someone he cares for a great deal.  But that’s not what I want.  He’s not the only one who’s gone through hell and wants to be happy.   This isn’t abandoning him, I tell myself. This is setting him free to live his life as he chooses, while I do the same for me. I take a few more steps away from him, determined to get some physical distance.  I don’t want any weakness on my part getting in the way of what I’m resolved to do.  “Well, if that’s the way you feel, then we have nothing more to say to each other,” I say, in the most resolute voice I can muster.

“What do you mean we have nothing more to say?” he asks warily.   “Exactly what I said.  If you have no interest in getting your memories back, then there’s nothing left to say.  If you have the right to choose what’s best for you, then I have the right to choose what’s best for me.   And continuing as we are with one of us deliberately ignorant about our past together isn’t it. ”

I turn my gaze to the parcel.  The parcel that contains a painting of a primrose that I had asked Peeta for in memory of my sister.  As much as I want to, I can’t accept it.  I feel miserable about it because I know how much work and care was put into it.  And love too.  Just not the kind of love I want from him.  In a way, the painting defines what our relationship has become. It’s a shared memory of a beloved figure, just as the primrose bushes are.  But that’s where it ends.  And it isn’t enough. I note how light it is as I pick it up from the floor.  And that it’s bordered by a frame, and its solid on one side and hollow on the other. I imagine what’s underneath the wrapping paper.  Peeta had shown me the outline he drew.  It would now be painted in soft shades of yellow like the primroses that grow at the side of my house.  The same primroses that Peeta planted for me on his first day back from the Capitol. “I can’t accept this,” I say, as I hand it to him.  “It isn’t right.  I wanted a painting from Peeta Mellark. When he comes back to me, I’ll accept it then.” Peeta’s eyes travel from the painting in his hand and back to my face in confusion.   “What? What are you talking about?  You can’t mean that.  Is this because I won’t let you sleep in the guest room?  You’re being unreasonable, Katniss.  I know you feel let down, especially since it was me who invited you over in the first place.  But what else can I do?  What do you think happens when friends become romantically involved with another?  That everything stays the same?  What if you had a boyfriend?  Do you think he’d want me coming over in the middle of the night?”

“If I had a boyfriend, he’d either have to accept the situation or find someone else.  That’s how I feel about us.  But this isn’t about that.  This is me at breaking point.  I’m sick and tired of being a piece in your game.” “Game?  What game?  You’re not making any sense,” he says, growing agitated.  Peeta runs a hand through his hair, mussing his curls so that they stand around his head and give him a slightly mad appearance.    “Look, if it means so much to you, use the guest room. Use it as often as you like.  Move in.  I’ll work out something with Lace.”

“I don’t care about the guest room!” I yell in frustration.   “What I care about is that you’ve betrayed everything we’ve been to each other.  And you don’t even know it because you’re too much of a coward to find out.”  

He flushes with anger. “Fuck, Katniss!” he shouts.  I jump back in surprise.  Peeta never swears.  And then the parcel is hurled across the room, upsetting Buttercup’s food bowl and spattering cat food over the tiles.  “What the fuck do you want from me?” “I told you what I want from you!  It’s you that needs to find out what you want from me!”  But Peeta has turned his back and is almost out of the room.  “Let me know when you work it out!” I scream after him.  And then I hear the front door slam shut. I’m too shocked to do anything more than blindly stare at the canvas where it’s come to rest near the back door.  After a little while, I come out of my stupor to walk over and pick it up.  I don’t think it’s ruined, but it needs some repair work.  I can feel that the frame is broken on one side. I remove the wrapping paper.  It’s got cat food on it.  I resist looking at the actual painting though.  I haven’t accepted it until I look at it, I tell myself.  I trudge upstairs to Prim’s room where I place it on top of her dresser, the right side facing the wall.  And then I sit down on her bed.   Oh, Prim.  How did that go so wrong?  I don’t think he even heard me.  All he could talk about was the guest room as if that’s all there is to it.  Do you remember when you told me that the old Peeta, the one who loves me, is still inside?  Trying to get back to me?  I don’t think he is.  I don’t think he even wants to.  I’m trying not to give up on him, but it’s so hard.  All I can do now is see if my tactic works.  If it fails, I’ve lost him.  But I think I might have lost him anyway.

Chapter 2.   The strangest thing is, that despite this horrible situation, or maybe because of it, for the first time in months I feel energised and ready to take on almost anything.  Just as Peeta hasn’t been himself, I haven’t been myself either. The old Katniss would have been doing something, and if not actively pursuing Peeta, would at least have found purpose in other things.  Instead, I’ve existed in this state of inertia.  And in doing so, I not only didn’t find Peeta, I’ve lost sight of myself too.  

The first thing I want is to find some kind of employment.  There’s two reasons for this.  The first is a practical one that’s been coming for a while now.  And that’s because my game isn’t in demand as it used to be.  Meat is both cheaper and readily available now that foodstuffs and other goods are transported between districts.  More people are able to afford them too.  Somehow squirrel isn’t as appealing if you can have beef or horse on the menu.   The other reason is that hunting is a very solitary occupation, especially now that I don’t have a hunting partner.  My circle has been too small for too long.   One good thing about 12 being a high growth area, is that workers are in demand.  That means employers aren’t as fussy about qualifications or experience, which is good, because I have neither.  So, I’m fairly confident I can find a job, as long as I’m not too picky.

I head for the town, as that’s the most likely place to find one.  The town centre has expanded from a ragtag collection of shops to a bustling shopping strip. Civic buildings have been rebuilt, as well as a hospital and a community hall.  It grows to look more like the Capitol every day. I walk straight past the hospital.  Sick people, no thanks. The same with the Justice Building.  There’s too many bad memories associated with them.  It was at a Justice Building that I had to collect the medal of valour for my father’s death, and its where tributes were held before they were transported to the Capitol.   I would happily never set foot in one again.  Next door is the Council Office, where Haymitch works.  That actually has potential.  My knowledge of the woods might be useful.  But when I apply, they tell me they’re not hiring at the moment. But they take down my details anyway and say they’ll let me know if a position becomes available. Across the intersection there’s a block of five new shops that have just opened.  One of them appears to be a tailor as I see sewing machines, bolts of fabric in sombre colours, and a few men’s suits on display.  Another shop is lined with racks of clothing with a small counter at the rear.  I’ve seen shops like these in the Capitol.  They sell ready-to-wear fashion.  I have a feeling that Lace won’t like it.  A tailor and a clothing shop where you don’t have to wait for the clothes to be made will surely be competition, especially the latter. What’s more, it’s probably the first of many.   Further down the road, I see the new school that started up a few months ago.  It’s just two or three classrooms but I’m sure it won’t stay that way for long. Not with the population booming as it is.  I move closer, enjoying the sight of children at play in the school grounds.  A man, maybe in his mid-twenties with brown hair that flops over his forehead, regards me with interest - too much interest for my liking.  I change direction and turn the corner and encounter even more shops, as well as a few restaurants. But there’s a shop that takes more than my passing interest and that’s because it has a sign in the window.  It says “Inquire within. Staff wanted.” I put my face to the window to determine what kind of business it is.  I see glass enclosed counters with shelves and maybe more shelves behind them.  Evidently, it’s some kind of food shop.  What, I don’t know.   A bell jingles as I open the door.   And then I go stand near the counter to wait. It appears to be empty but I know someone’s here because I can hear voices and what seems to be furniture being moved around from the rear of the shop.  I consider calling out, or perhaps re-entering to make the bell jingle again, when a man appears, wiping his hands on a towel.   “Hi.  Sorry to keep you waiting.  We were half way putting one of the ovens in place.  What can I do for you, Miss Everdeen?” he says.  He has a bright, cheerful manner about him.  

“Um, you know who I am?” It’s a silly question, as I’m recognised nearly everywhere I go, but I still find it disconcerting.   “Who doesn’t?” he asks, as he tosses the towel aside.  “But we have met before.  I doubt that you’d remember it though.”

I take a careful look at him.  Early twenties maybe.  Blond hair but a different shade from Peeta’s.  Golden rather than ashy.  And green eyes.  Pleasing but unremarkable features.  Above medium height and with a similar build as Peeta’s.   I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry.  I don’t.  Where did we meet?” He smiles and the features I thought so unremarkable light up and make him quite attractive.  “It was only for a few moments.  Your fiancé might remember me though.  I gave him my best frosting techniques.” Fiancé?  That could only be Peeta.  And the frosting . . .?  Of course! At the feast in the Capitol, when Peeta asked to meet the bakers to ask about the cakes.   I take another look around the shop and then everything falls into place.   This must be a bakery.  And those glass counters are to display cakes and the shelves behind them are for bread. My first thought goes to Peeta. He has vague plans of opening a bakery. He might not like this.  But he should have known that one would open eventually.  The wonder is that it’s taken so long.   “I remember now.  It was at the feast.   On our Victory Tour,” I say, momentarily caught in the memory of Peeta and me as a newly engaged couple.   “But Peeta isn’t my fiancé anymore.  We didn’t stay together after the war.  He’s with another girl now.  You might have met her.  She owns the dressmaking shop on the main road.”  I say it as cheerfully as I can, but it sounds forced even to my own ears.

He doesn’t seem to notice though. “I haven’t met many people yet,” he tells me.  “I only arrived in 12 the day before yesterday.  My brother and his wife arrived a couple of months ago to get everything here organised while I stayed in the Capitol to settle up.  But I’ve neglected my manners.  I know who you are, but I haven’t introduced myself. Cassius Carter.  Most people call me Cass.” He holds out his hand for me to shake. He has large hands and a firm grip. My own looks swallowed up in it.

“Hi.  Pleased to meet you, Cass.”   “Pleased to meet you, Katniss,” he replies with a warm smile. We lapse into silence while Cass looks at me expectantly.   Oh yes, why am I here?  “Um, I came about the sign in the window.  You’re looking for staff?”

“We are.  To serve customers.  You’re interested, I take it?” “Yes, but I don’t have any experience,” I say regretfully.  

Cass pretends to consider it.  “Hmm that is a problem.  It will take at least ten minutes to learn the ropes and I don’t think we’ll have the time.  But then a pretty girl behind the counter can’t be bad for business, so it might all even out.”  His face clears.  “I’ve made up my mind.  The job’s yours if you want it.” “Oh, good,” I say, thinking more about being described as pretty than the job offer.  It’s been so long since anyone complimented me on my appearance.   I smile at Cass, grateful that there’s at least one person who thinks so.  “I’m a fast learner. I’m sure I’ll catch on quickly.  When do you want me to start?”

“We’ll be operational by the end of the week, I think.  Could you start on Monday?  It’s four days a week, Monday to Thursday.” “That sounds perfect.”  Part-time work will give me time to pursue other things. We spend the next few minutes discussing times and wages and then shake on it. “You wouldn’t know of a sign writer who needs a job?  We haven’t got anyone to do the shop sign yet,” he asks as I’m about to leave. I shake my head.  “No, sorry.  But someone’s sure to apply.”  I have no intention of passing the news onto Peeta.  He can look for his own work.  Besides, I’ve made it my policy not to approach him unless I absolutely have to.

That man with the floppy brown hair is still there when I turn to go back the way I came.  Despite my scowl he still has the temerity to approach me. “Hey, Mockingjay,” he calls out.  “Mind if I have a word?” “Yes, I do mind,” I snap.  “And I’m not the Mockingjay anymore.”  I turn away from him but he’s on my heels.   “I want to talk to you about a teaching position.” “I’m not a teacher.” “Not yet.  But you’re looking for a job, so why not teaching?

“How would you know I’m looking for a job?” “I saw you reading the help wanted sign in the bakery window before you entered.  It isn’t open yet so you weren’t going in to buy bread.” “So now you’re spying on me as well as harassing me.”  I stop walking and turn to face him.  “Look I don’t know who you are – “

“Max Matson,” he says, holding out his hand.  “Teacher at the school you were admiring a short time ago.  We’re looking for more teachers, and you could be just what we need.” I ignore the hand. I’m just about to tell him to get out of my way when I pull myself up.  Didn’t I come into town to look for opportunities?  What if I don’t like working in a shop and I’m more suited to teaching instead?  I can least consider it. Max drops his hand, but my hesitation seems to have compensated him for the slight since he doesn’t change expression.   He hurries to explain before I can object further.  “It will only be teaching what you already know.  Survival skills, the natural environment, that sort of thing.  And it won’t be in the classroom either, but out in the woods.  A lot of our kids come from the industrialised districts and hardly know a tree from a chimney stack.  You could really make a difference.” I don’t respond straight away, my gaze directed at the school in the distance.  He has the sense to be quiet while I mull it over.  It’s only a very small school and surely excursions into the woods won’t be every day.  It could fit nicely with the bakery job, and if I find myself suited more to one than the other, then maybe I could switch to full time later on if the opportunity arises and then give the other up.  The thought of passing on my knowledge, as my father did for me, appeals to me too. “I can only do Fridays.” “That’s alright,” he says in a rush.  “It’s only part-time at the moment.  And it’s only while the weather is warm.” “OK, I’ll give it a try.  A try, mind you.  If I don’t like it, I’m not coming back.”

“Great! We’ll see you on Friday then . . .um . . .Katniss?  Is that what I call you?”

“Yes.  Just Katniss.  And Katniss only.  And it will be the following Friday.”  There’s some things I want to attend to first.    I turn my back on him and go on my way.   I don’t know what this Max person does.  He’s probably looking for someone else to annoy.  But at least he’s presented me with another option.  And options are exactly what I need right now.  

Well, that’s been a successful outing.  Two jobs in less than an hour.   And maybe something will come from the town council too.  My spirits rise higher than they have in days.  Whatever happens, I know I can survive this.  

I wander back towards the Village.  Maybe there’s still time to do some hunting.  I’m determined to stay busy.  Anything than allowing myself to wallow.  That won’t achieve a thing other than to bring on another bout of depression.   It’s just as I pass through the gates that I see him.  Peeta is at the side of my house, tending the primroses. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say when I reach him. Peeta puts the trowel aside and gets to his feet.  “I know, but I want to.  We’re neighbours, right?  Neighbours can help out with the gardening.”   “Yeah, but I can do it myself.  You don’t do any gardening for Haymitch.”  I look over at Haymitch’s yard as I say this. It’s a desert.  What hasn’t died through neglect has been eaten by his geese. “There really isn’t a garden to garden,” Peeta points out.  “But if it makes you feel better, I don’t clean up after you when you’re drunk, so it all evens out.”  He gives my arm a friendly nudge with his elbow accompanied by his most disarming smile. I don’t return it.  I refuse to let him in even a little way, although he keeps on trying.  “Well, thanks for doing it, even though you don’t need to.”  It seems the polite thing to say to someone who’s doing your gardening for you.  And, to be honest, the bushes probably wouldn’t last long if it was left to my gardening skills.   I turn to go into the house, but something perverse inside me calls me back.  “I got a job today.  It’s just serving behind the counter but it will give me something to do besides hunting.  It’s at a new bakery that’s about to open.  One of the bakers we met at a Capitol feast owns it.  You probably don’t remember it, though.  But if you’re interested in frosting, he’s apparently the expert.” Peeta’s smile dims and I instantly regret my words.  This can’t be good news to him.  I don’t know if he seriously wanted to open a bakery but now the option is off the table. 12 isn’t big enough to support two bakeries.   “Right.  Maybe I’ll call in when it opens.”   He turns his face away and resumes his digging.  “Congratulations on getting the job.” “Thanks.  Um, I guess I’ll see you around.”   Buttercup is waiting for me when I get inside. I slosh some food into his bowl and then throw myself on the couch in the sitting room and switch on the television. I don’t feel like hunting now.  My good mood has gone.  It seems to disappear whenever I have contact with Peeta now.   A wall has gone up between us, all on my side. Peeta is an odd combination of uncertainty and eagerness to please.  That’s how it’s been since the day we argued.  Neither of us mentioned it when we next met, but the easy way we once interacted has gone. As far as I know he hasn’t done anything to try to get his memories back and I’m determined to keep my distance until he does.  The only good thing that seems to have come out of it is that I seldom see Lace in the Village anymore, although I know they still see each other.  I’ve watched Peeta leave the Village on their date nights.   It had been Peeta’s turn to host the Victors dinner that night but I had no intention of going.  I went to see Haymitch to let him know about the new arrangement.  To say he was annoyed is an understatement.  I hadn’t known the dinners meant so much to him.  And it’s not like he and Peeta can’t continue to eat together since he always seemed to prefer Peeta’s company anyway.  He told me that Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him and I’m punishing him for something that’s out of his control. He made me feel really bad. So bad, in fact, that I did something I rarely do.  I consulted with Dr Aurelius. But to my surprise, Dr Aurelius approved. He told me not to let Haymitch make me a partner to his own guilt.  I thought he might have taken Peeta’s side and urged me to maintain the friendship, seeing that he’s his patient and all.   But he said I was his patient too, and he had to advise what was best for me, irrespective of what was best for Peeta.  He even said this might be good for him and force him to confront certain issues instead of avoiding them.  I also told him I was in love with Peeta hoping that he might give me some advice about how to get him back, or at least give me some insight into his thinking.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he set me a task, and that was to work on myself independently of Peeta.  I was to think hard of what I want my life to be and what I’ll have to do to achieve it.

Of course, that involves Peeta being in love with me again, but that’s up to Peeta now.  I had to remember a long way back to a time when I was happy and what I was doing then.  I thought of my father, and Prim, and hunting in the woods with Gale.  I recalled the pride I had in my hunting and bargaining skills and how I provided for my family.  In the end, I condensed it down to two things.  Meaningful work and good relationships.  I decided to tackle the easiest one first.  Work.  Perhaps the relationships will follow from that.  They had before.

Before I start at the bakery, I attend to something I’ve never given much attention to and that’s my appearance.  I wonder if my lack of interest in it might have given Peeta the impression that I don’t care about being attractive to him.   I’d taken it for granted that Peeta thought I was beautiful, no matter how I looked.  Perhaps that’s changed.  Lace seems to spend a lot of time on her appearance, always dressing neatly and with her hair carefully styled.   I don’t want it to become a major part of my life or anything, but I could put in a little more effort. One of the new shops, just next to the tailor, is a beauty salon.  I surreptitiously peeked in as I walked past, noting the gaudy décor in purple and gold, with basins for washing hair, and chairs for cutting and styling at the front of the shop, and curtained alcoves towards the back, presumably for waxing and other tortures.  There’s a million of these places in the Capitol but this must be the first ever in 12. I thought I’d had enough of being primped and prodded to last a lifetime when I was a tribute, but now I think I can do with a little “maintenance”, as they’d say in the Capitol.

The following morning I’m at the door just as businesses are opening and there’s not many people about. There’s only one person inside, a Capitolite evidently, going by her pale mint green skin and blue tipped blond hair. She’s hunched over the counter, reading a newspaper.  She lifts her head as the door clicks behind me. “Katniss!” “Octavia!” We scream each other’s names simultaneously. Octavia runs from behind the counter to envelop me in a hug.  “Flavius! Come here!  Quickly!  It’s Katniss!”

Soon we’re in a three-way hug; Flavius’s bouncing corkscrew curls as vividly orange as ever.  

After the initial excitement is over, we fill each other in on what’s happened since we last met. That was at Snow’s execution.  My prep team had been specially brought back to the Capitol from District 13 to make me as presentable as possible for the TV cameras.  After my incarceration and then confinement to 12, my former prep team were without employment.  But because the Capitol had sustained significant damage during the war from rebel bombs and discharged pods, many citizens were homeless and no longer enjoyed the affluence they once had.  Consequently, decorating themselves was no longer the priority it had been and the beauty industry suffered.  Venia chose to stay with her family in the Capitol, but Octavia and Flavius decided to risk all to set up their own salon in another district.  And which district was the dreariest and most in need of their talents?  Why, District 12, of course. The problem was that they hadn’t many customers so far.  I think I can guess why.  Few people want to be dyed green and have their hair styled in orange corkscrew curls. I decide to tell them to tone it down a little when the opportunity arises.  They are their own advertisements and will likely have more success if they adjust to 12’s more conservative tastes.   Unfortunately, after I’ve heard their story, I’m obliged to tell my own.  It’s really hard since they were heavily invested in the star-crossed lovers.  I recall Octavia’s tears when she, with the rest of my prep team, came to wake me to start on the preparations for the interviews, and came across Peeta and me sleeping together.  She almost cries again when I describe the current situation with Peeta. “Oh Katniss, how could such a dreadful thing happen?  And after all you’ve been through together.  Well, you’ve come to the right place.  A makeover sets everything right.  I’ve always said so.  Haven’t I, Flavius?” I’m directed over to one of the chairs where my braid is unravelled for assessment.  Octavia takes one of my hands to examine the nails.  There’s several seconds of uncomfortable silence.  Eventually Flavius speaks. “When was the last time you had your hair cut?” he asks, quite unnecessarily.  We both know from the uneven lengths that it hasn’t been cut since before the explosion that killed Prim and scarred Peeta and me.   I shrug in answer.  He then picks up a strand.  It lies limply across his palm like a dead thing. “What shampoo do you use?” “No shampoo.  Just soap.” Flavius turns pale and I think he might faint. But then he rallies to find some deep inner strength for his shoulders square and his voice turns to steel.  “Lock the door, Octavia.  There’ll be no more customers today.  We have an emergency situation.” While Flavius applies a deep conditioning treatment to my hair, Octavia starts on my nails.  I’m a chronic nail biter and they’re down to the quick.  Rather than try to make do with the nails I’ve got, Octavia adheres false nails to them.   “Not too long,” I warn.  Octavia seems disappointed but she does as I say and keeps them to a modest length and then finishes with what she calls a ‘French polish.” After the conditioning treatment is rinsed off, Flavius sets to work on cutting my hair.  We decide to leave it long enough to braid since that’s how I prefer to wear it.  But otherwise, the length is evened out, and it’s given some shape around my face for those occasions for when I wear it loose.   When my hair is dried, it’s gleaming like a curtain of black silk.  “You’re a miracle worker,” I say. Flavius blushes at the compliment.  “We’re not finished yet,” he says.  “Come this way.”  I’m led to one of the private alcoves.  Venia was the waxer-in-chief so I wonder what’s going to happen next. It seems Octavia has taken on that role, and I grit my teeth as body hair is ripped out by the roots.  Except for my underarms I draw the line at having my torso waxed though. Never again.  And then I’m scoured and rubbed down with a series of lotions.   “Your skin has got much better, but there’s still room for improvement,” says Octavia.  “We could start a course of treatments that will even out the skin tone and buff away the worst of the scarring.  It’s not as good as a full body polish, but it’s the next best thing.”

It's taken nearly five hours but my hair is shining and my skin is glowing.   Flavius creates a make-up for me that I can do myself that accentuates my almond shaped eyes and high cheek bones.  I’m so happy with the result that I book a series of appointments for more skin treatments and spend a small fortune on hair and skin products.  Flavius waves away my attempt to pay for their hours but I insist and add a generous tip.  They can’t afford to work for free when they’re short of customers.  As we say goodbye, I promise to recommend them to all my friends.  When I get some, that is. As I pass by the clothing shop, a summery dress in the colours of a sunset takes my eye.  Half an hour later, I leave the shop with the dress and two new shirts.  I see Lace through her shop window as I walk by.  I give her a cheery wave, making sure that the bag with the shop’s name emblazoned on it is in plain sight. She returns the wave, but her smile is stiff.   Ladies and gentlemen, let the Games begin! Chapter 3. For my first day at work I wear a Cinna made shirt in rose pink and navy trousers.  I had spent the best part of a day going through all my clothes.  Cinna had designed a wardrobe for every occasion, but I had avoided wearing it.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it was to keep it in perfect condition as a sort of memorial to him.  But I think Cinna would prefer me to wear it.  I like to think of it as the Mockingjay costume he designed for me.   In a way, I’m going in to battle once again.  

It turns out to be a waste of time though, as I’m handed a uniform soon after I arrive.  It’s white with a mandarin collar and an embroidered logo in brown on the breast pocket.  Cass hands it to me almost apologetically. “My sister-in-law’s idea.  It’s easier not to argue, if you know what I mean,” he says in an undertone.  He’s wearing the same uniform.   Since I was here last week, the interior has been outfitted in tasteful neutral tones.  All the colour is in the display cases.  I haven’t seen such a decadent display of cakes and pastries outside the Capitol. Big cakes, small cakes, cakes with buttercream and shaved chocolate, meringues and cheesecakes, petit fours and fruit tarts.  The shelves behind them are filled with every kind of bread you can think of, from fruit and nut to basic white. “Wow, you have been busy.  I had no idea they’d be such a huge variety to choose from.” I say in awe.   “It’s not quite as big as we did in the Capitol,” Cass says.  “Before the war, anyway.”  He takes from the case a yeasty bun topped with flaked almonds and filled with custard and hands it to me. “Try this.” I take a bite and groan.  “This is so good,” I tell him. Cass smiles, pleased.  “Bee sting.  It’s our specialty.” “Do you make cheese buns?” I ask. “Do we make cheese buns?” Cass repeats as if he can’t believe I’m asking.  In another case, at the opposite side of the room, he points to a variety of savory buns. Cheese, cheese and bacon, cheese and onion, herb and garlic.  I’m in heaven.   “But do you think you have the market in 12 for all this?” I ask.  Twelve might have grown a lot, but it’s still small by Capitol standards.   “We’re confident we do.  After all, there’s no competition.  When we heard that 12 had services like ice-cream parlours and restaurants but no bakery, we could hardly believe it.  Julius – that’s my brother – went to scout it out and didn’t come back.  And then Cornelia joined him to help set up while I stayed in the Capitol to sell our bakery there.” “Well, it’s very impressive -,” I begin. We’re interrupted by a woman aged about thirty with the reddest hair I’ve every seen.  She slaps a tray of bread on the counter and starts loading the loaves onto a shelf.  

“Hi, you must be Katniss. I’m Cornelia,” she says, without stopping.  “I hope you’re ready for a busy day.  Did you see the queue as you came in?” I had.  It was hard to miss.  The line extended past the corner.  I had also noted the shop sign.  Carter’s Bakery and Patisserie.  It’s not Peeta’s work, lacking the flair he usually brings to it, but it’s serviceable enough.   Cornelia returns to the rear of the shop and Cass shows us how the cash register works.   There’s three of us shop assistants and we work different hours, some of them overlapping, but we’re all here today for the opening. There’s Flora, a native of 12, with the typical Seam look of dark hair and grey eyes.   And Sateen, a new arrival from 8.  She has a similar colouring to Lace, but her brown hair lacks the same reddish glints, and her eyes are blue rather than blue-grey. The day is a blur of frantic activity with bread and cakes disappearing off the shelves and Cass, Cornelia and Julius doing their best to replenish them.  None of us assistants have any experience serving in a shop but we bungle our way through, getting in each other’s way as we box cakes, bag loaves of bread and vie for the cash register.  By day’s end, we’re exhausted but nearly everything in the shop has been sold.   “It won’t be like this every day,” says Julius, who’s emerged from the back of the shop for the first time.  “We’re a novelty at the moment.  It will settle down soon.  Then we’ll have a better idea of how much we’ll sell and what’s most popular.”  Julius is an older version of his brother, but slightly shorter and with darker blond hair and a more serious air about him.   Cass nods.  “It was like this when we opened our bakery in the Capitol.  It was the middle of the cupcake craze and Cornelia had the brilliant idea of the all-frosting cupcake.  I mean, let’s face it, the frosting is the best part.  They were flying out the door.”  He turns his head in my direction. “That’s how I got to be one of the bakers at the feast,” he tells me.  “It was all on the strength of my frosting.” “Cass is actually a pastry chef by trade,” explains Cornelia.  “It’s Julius and me who are the bakers.” “What’s a pastry chef?” I ask.

“A chef who specialises in pastries and desserts.  Breads too, sometimes.  Cass does all the fancy stuff,” she replies. “I do my best,” says Cass.  “The baking’s no difficulty but I have little talent for cake decorating beyond the basics, and we’ll like to develop that side of the business at some stage.  We don’t hold much hope for finding someone out here that could do it though.” I can think of someone who’ll be perfect, but I keep my mouth shut.  The idea is to have a life separate from Peeta.  Sharing a work place with him is hardly conducive.   Cornelia boxes up some of the left-over cakes and breads for us to take home.  “One of the perks of the job,” she says.

Flora, Sateen, and I swap puzzled glances.  Surely this could be sold tomorrow as yesterday’s bread? “Aren’t you going to sell this?” ventures Flora. “How?  It will be stale tomorrow.  No one wants to buy stale bread,” says Cornelia, clearly surprised by the question.

I recall when Peeta told me that the only time he got to eat the apple and goat’s cheese tart his parent’s bakery produced was when it was very stale.  How very different it was for people in the Capitol then, if they’d refuse to buy bread that wasn’t fresh.  In the districts you’d think yourself lucky to get it, no matter how stale it was.   How times have changed.

Indeed, I say to myself as I make my way through the town, clutching the white bakery box to my chest. How many squirrels would Gale and I have needed to trade for this lot?  Let’s see, usually a small loaf of plain bread equalled two squirrels. There’s a loaf of sour dough, two cheese buns, an apple pastry, a beefsteak pie and a bee sting in this box.  At least ten or eleven, I calculate. Possibly more.   I’m so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost pass by the ice-cream parlour without seeing it.  I wish I had, for Peeta and Lace are there, seated at one of the outdoor tables.  Peeta has his back to me, but Lace sees me.  She says something to Peeta and he turns around.  His arm goes up, gesturing me to come over and I have no choice but to comply unless I want to appear rude.  At least she’s not licking ice-cream off his face this time.  

I take the seat at the far end of the table, as far as I can possibly get from Shep, Lace’s big slobbering dog which seems to accompany her nearly everywhere she goes.   Lace slips her hand into the crook of Peeta’s arm, and his free hand covers hers briefly with an affectionate pat.  Having established her claim, she now turns her attention to me. “How was your first day at the bakery? Peeta’s told me that you got a job there.  Serving behind the counter, isn’t it?” I don’t know if I imagine it, but Lace sounds almost snide about what I do.  Perhaps there’s a snobbery about owning a business versus being employed in one. But Lace’s round eyes look back innocently at me.  Nonetheless, my guard goes up. “It was fine,” I say stiffly.   “The baker – the younger one, I mean, is pretty dishy.  All the girls say he has great buns,” says Lace, with a giggle. “Um, yes he has,” I say, thinking of the bee sting.   I get the feeling that I’m missing something though.  The bakery has only been open one day.  That’s not long enough to get a reputation for great buns.  I steal a glance at Peeta, hoping for clarification but he just looks uncomfortable.   “What did you think of the beauty salon?” asks Lace.  “I saw you go in last week.  I’ve been tempted to try it, but I’m not sure.   The proprietors look really weird.  I don’t want to come out with green skin or wearing purple lipstick but you came out looking normal enough.  Wanted to impress the new boss, huh?” Before I can answer, Peeta interrupts.  “What’s in the box?” “Oh, we were given some things to take home.” I open the box and push it towards him so he can see the contents better.   “Impressive,” he says, after a few moments. He doesn’t look impressed though. He looks rather glum, in fact. “Cheese buns too.   I’m sure you’re happy about that.” “I bet they aren’t as good as yours, Peety,” gushes Lace.  Peety?  “That looks interesting though,” she adds, pointing to the bee sting. “Try it,” I tell her.  “I’ve already had one today.  It’s the specialty of the house.  It’s called a bee sting.”

Lace picks it up delicately with her finger tips and takes a large bite.  Custard spurts out the sides and then down the front of her blue polka dot dress.  I guess being out in the sunshine has made the custard runnier.  Both Peeta and Lace reach for the paper napkins on the table and Lace dabs at the offending spot. She throws the napkin down.  “It’s no good.  I should rinse it.  I don’t want it to stain.  This is a new dress.” Lace glares at me as if I meant it to happen.   She tells Shep to stay and then heads towards the restroom at the rear of the ice-cream parlour.   Peeta and I watch her retreating figure. I’ve never noticed before how broad in the beam Lace is.  Perhaps she’s been eating too much ice-cream.  

There’s an awkward silence. It’s almost like we’ve lost the ability to converse with each other.  I suppose my telling him that we have nothing to say to each other hasn’t helped.  

“It probably won’t stain,” I get out, for want of something better to say.  “It’s not like coffee or berry juice.” “No, but I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry.” “Yeah.”

Peeta takes a deep breath. “Katniss, I’ve been wanting to ask you something and now seems as good a time as any. I’ve been thinking a lot of what you said about trying to get my memories back.  You’re right.  I won’t find myself by ignoring my past.  And memories have started to resurface anyway so . . .”   Peeta pauses here, and I hardly dare breathe in anticipation.  Is he about to say that he remembers he loves me? “Not that I expect that it will change how I feel about things,” he continues.  “But I hope getting some memories back, at least, helps put it into context.  I’ve been relying on instinct and I’m worried that if I put these feelings in the wrong place that one day, when I do remember, I might have done something I can’t take back.  Something I might regret.” “Oh,” is all I say as I process what he’s just said.  There’s some good news in that.  At least he’s not certain about it.  “Has something happened?” I ask, hopefully. “Something that’s made you question things?” “No, it’s just an idea that’s occurred to me. Lace thinks I should let my memories reveal themselves naturally – that if they’re meant to come back, they will. But Dr Aurelius thinks that some controlled method of accelerating the process could be beneficial.  He wants to send me footage of the Games and our publicity tours – not all at once, just what he thinks I can handle.  I’d like you to be there when I watch them. To ask questions of, if I have any.” “Right.” That’s what he wants to ask me then. To watch the Games with him.  To relive it.  The full force of what I’ve asked Peeta to do hits me.  It will be bad enough for me, knowing what to expect. For him, it will be like the first time. “Anything I can do to help,” I say.  I put out my hand without thinking and Peeta covers it with his own.   I have to stop myself from flipping mine upwards to hold his hand like I want to. “Thanks, Katniss.  You’re such a good friend.  Better than I deserve really.” I shake my head no.  “When?” “Is Saturday afternoon OK?  Around three?  Dr Aurelius said he could have the first of the tapes to me by the end of the week.” “Yes, that’s fine – “

“What’s up?” Lace has returned.  Almost the entire front of her bodice is wet.  It had only been a little splotch.   Peeta and I hastily pull our hands back.   “I’d better go.  Three on Saturday, then,” I say.   I collect my box from the table sans bee sting and push my chair back.   “Bye Peeta. Bye Lace.” As I walk away, I see Lace questioning Peeta. His back is to me so I can’t see his reaction.  I don’t have a good feeling about it.  If anything can hinder Peeta’s memory recovery, it’s Lace. Chapter 4

On the way home, I drop into Haymitch’s to invite him to dinner.  It’s the first meal we’ve shared since I bowed out of the Victor’s dinners.   I don’t know if he and Peeta kept them up without me and I haven’t asked.  But I do like to think I’ve been missed if they have. I heat up the beefsteak pie and cook vegetables to go with it.  The loaf of sour dough I slice and put in the centre of the table.   I let Haymitch have the apple pastry and we each have a cheese bun to finish. “It’s not better than Peeta’s,” I say, after I take my first bite.  There’s hardly anything to distinguish them in fact, except that Peeta uses a slightly sharper cheese.  “Is he very upset about the bakery?  The Carters only came here because they heard 12 didn’t have one.” Haymitch finishes his bun in three bites and then wipes his greasy fingers on the tablecloth.  Really, you’d think years of being around Effie would have taught him some manners.  

“Something about it upsets him,” he says.  “But I don’t think it’s opening his own bakery.  He’s had plenty of time, if that’s what he wanted.  I doubt he knows what he wants. He dabbles in ideas, testing one, and then another, to see how they fit.” I nod.  Peeta doesn’t really commit to anything.  Except maybe Lace.  But then, when I think on it, she didn’t really become “girlfriend” until I called her one.  What an idiot thing to do, if it was me who put the idea in his head. It occurs to me, that even though Peeta resists being told who he is, he’s still vulnerable to suggestion.  I guess that’s the danger of not knowing who you truly are.  You’d constantly be looking for any kind of clue; anything being better than nothing. “Has Peeta said anything about the tapes Dr Aurelius sent him?” I ask.  I’m curious to know what Haymitch thinks.  I prepare myself for criticism as it was the ultimatum I gave Peeta that was the impetus behind it.

“He has,” he replies, “and it pains me to say it, but you might’ve been right. Cosseting him like we have hasn’t helped him.  He needed a reason to fight to get his memories back, and you seem to have given him one.” “On the way to the Capitol to kill Snow, Peeta was so determined,” I say, recalling our first tentative attempts to reconnect with each other after the hijacking.  “We – the squad, Peeta and I -  played the real, not real game.  He’d test his memories on us, and we’d say if it was real or not.”  My voice cracks.  “He trusted me then, to tell him the truth.  Now he doesn’t.  He actually told me that.  Not entirely, anyway.”

Haymitch gives me a side-ways glance.  “He trusts you.  You don’t seek out people you don’t trust to be friends with.  He just gets confused between what the hijacking made him believe and what he actually feels.  If he didn’t, he wouldn’t want you to watch the tapes with him.  He hasn’t asked me.” “What?  I just assumed that you would.  I mean, you were there.  You could corroborate.  Give a different view point . . .” “I could.  But it seems he wants only you.” Haymitch belches and stands to leave.   “My advice.  Be completely honest with him.  Don’t even try to be diplomatic or soften the truth, no matter how bad it looks.  He’ll know.” Halfway out the door, Haymitch turns back. “If you get more of those apple pastries . . .

Ugh!  Haymitch and his stomach.  I don’t hear the rest of it.  My thoughts are too full of Peeta and how he wants only me to watch the tapes with him. Not Haymitch, who I thought Peeta seemed to prefer these days, but me!  It has to be a good sign.  My refusal to have anything to do with him must have been the motivation he needed.  It’s sort of like when we were in the Star Squad and I called him a mutt and said the real Peeta was gone.  Haymitch was angry with me when he heard, but it did seem to mark a turnaround in Peeta’s attitude.  That’s when he decided to trust me with getting his memories back, and I wanted to help him in return.   It’s the start of something big.  I know it!  I imagine us watching the tapes sitting together on a couch as we did when we watched the Games in the interviews with Caesar Flickerman.   Perhaps we’ll hold hands, or even cuddle as we did then.  It was horrifying to watch it the first time, of course, and it will probably be just as horrifying a second time, and I dread all the bad memories it will evoke, but oh, how wonderful it will be when Peeta sees how close we were, and how we protected each other.  Surely he’ll remember that he loves me when he does.   It’s just as well there’s lots to distract me before Saturday.  I’d be climbing the walls with impatience if there weren’t.  As it is, I have to remind myself to concentrate on matters at hand because I find it so hard to think of little else.   Over the next few days it’s still very busy at the bakery.  But, as Julius predicted, the number of customers begins to decline.  There’s even a little time to become better acquainted with my co-workers. I learn that Flora Dogwood is seventeen and a survivor of Snow’s bombing of 12.  Her family has recently returned to their home district from District 13 and, with the exception of Flora, are employed in the medicine factory.  Sateen Bobbin also came to 12 with her family.  She’s twenty-two, never wants to work with textiles again, and is a relative of the Bobbin family who owned and managed the largest factory in 8.  The tailor who’s opened a shop on Main Street is her brother.   On the Friday, I turn up at the school about fifteen minutes before first bell.  I was tempted to give the whole thing a miss.  Working at the bakery has been more tiring than I thought since I’m on my feet all day.  What I really want is time on my own and to go hunting.  Instead I’ll be herding a bunch of kids through the woods and trying very hard not to lose any.  But I said I would, so here I am. I wear my preferred attire of khaki trousers, hunting jacket and boots.  I hesitated over whether to bring my bow or not, wondering if it’s appropriate to take weapons into a school.  But then on the other hand, losing a child to a predator wouldn’t be a good look either. I enter the school house without knocking, tentatively putting my head around the door first to see if anyone’s about.   It’s a large room, filled with a motley assortment of desks, a blackboard on the rear wall and in front of that, the teacher’s desk.  Five adults are peering over some papers strewn across it.   Their heads rise abruptly when they hear me enter.  Floppy- haired man (I’ve forgotten his name) comes towards me, smiling broadly.  “Katniss! You came!” I scowl at him.  There’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way.  “I said I would, didn’t I?” The smile dims a little.  “Ah, yes, you did.  If you come this way, I’ll introduce you.”  He puts his hand at my back to usher me forward.   “If you don’t mind,” I say, glancing pointedly over my shoulder at it.  “Personal space and all.”   That’s what I don’t like about him.  He’s so pushy and over-familiar.   He drops his hand from my back then raises both as if in surrender.   I scowl at him again and make my way over to the others. Floppy-haired man appears at my side to make the introductions.  There’s Mr and Mrs Matson, a middle-aged couple with greying hair and a mild, patient demeanour.  Moira, their daughter, auburn haired and very pretty.  Son, Milo, good looking in an understated way with brown hair and brown eyes. Hands are shaken all round.   “I’m not quite sure what’s expected of me,” I say to Mr Matson.  He seems to be the one in charge. “We’re leaving it up to you.  It’s really about connecting these children with nature. Giving them an awareness and appreciation of it.  And also, it’s dangers.  Most of our children grew up around factories or mining.  Here they have a huge forest on their doorstep.  It’s a whole new world for them.” “It will only be in small groups,” Mrs Matson assures me.  “And only for an hour or two.  As the school is still quite small, by days end, all the students will have had a turn.” Suddenly I’m excited to be part of it. This is something I can do and do well. All I have to do is impart the same knowledge to these children that my father gave me.  And there’s also a lot I learned on my own.  I had begun to fear that it might be some formal arrangement, giving lectures or something in front of the whole school, albeit in the woods. “Max will accompany you on your first day. Just to get you acquainted with the children and make sure they don’t give you any trouble,” adds Mr Matson. So Floppy-haired man’s name is Max.  I force a smile.  In my side-vision I see a big smirk on Max’s face.  I finger the string of my bow.   I’m so glad I brought it with me.  

Fortunately for Max I don’t end up using it.  Not on him, anyway.  One of the older children, a sort of junior version of Max, thinks it’s funny to scare his classmates with tales of ferocious man-eating beasts and squirrels that drop out of trees to munch on the heads of passers-by.  After reassuring the kids that it’s completely untrue, I give a brief demonstration of what any animal that dared to attack could expect.  It shuts that kid right up.   And Max too.  

By the end of the school day, every child has had a turn in the woods.  As Mr Matson had said, for many of them it’s a whole new world.  I remember some of the districts Peeta and I had visited on the Victory Tour where there was scarcely a blade of grass to be seen. Even in 12, exposure to nature was limited if you didn’t venture into the woods.  The kids are so excited that I’m excited too.  I don’t know if they learn much, but I think we all have a good time.  Next time, I’ll have to put more substance into it.  Perhaps safety in the woods would be a good place to start and then go on to identifying the different plants and animals.   I sleep well that night, exhausted by the unaccustomed activity of the past five days.  Just as well, otherwise the anticipation of spending the afternoon with Peeta watching old footage of us together would have kept me up all night. I wonder what we’ll start with.  I have no idea if it will be chronological, starting with the reaping, or all mixed up.   But whatever it is, I need to be prepared and to answer any questions Peeta might have as honestly as I can, no matter how awkward it might be.

The next day, I spend an inordinate amount of time choosing what to wear.  I want to appear casually elegant, and maybe just a little bit sexy. What I don’t want is to look as if I’ve tried too hard.  That’s more difficult than I first thought.  Anything more than my usual baggy khaki trousers and T-shirt tells the world that I’ve put in more than my usual effort.  I didn’t have this problem after I won the Games, but then I don’t have my mother around to remind me to dress according to my status any more.  I guess, when left to my own devices, I’m just a natural slob.   Eventually I decide on figure hugging black trousers that make my rear end look great, if I do say so myself.  A simple clinging top in forest green completes the ensemble.  I debate whether to go braless to allow my nipples to show through but then decide that it might be a bit too obvious and go with the bra.  My hair I wear down except for the side sections which I braid loosely to tie at the back of my head.  And then I carefully apply makeup, just as Flavius had shown me. At exactly three o’clock I’m at Peeta’s door. My insides are churning with nervous energy and I wonder if I should have gone to the bathroom before I left. I had gone, I remind myself.  It’s just the excitement and I don’t really need to go.  Oh, please, please let only good things come from this.  It could be my only chance. I hesitate for a few seconds, then reach for the brass knocker.  One, two, three raps and then I wait.  I hear voices, more than one, some scuffling and then feet approaching the door.  The door opens.  It’s not Peeta.  It’s Lace. She wears a low-cut pink dress, her breasts almost spilling out.  The first thing that comes into my head is that I should have left off the bra.

Chapter 5.

Shep bounds out to greet me. I push him away, perhaps more forcefully than I need to.  He leaves behind what seems to be half his coat on my black trousers.  

“Hi Katniss!” Lace chirps, following it with that stupid pearly laugh of hers.  “Come in.  We’ve been waiting for you.  It’s all set up in the sitting room.” She looks me up and down, taking in the extra care I’ve taken.  “All dressed up for the occasion, I see.” Peeta appears just behind her.  He tries to make eye contact.  I think there’s an unspoken apology there, but I refuse to look at him.  I am so angry!  This is my life too we’re about to dissect and then discuss. What is she doing here? How dare he invite her!  And even if she just turned up, how could he let her stay? “I have somewhere to go after this,” I tell Lace.  It’s a lie, of course.  I had no plans other than to hopefully spend lots of one-on-one time with Peeta. Obviously, that’s not going to happen.

“Well, you look very nice,” says Peeta. “Thanks,” I reply, but without enthusiasm. I’m too mad at him to take any pleasure in the compliment.

Shep jumps back up, leaving another layer of dog hair on my clothes.  “Can something be done about this dog?” I ask irritably.  “Maybe some training?” “Shep, come here,” calls Peeta.  He takes Shep by the collar and leads him away into the rear of the house.  Bloody nuisance of a dog. I follow Lace into the sitting room.  “Can I get you a tea or hot chocolate?  Or maybe a cold drink?” offers Lace. “No thank you,” I say stiffly.  So now she’s also playing the role of host in Peeta’s home.  I want to scream with disappointment and frustration but I can’t afford to let my emotions show so I do the next best thing.  I set my face into a stony mask and steel myself to get through the coming ordeal as well as I can.   Peeta’s sitting room is set up like mine. In front of the television there’s a two-seater couch and single lounge chairs on either side.  I note there’s a plate of frosted cookies on the coffee table, each bearing a floral motif.   Among them I recognise the flower with three petals as katniss flowers.   Haven’t lost your talent for playing the two of us at the same time, have you Peeta?   “Would you like a cookie, Katniss?” asks Lace, as she holds the plate out to me. “No thanks.  I had my fill of baked goods during the week.”   Just then Peeta walks in and I can tell by his frown that he heard me.  

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” I say.  The sooner we start, the sooner we finish and I can get out of here.   “Of course,” says Peeta.  He doesn’t look happy.  I guess he’s anxious about what’s on the tape.   He turns on the television and inserts the tape into the player.  Immediately the Panem Capitol seal appears on the screen.  We’re about to see official televised footage then.   It might be my imagination, but Lace seems to race towards the two-seater couch to get there first.   Peeta sits down beside her and I take my place on one of the single chairs.  In my peripheral vision I see him turn to me with a worried expression but I keep my eyes forward and pretend not to notice.  I’ve kicked off my shoes to hug my knees to my chest and I drop my head to partially obscure my face.  I wish I could shut all of this out.  Lace, him, me.  Everything.

Peeta presses the start button on the remote.  The Capitol Seal is replaced by images of Peeta and me at one of the big Capitol events. Dr Aurelius seems to have chosen to start with the least harrowing and emotionally fraught, although this is also bad. We were performing for our lives, afraid that one wrong move would doom not only our families, but entire districts.

Lace leans her head against Peeta’s shoulder and his arm goes around her.  I’m glad I’m sitting where I can’t see them from the front.  I don’t want to know if they’re also holding hands. Like Peeta and I did on the Capitol stage.   To keep the tears at bay, I take refuge in anger.  Where do they think they are?  At the movies?  It’s just as well I don’t have my bow with me or I’d send an arrow through both their skulls. I hate them so much!  And I’m done with Peeta.  For good this time.  I haven’t changed my mind about helping him regain his memories, but I don’t owe him more than that.   The tape continues to play although I pay little attention to it.  It’s a montage of Capitol parties.  Many changes of clothes for Peeta and me.  Garishly costumed Capitolites showing off their Mockingjay accessories. Glimpses of Haymitch and Effie and assorted Capitol celebrities. But most of all there’s kissing. Lots of kissing, hand holding, slow dancing and romantic gazes. I take grim satisfaction that Lace is watching it. But what else could she expect? She’s seen it all before.  This was mandatory viewing. Was she taken in by it? Did she believe the hype?  How does she reconcile all this with her relationship with Peeta and his friendship with me?  What has Peeta told her? After what seems an age, the tape ends. The screen goes blank and Peeta clicks on the remote to turn off the television.  No one speaks.

I wait for Peeta’s questions, wondering how this will work.   Peeta’s greatest confusion centres around me.  Lace’s presence could have an inhibiting effect.  

He starts haltingly, feeling his way.  “I remember some of it.  The dress you wore to the district party in 7, for example.”  This is no surprise.  We talked of this when we played the real, not real game on the way to the Capitol.  “And dancing with you.  I think it was at a feast?” “That’s right.  It was the night we became engaged.  The feast was after.  We were disgusted with the waste of food when there was so much starvation in the districts.  You met Cass – one of the bakers I work for.  He gave you his frosting to take home.”

Peeta nods. “They gave out drinks to make you puke so could you could go on eating.” “Yes,” I say, growing excited.  He’s remembering!  I get out of my chair and walk around to face him.   “And then you questioned whether we were doing the right thing by trying to subdue the unrest in the districts.” He frowns at this, considering it. “It’s why we kissed so much – to make people believe our romance was real.  And that we weren’t out to defy the Capitol.” I don’t respond.  Dread freezes my tongue.  I know what’s coming next. “We were acting.  Both of us,” he says.  He looks down at his feet as if he’s recalling a sad fact, and then back up at me, searching my face, waiting for confirmation.

And what can I say?   For while Peeta was as madly in love with me as ever, all that public romance stuff was indeed an act.  For him, as well as me. I want to tell him that we were growing closer then, that I would come to feel the same way about him that he did about me. But some instinct tells me that this isn’t the right time.  That maybe Dr Aurelius intends there to be a progression, that I shouldn’t rush things. That I should let Peeta’s questions be my guide.   Besides, Lace is here, hanging onto every word.  So I bite my tongue and merely nod. He seems to consider it a moment and then responds with a nod of his own. “Yeah, thought so.” I take a deep breath.  I have to leave before I do something stupid like cry. “Well, if there’s no more questions, I should be going.  There’s people expecting me.”  I make my way to the door.  “Same time next week?”   I scarcely wait for the answer.  I’m halfway to my house when I hear my name called. I want to ignore it, but when it’s repeated, louder this time and more urgently, I have little choice but to stop. I turn around but remain where I am until Peeta reaches me, slightly breathless.   “Katniss, I want to explain about Lace.   I didn’t mean for her to be there, but when she turned up, I didn’t like to ask her to leave.  She wants to be supportive.  She means well, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll ask her to stay away in future.” I want to shout at him.  To demand why let her stay in the first place.   It’s our story!  It has nothing to do with her!   But if I have to tell him all the ways in which Lace being there is so wrong, then what’s the point? He shouldn’t even have to ask.  He should know. And what’s this about making me uncomfortable? Me?  What about him having to talk about this great love he claims he had for me in front of his girlfriend?  Probably it’s not a problem for him because he doesn’t have it anymore. I shrug.  “It’s your party.  Invite who you like.  It’s not like the whole of Panem hasn’t seen it already.”  I look away from him, towards my house.  I don’t want him to see how close I am to tears.  “I’d better go.  I’m running late and I have to change my clothes.  There’s dog hair all over me.” “Bye, Katniss,” he calls after me, “and thanks.”  There’s a mixture of resignation and bewilderment in his voice, as if he’s wondering what he’s done wrong this time. Well, fuck him, I think as I tear off my black trousers and toss them into a corner of my bedroom. I don’t care that he was hijacked.  If he had even an ounce of consideration for me then Lace would have been asked to leave immediately.  I suppose this is his idea of being a good boyfriend.  Let the girlfriend stay because she wants to be supportive. Wants to sabotage, more like. My second choice of dark green trousers still lies across the bed, so I put them on before grabbing some money from the dresser.  I can’t go to the woods like I want to in case I’m caught in the lie.  That leaves the town. At least the walk helps burn off the anger. In fact, by the time I reach the town square, I’m hovering on despair again.  I have to remind myself that it’s early days, and that we’ve barely begun the process to restore Peeta’s memories.  But there’s this feeling that time’s not on my side, and that the longer it takes, the closer he’ll become with Lace.  Maybe he’ll even prefer her, despite his memories coming back, and it’s something I should prepare myself for.  It might even be the reason why Dr Aurelius advised me to work on myself. He knows what’s in Peeta’s mind better than anybody. There’s not many people about late on a Saturday afternoon.   Shops are closed, cafes are winding down and restaurants are yet to open.  That leaves 12’s two pubs.  Pre-war, it was mostly peacekeepers who frequented these kinds of places.  The only girls from 12 who went into them were looking for business.  Maybe times have changed though.  Twelve is definitely more cosmopolitan than it used to be. And it’s not like I’m dressed like, well like Lace was dressed this afternoon, with her boobs hanging out everywhere.   I choose what appears from the outside to be the most respectable.   I make a beeline for the bar, perch myself on a stool and pick up the drinks menu in front of me.  I’ve never had a cocktail before and the list is mystifying.  I end up ordering a martini because I like the way it sounds. It tastes foul.  But at least by the rate I’m sipping this thing, it should while away an hour or two.   After about ten minutes, I get sick of the stool and move to a table.  More customers start to filter in.  A man, tow-headed and with a Capitol accent, takes the chair opposite and tries to engage me in conversation.  I give him a withering look before he leaves to join a group of men at another table. They are obviously friends of his, because they glance my way and then turn back to him, laughing. Arseholes.  I’m already on edge when a hand descends on my shoulder.  I jerk back in anger and hot words spring to my lips. But when I see who the hand belongs to, I pull them back. “Hi Katniss.  Are you here on your own?  Do you mind if we join you?” Sateen asks.  She’s with a man I don’t recognise. “Of course not,” I say, as I make more room for them.    I’m glad to have the company.  Not only will it deter unwelcome attention, it also validates my lie.  These can be the people I was meeting with all along. “This is Arthur.  He’s the brother I told you about.  The tailor,” says Sateen. Arthur and I shake hands.  He’s of medium height with brown hair that’s started to recede and mild blue eyes.   “I often walk past your shop,” I say to him. “Are you getting a lot of business?” Arthur’s face lights up.  This is evidently a pet topic for him. “It was slow at first but it’s picking up.  It’s not what I want to do long term though.  As soon as I build up enough capital, I’d like to open my own factory. Ready-to-wear is where the real money is.” “It was the family business in 8,” explains Sateen.  “Well, it was until our factory was bombed.  Most of our workers were killed, and Arthur and I barely escaped ourselves.  And then when we went back later to find the safe, someone had got there first.  So now we start again.  Like nearly everyone, I guess.” I think of Lace, who has a similar story. Except that she had been a factory worker, rather than a factory owner.   “We’re just lucky to have been taught a trade. Dad insisted that we know all aspects of the business and it turned out Arthur has quite the talent for tailoring. He even got offers to work in the Capitol,” says Sateen proudly. “Only two,” says Arthur modestly, but he looks pleased nonetheless. “What made you choose 12? “ I ask.  “Why not stay in 8?” Sateen shrugs. “We wanted a fresh start. There’s not many good memories in 8, what with the bombings and all.  We also lost family members.  Dad and a cousin of ours were killed in a separate bombing a few days later.  And Mum died about ten years ago so there’s only Arthur and me.  So when we heard about the medicine factory opening in 12 it seemed ideal.  If there’s one factory, they’ll be more so why shouldn’t one of them be a clothing factory?  Plus there’s not much  competition here and lots of new people who need clothes.”  

I nod.  It seems that’s why most people come to 12.  For opportunity.  Personally, if I were coming here from 8, it would be for the woods. Eight was the most depressing of all the districts.  Nothing but factories and tenements.   I come to the last of my martini and I push the glass from me.  Immediately Arthur springs up and offers to buy me another.  I decline, but Sateen wants a drink and Arthur makes his way over to the bar. Once he’s out of hearing, Sateen leans forward and talks in a loud whisper.  “I had to nag him to come out tonight.  He’s so shy around new people.  Especially women.  And it’s such a shame, because you couldn’t find a nicer guy.  He’s ambitious too.  A real catch.”  She regards me thoughtfully. “He seems to like you.” “Oh, does he?   It’s probably because he feels he knows me already.  From the TV.  A lot of people are like that,” I say hastily.   I certainly don’t want Sateen doing any matchmaking between Arthur and me.   “Yeah, probably.  I didn’t think of that,” she replies, sounding a little disappointed. Arthur returns with the drinks and we chat some more.  Soon after I make my excuses.  I’ve been gone for long enough and I want to get home before dark.   As I pass through the Village gates, I encounter Lace on her way home.  We greet each other politely.  No one would guess that we don’t trust each other an inch.  Once our paths have crossed, the corners of my mouth lift in a smile.  A genuine one this time.  As far as the fight for Peeta goes, it’s been a disastrous day for me, and a triumphant one for her.  But I do have one thing to celebrate.  At least she’s not spending the night.   Chapter 6.  

The following Saturday, I’m outside Peeta’s door again but with considerably lower expectations than I had the week before.   But at least it won’t be as bad as last week, now that we’ve got the acting thing out of the way. It’s Peeta who opens the door this time. His eyes widen with admiration when he sees what I’m wearing.  I knew he’d like it. “You’re as radiant as a sunset,” he says. “Thank you.  When I saw this dress in the shop window that’s what it reminded me of.” I see Lace hovering in the background. “It’s from the shop just a few doors down from you, Lace.”   Lace smiles tightly.  “Yeah, I remember seeing it.” There’s no sign of Shep.  Either Lace has left him at home, or he’s been put in a back room.  I wish Lace had been too.  I’ve been kicking myself all week that I didn’t take up Peeta’s offer to tell her to stay away for the tape viewings but instead allowed angry pride to rule me.   So here she is, in a green floral dress that accentuates her breasts and small waist, her mahogany hair curling artfully over her shoulders.  Lace always takes care of her appearance but she’s gone to extra trouble today.   I smooth back my hair, left loose and flowing down my back in silky waves and stare coolly back.  Challenge met. Peeta has no idea what’s going on, his blue eyes innocent of the tension between Lace and me. “Going out after this?” Lace asks, all friendly interest.   “Yes, I am.  I’m meeting friends.”  And it’s true this time.  Sateen, Arthur, Flora and I are going to a restaurant together.  Sateen is quite the social organiser.  

We move into the sitting room.  Peeta asks if I’d like a drink before we get started and I accept this time because it’s Peeta who asks.  I also take a chocolate chip cookie to go with my glass of water.  The bakery doesn’t do cookies and I have missed Peeta’s. This time I don’t even think about occupying the two-seater couch but take a seat on one of the lounge chairs to the side. Lace, and then Peeta take the couch.  The television flickers to life and the next instalment of the star-crossed lover’s saga begins.

After last week, I thought Dr Aurelius might continue with the least harrowing of the archival footage, but no, he seems to have decided to plunge Peeta into the deep end this time. It’s the District 11 leg of the Victory Tour.  I recognise the marble stairs of the District 11 Justice building.  We would have to face the families of Thresh and Rue, and then witness the death of a frail old man, shot through the head by a peacekeeper.   My eyes search out Peeta.  It’s hard to make out his reaction to what’s on the screen from where I’m sitting.  The light in the room is dim and my view of him is partially obscured by Lace, who’s chosen to sit on the side of the couch closest to me.   It should be me sitting next to him!  Not her!  How can I read him, if I’m all the way over here? The sound of applause sends my attention back to the television screen.  It’s the audience reacting to Peeta and me as we walk onto the makeshift stage.  The camera pans across the crowd and then to the families of the dead tributes who stand waiting on a special platform just below us.  The mayor makes his speech, and then Peeta and I make the scripted speech that Effie wrote.  Peeta makes his own, personal speech to Rue’s and Thresh’s families when, to the astonishment of all, he pledges to give them a month of our winnings every year for the rest of our lives.  Peeta and I exchange glances and I rise on tiptoe to kiss him.  The camera records all our movements but what it doesn’t catch is how I felt about him in that moment.  How I found it impossible to imagine that I could do any better than him. A pang of loss slices through me.  I miss that boy so much.  For a few seconds I forget about District 11 and what’s to happen next and instead focus on the Peeta and Katniss on the TV screen.  We were so young. Far too young to have the weight of the world on our shoulders.  But Peeta’s love for me shines through, like a brightly burning flame.   And there’s me, confused, unsure, but slowly falling. If only I had known sooner, perhaps we wouldn’t be where we are now.

The mayor presents us each with a large plaque and I put down my bouquet of flowers to hold it.  It signals the end of the ceremony, but I tell them to wait.  I have something to say to the families.  I speak from the heart, and it seems to resonate because there’s a hushed silence from the crowd when I finish.  This is where I expect the tape to end.   For surely what is to follow wouldn’t have made the official broadcast.   But Dr Aurelius seems to have got hold of the unedited tape because the cameras keep on rolling. An old man in the crowd whistles Rue’s four-note mockingjay tune.  And then, as if pre-arranged, every person kisses the three middle fingers of their left hand and holds them out to me.  I recall the sudden sense of dread and panic. It was a gesture of defiance to the Capitol and somehow, I had provoked it.   I was supposed to defuse tensions in the districts, not inflame them.  The mayor then says a few words and Peeta and I head toward the doors.  That’s when I go back for my flowers and see peacekeepers drag the old man to the top of the steps.  To be shot.

I lose sight of Peeta and me.  Peacekeepers have surrounded us, blocking us from sight.  We were ushered into the building at that point.  In the square there’s pandemonium.  People screaming, terrified, as two more men are pulled from the crowd to be shot in the head too.  The crowd pulls back, seemingly realising that their greater numbers are no match for the peacekeeper’s guns.   But their expressions remain defiant.  A thin wail pierces the silence.  I think it must come from a woman who has thrown herself over the body of one of the dead men, but it continues when the television screen goes black.   It’s coming from Lace. Peeta tries to calm her down.  Through the sobs we hear a garbled story of witnessing a skirmish in the main square of District 8.  Lace saw it from the window of the apartment where her family lived. People had hidden their faces behind makeshift masks and were throwing bricks at the peacekeepers who shot into the crowd, killing many.  

While Lace cries against Peeta’s neck, I hang back, silent, my emotions swinging between anger, despair and straight-out jealousy.  There’s also contempt for Lace, unfair though it is.  It would have been an awful thing to witness, but it wasn’t her that was being shot at.   She’s alive, isn’t she?  And her family is too.  She has everything to be grateful for as she blubbers away.  She gets to enjoy the sacrifices that others have made while losing little.  She even gets Peeta.   And as for him, I might as well not be here. It’s all about Lace.  If I’m been relegated to second place on Peeta’s list of priorities, then it’s so far down from first it might as well be last.  I don’t wait for Lace to quieten down so Peeta can ask his questions.  I just leave. The walk into town is a quick one.  I want to get as much distance between me and the Village as possible.  I begin to think that perhaps my future no longer lies with Peeta, and that I have to look outward more than I have ever done before if I’m to survive this.  Because I think I might have lost him.  Forever this time.  These tapes do nothing but push Peeta closer to Lace.  I’ve made a big tactical error, and now I have to live with it. And I can’t opt out.  I made a promise, and it was my idea to begin with.  

Strangely, the thought doesn’t throw me into despair as I thought it might.  Letting go of hope has a deadening affect.  I feel almost nothing.  That can be my strategy.  I’ll be as detached from it all as much as I can.  If I expect nothing then I won’t be disappointed when that’s inevitably what I get. By the time I reach the town square, I’m feeling better.  But I’m also aware how fragile this new attitude is, and that it won’t take much to tip me right back to where I started.  I look around for something to distract me.  I’ve arrived too early to meet the others so I head for the pub I went to last week.  Over an old fashioned this time (I didn’t think I could go wrong with something that’s stood the test of time) I secrete myself in a corner to enjoy my drink.   Which I don’t.  For two reasons.  It tastes foul and Max Matson is here.  

He’s at the bar, drinking a beer.  He appears to be alone but by the way he’s scanning the room, it’s clear that he doesn’t intend to be that way for long.  I shrink into the shadows as much as I can but it’s no good.  He’s seen me and he’s heading this way.  

“Katniss! On your own?” “No, just trying to be.” Max ignores me and takes the seat opposite. “Cheers”, he says, clinking his glass against mine.  “So how are you finding working at the school?” I hesitate.  I really want to tell him to take a hike.  But I do share a workplace with him, and to give him his due, he was responsible for getting me the job.  Just tolerate him, I tell myself.  That’s all you have to do. “It’s good.  I like the kids and they seem to enjoy the lessons.” “Well, who wouldn’t be impressed by having the Mockingjay as your teacher?  Especially when she brings her bow along and shoots arrows into innocent trees.  There was one terrifying moment when I thought you were going to shoot me.” I try, but I can’t keep the scowl off my face. “And why would I possibly want to shoot at you?” “Don’t know.  But I seem to bother you, for some reason.” “I think if you tried really, really hard, you’d figure out why.” “Hmm.  Because you’re attracted and you don’t want to be?” I can’t be bothered dignifying that with an answer, so I take another sip of my drink instead.   “Why do you drink something you hate?” “Who says I hate it?” “You screw up your face every time you take a drink.” Irritated, I bang my glass back down on the table.  “Did you specifically come over here to annoy me?”   “Is that what I’m doing?” he asks.  He seems genuinely surprised.  “I don’t mean to.  I’m just trying to get to know you.  It’s pretty daunting you know.  Meeting the Mockingjay.” I put up my hand. “You can stop right there. I’m not the Mockingjay anymore.   I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t want it.  If you really want to get to know me, then it’s as plain Katniss Everdeen, not some preconceived idea of what you think you know about me from what you saw on TV.” “So they aren’t one and the same?” “Nope. Not even close.” “Well, that’s a shame.  I only asked you to join the school because of what I saw on TV. So it wasn’t you who volunteered for her sister? Or took that twelve-year-old under her wing and sang to her as she died?  Or nursed that liability called Peeta Mellark? Or took care of the odd couple from 3 in the Quell?  Or knew how to live off the land? Or threatened to eat poisonous berries rather than – “ “Of course that was me,” I interrupt impatiently.   “I mean the rest of it.  You know, the costume and the speeches and stuff.  Or that I was some kind of revolutionary.  That part wasn’t me.” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “For the record, I thought both were awesome but the Katniss Everdeen part most of all.” “Oh,” I say, taken aback.   The last person who thought I was anything close to awesome was Prim.  Peeta hasn’t thought that way about me since he was hijacked. And then to hear it from this irritating man I barely know, who in this moment, has just given me something I didn’t even know I hungered for until now.

I try to hide how it’s affected me, but I can feel myself blushing.  “Well, just wait ten minutes,” I say in an attempt to downplay it. Max laughs. He holds up his empty glass. “Do you mind if I get another drink while I’m waiting?  What about you?  Care to ditch that drink for something you might actually like?”

“Yeah.  Thanks.  Maybe something non-alcoholic this time,” I say.  

He returns with another beer and an orange juice for me.   We spend the next half hour chatting comfortably – talking about the school and how he and his family came to 12.   He’s still annoying and he evidently loves to tease.  But when it’s time to leave, I realise I might have made progress on the second part of my goal.  I think I’ve made a friend. It’s not far to the restaurant.  A few doors down from the bakery actually. Flora, Sateen and Arthur are already there when I arrive.  It soon becomes clear why Sateen organised this outing.  She’s trying to set up Flora with Arthur.  Unfortunately for Sateen, her attempts to cultivate conversation between the two falls flat every time.  Arthur is too old and serious for Flora, who shows more interest in flirting with the waiter.  

Eventually Sateen gives up and the company relaxes into easy conversation.  Sateen tells Flora she wouldn’t mind colouring her “boring” brown hair.  I actually think it’s an attractive shade of ash brown that reminds me of the bark of a black oak and I tell her so.  But apparently nearly everyone from 8 has this hair colour and she wants something different.  This seems a good time to recommend Flavius and Octavia which then leads to questions about my time as a tribute and all the styling and prepping we had to undertake. You’d think Arthur would be bored by the conversation, but he listens intently and asks a question now and then.   It turns out that he did some work for Cinna and he and I reminisce, having at last found common ground.  That is, until I catch Sateen watching us speculatively.  I don’t want to give her any ideas.   It’s nearly dark by the time I get home. Summer is drawing to a close and the days are getting shorter.  A chill has settled on the night air and I look forward to being indoors to get warm. I was so intent on getting away from the Village that I forgot to drop into my house first to pick up a cardigan or a jacket before I left. I’m almost on top of him before I see him. His body is partially obscured by the deep shadows cast by the porch roof.  I wonder how long he’s been waiting.  Certainly not more than when Lace left for home, I figure.  He wouldn’t be sitting on my front porch if she was still here. Peeta turns his head as I approach but stays seated.   “Hi,” he says.

I sit down beside him.  I guess I could invite him in but I don’t want to appear too friendly.  Not until he’s earned it, anyway.  Besides, if I’m not welcome in his house at night unannounced, then I don’t see why I should welcome him into mine.

“How long have you been here?” I ask. He shrugs. “Don’t know.  Not that long.”  He pauses for a moment, and then speaks in a rush.  “I want to apologise for this afternoon.  I had no idea the tapes would trigger Lace. I thought she would have seen them already, and she’d know what to expect.  And when I saw you gone – “ “How is Lace?” I interrupt.  I don’t want to have to explain why I left suddenly.  

“She’s fine now. The shootings in 8 . . .one of those killed was her fiancé.   She . . . she had been carrying his baby but miscarried a few days later.” “Wow.” I feel bad for judging Lace so harshly before.  Maybe that’s why her mind went to my rumoured miscarriage when the subject of children came up when we first met.  She knew how it felt.  “Did you know all this?” Peeta shakes his head. “No, it was the first I’d heard of it.”

I don’t know how to respond. It seems a big thing not to tell someone you’ve supposedly grown close to.  But perhaps it’s a coping mechanism.  We all have them.  Lace doesn’t seem the type to dwell on unhappy times.  And it’s not like they’d be a big exchange of stories about previous relationships between them.  Peeta can’t remember his.  Except false memories planted by the Capitol, that is. “Anyway, I should have realised that this is upsetting for you too.  I’m sorry that I was too pre-occupied with Lace to be of any use.  I know you’re doing this for me and the least I can do is make it as easy for you as possible.  Lace really had no business being there.  This doesn’t involve her and I should never have allowed her to stay.  I want you to know that I’ve told her not to come next time, for everyone’s sake.” Peeta’s evidently attributed my walking out to having being overcome from emotion.  Which I was, but not for the reason he thinks.   I guess I ought to feel relief that he hasn’t guessed why, but I’m also saddened by it. Misread, yet again. “What did Lace say?” I ask. “She came around to it,” he says after a pause.   Lace wasn’t happy then. “Do you think there’ll be more of those tapes? Ones that weren’t shown on TV?” Peeta asks.   I hear apprehension in his voice.  I’d asked myself the same question.  Who knows what recordings the Capitol made. “Maybe.  We always assumed that we were under some kind of surveillance.  Audio, at least.  There may be film.  I don’t know.” “I mean of when I was captured.”   I turn sharply to look at him.  He’s in profile, looking down at his clasped hands. Naturally his thoughts would go to the torture and I’m reminded again of what a huge undertaking this is for him. “I doubt it.  Snow wouldn’t have filmed anything incriminating.  He was careful to cover his tracks so I don’t think it’s something you should worry about.   In any case, Dr Aurelius won’t send anything you can’t handle.  We need to trust him.” Peeta nods, and we lapse into silence. I start to shiver in the chilly air and I wrap my arms around myself to rub some warmth into them.  This seems to rouse Peeta. “You’re cold,” he says.  He takes off his jacket, and before I can stop him, he’s laid it around my shoulders.  

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the material around me and wishing it were his arms.  My mind goes back to the first time we visited the roof garden in the training centre.  He had given me his jacket then too.  Why is it, in only looking back, that I can see all the little romantic gestures that Peeta did for me?  Probably because even if I did, I’d have thought there was an ulterior motive behind them.  I suppose it’s Lace who gets them now. “So, do you have any questions about the tape?” I ask.  “Did it jog any memories?” He considers it for a moment.  “I actually remembered a fair bit of it.  I don’t think the Capitol altered this one. But I also felt a lot of anger as I watched it, and it’s the same kind the Capitol exploited. Anger towards you. Did anything happen, beyond the shooting?” My stomach sinks.  After what I had to confess last week, I was hoping for something more positive this time.  From faking it to Gale.  Could this get any worse? I take a breath. Be honest, I think.  Be honest. “Yes, there was something.  After we went inside.  Well, actually on the day we started the tour.  But you found out that day.” I pause here, waiting to see if this information sparks any memories.  But Peeta says nothing, so I continue.  “Snow came to see me, just before the tour began.  The trick with the berries – some people in the districts viewed it as an act of defiance rather than an act of love.  It caused a lot of unrest and Snow was concerned that it could lead to open rebellion.  I was to convince everyone that our love was real.  He threatened to harm our families if I didn’t co-operate.  I told Haymitch about it as soon as I could, but we didn’t tell you. I guess he didn’t want to worry you with it. But after what happened in the square, there was no choice. You were pretty mad that we hadn’t told you.” “You and Haymitch had this system, that I wasn’t part of.  I remember that,” says Peeta.  “It wasn’t a good feeling, being left out in the cold.”   “No,” I agree, thinking of how things have changed.  Now it’s me who’s often the third wheel.  The difference between a working partnership and peacetime friendship, I guess.  Because we’re alike, Haymitch and I can often communicate with non-verbal cues.  Yet Peeta and Haymitch get along better.   “There’s something else.” Be honest. “Snow also threatened Gale.  He knew he wasn’t my cousin and that we went into the woods together.  Somehow, he had learned about a kiss between Gale and me.  I think he wanted me to know that he was always watching.” Peeta says nothing at first.  It’s dark now and I can’t see his expression in the dim light.  I hold my breath as I wait for his response.  “He was your boyfriend.”  He says it flatly, as if confirming an established fact. “No,” I say emphatically.  “Gale was never my boyfriend.”  I twist around to face him, to encourage him to look at me. I need to get him to understand.  I may never have a second chance.  Be honest.  “But, before going into the Games, there was the beginning of something.  I think I might have had a bit of a crush on him. Just something at the back of my mind, that I never expected to go anywhere.  You see, I didn’t want a boyfriend because I didn’t want to marry or have children.  I was too afraid of losing people. “The morning of day the we were reaped, Gale talked of us running off together; to escape 12 and live in the woods.  At the time, I thought nothing of it.  But later I wondered if he was hinting that there could be more between us.  When I came back from the Games, I thought we’d just go on being friends, like before. But then Gale kissed me just as we were returning from a hunt.  That’s the kiss Snow found out about.”   “Did you like him kissing you?”  The question startles me. For a moment I’m transported to District 13 and a hijacked Peeta similarly questioning me, but there’s none of the hostility.  Just curiosity.  I think I’d prefer the hostility.  At least that way I’d know he cares.

Be honest.  “I don’t know. I think I was confused by it more than anything.  The next time I saw him, I had a speech ready about not wanting a boyfriend, but Gale acted like nothing had happened so I never got to make it. But it changed things between us.  I kissed him a few more times after that.  Once as an apology after he was whipped and another time when he was sad that I hadn’t given him an answer.  And after you were hijacked.  I thought you’d always hate me and it didn’t matter anymore.  Gale wasn’t happy with it.  He said it was like kissing someone who’s drunk.  And that’s the extent of it.”  There, above and beyond. When there’s no response, I keep talking to fill the silence.  I’m disconcerted by it.  It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. He hasn’t looked at me once. “It would never have worked between us.  Even if things hadn’t ended as they did.  We were too much alike.  It would have been like Haymitch and me getting together.” Peeta laughs. “That’s hard to imagine.“ He glances my way for the first time, smiling slightly. “Thanks for telling me, Katniss.  It’s certainly not how the Capitol painted it.” “No, I suppose not.”  I want so much to tell him that I couldn’t be with Gale because I was falling in love with him.  But I can’t. Not yet.  It’s only a little more than a month ago that he told me he wasn’t in love with me and told me not to come over at night when I had a nightmare.  For all I know, his feelings for me haven’t changed.  Not for the first time I wonder how we could have come to this.   Once we would have died for each other.   Suddenly I get to my feet.  “I just thought of something.  Wait here.” I hand Peeta back his jacket.  “Don’t move.” I dash inside, and race down the hall. In the study, I ransack drawers and cupboards.  I know it’s here somewhere. At last I find it, on top of a tall shelf.  I drag up a chair to lift it down.  The box isn’t heavy, having only a few small items in it. Once I have what I want, I re-join Peeta. “Here,” I say, as I place the necklace in his hand.   “This was your token in the Quell.  You gave it to me.” Peeta examines the gold disc with the Mockingjay emblem.  He shakes his head.  “I don’t remember it, I’m sorry.” I reach over to run my thumb along the catch and the disc springs open to reveal a locket with a photograph of my mother and Prim on one side, and of Gale on the other. “Why would I have this as my token?” he asks, puzzled. “It doesn’t make any sense.” “Not now, but it might later,” I say. “Keep it, maybe it will help.” “Well, OK, if you’re sure.”  He slips the locket into a pocket of his jacket.  “I’d better go now. I’ve kept you out long enough. You should get inside before you freeze.” “See you next week, Katniss,” he says, as he walks off. “See you,” I call after him.  And only you.  Without Lace.  Maybe it hasn’t been such a bad day after all.

 Chapter 7  

Haymitch scowls when he sees what we’re having for dinner.  “Why didn’t you get the chicken pie?” “Because we sold all the chicken pies, that’s why.” I slam down the plate in front of him.  “This is what was left.  If you don’t like quiche, then don’t eat it.  I don’t care either way.” I reach for the bowl in the centre of the table and pile salad onto my plate.  I’m in no mood for Haymitch’s grousing.  It’s not like he’s paying for it.   “Sheesh!  What’s got your goat?” asks Haymitch, who is already shovelling quiche into his mouth.  

“People.  I’m sick of them.  Is it my fault if the beestings run out?  If you turn up at the end of the day, just before closing, is it so surprising there’s none left?  And then I have to be nice and apologise.  For something I’m not responsible for.  Idiot woman.” Haymitch laughs.  “I knew when you took the job it wouldn’t last.  I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.  What is it?  A month? Just quit if you don’t like it.” “I can’t.  Not yet, anyway.  It’s too much like giving up.  Besides, I like the people I work with.” “Life’s too short to stay in a job you hate,” says Haymitch.  “You like the teacher job, don’t you? Do more of that.” “I might later on.  If I’m asked.” I do like it at the school and the Matson’s seem pleased with the job I’m doing.  And the way the school is growing, it won’t be long before one day a week won’t be enough to allow every child to have a turn in the woods.  It’s just not safe to take large groups out there. But in the meantime, a fondness for my co-workers aside, there are benefits to staying at the bakery.  Not least, as a distraction from the current situation with Peeta.  It’s either fill my hours, or sink into despondency again.

“You’ll miss the free cakes if I leave,” I tell him.   A selection of them is on the table for dessert. Two chocolate eclairs, a fruit tart and, Haymitch’s favourite, an apple pastry. “That I will.  But my waistline won’t,” he replies, as he pats his stomach, which admittedly, has grown larger since our dinners started.   “As if you’ve ever cared about your health,” I counter, thinking of how much alcohol he consumes.   “I exercise.” “Bending the elbow doesn’t count.” “Humph,” grunts Haymitch.  “Speaking of health, how’s it going with the boy?”

I shrug. “OK, I guess. He remembers some things.  A lot more than I thought he did, actually.” “But?” Haymitch prompts.   “I thought he’d remember . . . other things. The tapes Dr Aurelius sends doesn’t help.  They’re of us acting for the cameras, or at some kind of odds with each other. Negative stuff.  It just reinforces what the hijacking made him believe.”

Despite Lace’s absence for the last two tape viewings, there’s been no progress in my quest to get Peeta back. Except maybe for the seating arrangements.  The single-seaters had been pushed to the far sides of the room with the two-seater placed squarely in front of the television, so there was no ambiguity about where I was to sit.  There was no cuddling or hand holding.  There wasn’t even the slightest encroachment into the other’s space.  Peeta sat with his hands tucked beneath his underarms, or clasped in his lap as if he didn’t know what to do with them.  I fancied that he wanted to put them on me but I had made him self-conscious about it.  Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.   The tapes were bad.  The first was of me dropping a tracker jack nest on him.  I had to admit that it was as it appears– I was indeed trying to kill him.   Peeta readily accepted my explanation that I thought he had joined with the careers and was out to kill me.   But it hardly paints me as having his welfare at heart, let alone having tender feelings for him.   The second was when I drugged Peeta with sleep syrup so he wouldn’t prevent me from going to the feast to get his medicine. Just before I left, I had remembered I was supposed to keep up the star-crossed lovers routine and gave him a long, lingering kiss goodbye.   It’s so obvious to anyone watching closely that the kiss was a calculated move rather than a spontaneous, sincere one.  Even down to the pretend tear I wiped from my cheek. I cringed when I saw it, terrified of what Peeta must be thinking. But when I glanced his way, all I saw was a complete lack of surprise.  Worst of all, he didn’t even seem that sad about it. When he asked his questions, there was no way around it.  Yes, Peeta. I did it for the camera.   The only positive is that it led to a discussion of how I risked my life to save his and how I was only alive to do it because he had saved me first.  But Peeta already knew about the feast.  He was told of it in 13.  What he doesn’t know is why I did it.  And after seeing that tape . . . well, he couldn’t be blamed for thinking that I haven’t one scrap of romantic feeling for him. Perhaps he even thinks protecting each other is some kind of quid pro quo arrangement born of the Seam ethos of owing.  You save me, so I save you.  And that could be another reason for why he doesn’t want me in his guest room anymore. He couldn’t see the point of it continuing it.

“He doesn’t remember that he’s in love with you, is that the real problem?” Haymitch asks. Shocked, I simply stare at him.  I didn’t think he knew.  He’s given every impression that he’s either ignorant of my feelings for Peeta, or too absorbed with his own problems to care.  I start to protest but he waves it away.

“Don’t bother denying it.   Anyone with eyes to see could tell you loved him.  I should know. I bear the marks.”  He indicates the faint white lines etched on the sides of his face.  It’s where I raked him with my fingernails after I learned that Peeta had been left in the arena. “And then how you came back to life the day he returned to 12?  Sweetheart, it’s all over your face.  I think the only one who isn’t aware of it is Peeta.”

It’s all I can do not to slap him. Haymitch baited me over Peeta dating Lace.  Said I must be glad that Peeta’s attentions are off me.  Fought me when I announced my intention to distance myself from Peeta unless he tried to get his memories back.  And now he says he knows that I loved Peeta all along?   “But then why – “ I begin.   He puts up his hand in defence.  “Yeah, I’m sorry.  I thought goading you might force you to act, instead of hanging back and letting things happen.  If you would just tell Peeta how you feel – “ “I did.” I interrupt before he can go further. “He took it the wrong way.  He thinks of me as some kind of family member. He’s told me to my face that he’s not in love with me anymore.  More than once, in fact.  And how awful it must be to have someone in love with you when you don’t feel the same way about them.  And then there’s Lace . . .   The only way I can see clear is for Peeta to get his memories back.   Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about me anymore, memories or not.  But I have to know.  I can’t . . . I can’t move on until I do.”

One thing you can say about Haymitch is that he doesn’t embarrass you with soppy expressions of sympathy. He just listens to what you have to say and then gives you the best advice he can.  Not that I’m always inclined to follow it. “Snow got to him more than I thought then,” he says. “He’d been so attached to you that I thought it would only take . . .well, it seems I was wrong.  Of course, it could all be in the timing. And it does sound to me like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything but who knows what’s going on in his head these days.  What concerns me most is that one day he’ll wake up from all this and find he’s caused so much damage, that there’s no going back.”

Peeta had said the same thing, although I doubt he was thinking of me when he said it.   But I know Haymitch is.  What would be my breaking point?  That line he’d have to cross, that my being with him would be unthinkable? I’ve thought about this a lot and failed to come up with an answer.   But I do know that the longer he is with Lace, the less faith I have in the strength and infallibility of Peeta’s love.  Time isn’t just not on my side, it’s not on Peeta’s either.  Would he marry her?  He might, if things continue as they are.  I don’t know if he’s slept with her.  But he most likely has. Sometimes, on those rare occasions when I allow myself to think about it, I want to curl up with the agony of it. Has that been the end, that point of no return, and I haven’t realised it yet? Right now, it’s hard to see beyond the fact that Peeta is with another and I don’t have him.  It consumes me, motivates nearly everything I do.  

Would it be fair of me then to pursue a relationship with him, if I can’t be sure that that point hasn’t already been reached?  Because, ignorant of his past he may be, there’s no denying that Peeta seems happy in his ignorance and happy with Lace.  What if he does get his memories back and he loves me again but then I don’t want him because I can’t get past his relationship with her?  That would be despicable on my part, if the only reason he had for recovering his memories was because I had coerced him into it.  If I do it certain in the knowledge that I’ll still want him because I love him, it makes me self-centred, but it’s forgivable. But it still won’t be for Peeta’s sake, but my own.  There needs to be a better reason.   “Then we have to stop him before he does,” I reply.  “If Lace is the one he wants to be with, then he should make that decision with his eyes open.  Peeta and I talked the night before the Games.   About what we wanted to achieve.  I just wanted to survive it.   But for Peeta, the most important thing was to stay himself.  To show that the Capitol doesn’t own him. Don’t we owe it to him to help him do that?” “Even if we have to drag him kicking and screaming?” “Even then,” I say grimly.  As content with the status quo as Peeta appears to be, I know that the real Peeta – the Peeta I’m fighting for – would want to get back to himself.  No matter what. Haymitch helps himself to a chocolate éclair.   I take a fruit tart before Haymitch eats them all.  

“Um, has Peeta said anything about me?  I mean about how he feels about me?”  Now that Haymitch knows everything, I might as well pump him for information.  Peeta might have confided in him.  I’ve overheard Peeta talking to him about Lace, whereas he rarely mentions her to me. Haymitch seems uncertain, but then he shrugs. “I suppose it won’t do any harm to tell you from Peeta’s point of view.  And you should know what you’re facing.  He says it was an illusion – a childhood crush that didn’t survive the harsh light of reality.” It’s worse than I thought then.  I thought he merely didn’t remember what it felt to love me.  But now I learn that he doesn’t think it was ever real.   The devastation must show on my face, for Haymitch’s voice softens. “Sweetheart, if I didn’t think it was a load of horseshit I wouldn’t have thought that the only thing you had to do was to tell him how you feel about him.  I saw it all.  The only illusion is what Peeta is telling himself.  OK?”  

I take a breath.  “OK,” I say, not sure that it makes it any better. It’s what Peeta believes that counts.

“Any last words of advice?” I ask. “Stay honest,” Haymitch tells me.  “If you’re not truthful about the bad, then he won’t trust you to be truthful about the good.   It will come eventually.  Be ready for it.” I nod and take a bite of my fruit tart.  What Haymitch says makes good sense.  What’s on the tapes has to improve soon.  I hope. There are times when I wonder what Dr Aurelius is trying to do to me.  It’s like he wants to drive Peeta and me even further apart.  But I told Peeta to trust in him and it behooves me to do the same.

After Haymitch leaves, I trek upstairs to Prim’s room and sit on her bed.   I come up here to talk to her about Peeta.  In those dark days after the hijacking when I thought that Peeta would die insane and hating me, she was possibly the only one who had faith that Peeta would recover and come back to me.  I try to remember it when the situation seems hopeless, but as the days go by and there’s no change, there are occasions when I’m tempted to simply give up.  To let Peeta pursue the path he’s chosen while I do my best to find myself a new one.  But then I remember the boy who was determined to defy the Capitol in the only way that was left to him.  And that was not to let the Capitol make him into something he wasn’t. I owe that boy.  In more ways that can possibly be imagined.

My eyes land on the primrose painting on Prim’s dresser.   Right side facing the wall, one corner of the frame broken.  If the pearl represented the boy with the bread, this painting could represent the Peeta he is now.   His true self hidden from view, his mind fractured.  But not beyond saving.   There’s some good news, Prim.  I thought I was alone in this but I’m really not. Tonight, I learned that I’ve had an ally all along.  But then Haymitch has always known about Peeta and me.  Right after winning the games when he made sure to warn me to keep up the star-crossed lovers act, but not Peeta.  “Don’t have to.  Peeta’s already there,” he said.   Peeta already in love and me on the way.  Perhaps the situation is now reversed and it’s Peeta who’s not there yet but is on the way.   I have to keep believing that.  

Chapter 8. My hand hovers over the plate of cookies Peeta offers me.  He’s baked an assortment.  Chocolate, shortbread, jam filled and gingerbread.  I decide on the chocolate and take a bite. “Mm. This is really good. They don’t make cookies at the bakery.” “Yeah, I know,” replies Peeta.  “That’s why I make them when you come around. Thought you’d like a change from buns and cakes.” “I do.  But when did you visit the bakery to know that they don’t make cookies?  I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I’ve called in a few times,” he says.  “Usually on a Friday when I know you’re working at the school.  I didn’t want to crowd you.” I feel my face redden at the implication. When I told Peeta that we have nothing more to say to each other, I didn’t intend that he’d have to go out of his way to avoid places that I might be.  “I didn’t mean . . . that is, you shouldn’t stop yourself from doing something just to please me. Visiting the bakery is hardly crowding me.” “Do you really mean that?” he asks, hopeful expectation in his voice. “Of course, I do.  You should go anytime you like.” Peeta’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. I’ve been offered a job as a specialist cake decorator but I didn’t want to accept unless I knew you’d be OK with it.   Flora told them of the cake I decorated for Annie and Finnick’s wedding and Cass said I could be just what they were looking for.  And then I was invited into the kitchen to do a demonstration cake – and Katniss, the set up they have compared to my family’s bakery.  Electric ovens instead of wood fired ones, a wall of refrigerators, stainless-steel bench tops and so much room.  I’m to have my own dedicated workspace . . .” And so Peeta continues, his face glowing with enthusiasm.  Despite the potential awkwardness of us sharing the same workplace, I find myself smiling back. Clearly this has resonated and another puzzle piece to the identity of Peeta Mellark has fallen into place.   A combination of baking and art; it’s such a natural fit for him.  Totally unlike me and customer service.  I figure that if it doesn’t work out between Peeta and me I should find it no hardship to look for another job.  It’s probably what I’ll be doing someday soon anyway. Eventually we settle down to watch the video.  I hope that the happy mood isn’t ruined by what we’re about to see.  I’ve come to call these tape viewings as the “reading of the tape” because it evokes the same sense of dread and inevitability that preceded the reading of the card.  That feeling when you know you’re about to get awful news but there’s nothing you can do about it.   Thankfully, it won’t be like the old days with double the number of tributes, or a reaping from the existing pool of victors.  But I can’t help but fear that out of all the film that was taken of Peeta and me, Dr Aurelius will choose something that suggests disdain, indifference or obvious acting on my part.  It’s what he’s sent so far.   Peeta presses a button on the remote and Caesar Flickerman fills the screen.  He’s standing centre stage, microphone in hand.  Since he’s sporting powder blue hair and matching make-up this must be our first Games.  So far, so good.  This was so early in our relationship that we hadn’t done anything yet that could possibly be said to define it.  The tension in my muscles eases a little and I even feel a little optimistic.  Maybe we’re turned a corner from all those compromising tapes.

After telling a few jokes, Caesar introduces the girl tribute from District 1.  That was Glimmer, beautiful and sexy in a gold see-through gown.   So unlike - BAM! Suddenly Glimmer morphs into a grotesque swollen thing with foul green liquid bursting from a hundred trackerjack stings.  I blink and look again to reassure myself that it’s just a trick of my imagination. The all too familiar signs of an anxiety attack starts to rise in my chest but I manage to tamp it down by concentrating on the next tribute to be interviewed.  I steal a glance at Peeta and it’s clear that he struggles with a memory associated with Glimmer too.  What it is, I don’t know. Each interview lasted three minutes.  I tick them off as they appear.  There’s Cato, big and hulking; a predator and proud of it.  I push away memories of how he died before they can take hold.  And Foxface from District 5.  I try not to think of her emaciated body being lifted into the hovercraft but how much I admired her cleverness at the feast.  And then comes Rue, my little ally, who I couldn’t save and pain stabs at me is if it were yesterday.   And not just for Rue, but for every innocent child she represents. The children who were forced to compete in the Games.  The children who died the night 12 was bombed.  The Capitol children who burned outside Snow’s mansion.  And Prim.   I must gasp.  Or something.  For I feel my hand taken possession of by a large male one.   “Katniss, do you want to stop?”  Peeta regards me with such concern that I have an almost overwhelming impulse to throw myself onto his chest and take refuge there.  I imagine his arms enfolding me, pulling me close.  And that could have happened too, before I had given him my ultimatum.  But now he’s too self-aware of any unconscious demonstrations of affection to initiate it, and I’m no longer willing to settle for crumbs. “No.  I’m OK.  Let’s keep going,” I say, as I pull my hand free and turn my gaze back towards the television. Thresh returns to his seat after his interview and then my name is announced.  Cinna’s magic had turned me into dazzling, otherworldly figure in a jewelled gown that flashed yellow, red and white with accents of blue.  But although my gown evoked the power and beauty of a firestorm, my demeanour didn’t. I was almost petrified with nervousness and it showed.   Caesar asks what impresses me about the Capitol.  I struggle for an answer, but then my eyes go to someone in the crowd and I visually relax. It was Cinna.  Be honest, he told me when I confessed my worry to him that I didn’t know how to present myself.  In Haymitch’s opinion, I was as charming as a dead slug.  But Cinna saw a side to me that Haymitch hadn’t.  A side that was appealing and was admired for her spirit. “The lamb stew,” I blurt out.  And some of the audience laugh.  And then I see myself act very un-Katniss like, or at least, not as I see myself.  Yet I was being myself, which is strange.  Giggly, girly, artless.  I twirl for the cameras and collapse into giggles.  But when Prim’s name is mentioned, I’m all deadly determination. Is that what others saw in me, a reason why I was chosen to be the Mockingjay?  Someone like themselves, to whom they could relate to, with an unexpected core of steel?  I can only wonder. Peeta’s the last to be interviewed.   And he’s so handsome and charming, it wouldn’t surprise me if every teenage girl in Panem hadn’t instantly made him her latest celebrity crush.  Lace would have seen this.  Perhaps on a large television screen in some community hall in District 8 for it was mandatory viewing.  It’s even possible she was infatuated before she met him for real.  Not that I can blame her if she was.  He certainly cuts a romantic figure as he and Caesar banter back and forth.  He has the audience eating out of his hand.   Caesar asks if has a girlfriend back home. I risk a nervous glance at the Peeta beside me. I search his face for any sign that it sparks a memory but I don’t see one.  It has got his interest though.  He leans forward, his eyes intent on the screen.   I turn back to the television.  The onscreen Peeta hesitates.  That’s the cue for Caesar to delve deeper.  Peeta describes a girl he’s had a crush on ever since he can remember who didn’t even know he was alive until the reaping.  The solution is simple, explains Caesar.  You win the Games and then she can’t refuse you. Peeta disagrees.  Winning won’t help because the girl came with him.  That was me.   The camera pans between Peeta and me and even goes to split screen.  His face is beet red, his eyes downcast, his expression one of resigned sadness.  Mine is just as red, eyes fixed on the floor, my expression one of disbelieving shock.   The crowd roars its sympathy and support.  Peeta, with his tragic tale of a hopeless love, had blown the rest of us out of the water.   I recall how I furious I’d been.  Peeta had used me to gain audience sympathy and had undermined me in the process!   The anthem plays and we file off stage.  Credits begin to roll but then it switches to the tributes and their entourages piling onto the elevators.  Since it’s of poorer quality and seems to be have filmed from a fixed position above our heads, I figure this must be from surveillance tape. I had taken a different car from Peeta but the person who had prepared this had spliced the tape from the elevators together so that it goes from me, to Peeta, and then back to me again.  Peeta is pale with trepidation.  I’m pale with suppressed fury.   I reach the 12th floor first and the doors close.  But as Peeta exits his car, the doors remain open just long enough for the camera to record me shoving my hands against his chest and knocking him backwards.  The tape ends. There are a few moments of silence before Peeta seems to gather himself sufficiently to turn off the television. He looks down at his hands.  One of them has a double crescent of faint white scars.   I clear my throat.  “That wasn’t caused by the urn.  I think they had mostly healed up before the next morning with the special medicine they had.  In any case, the full body polish would have got rid of any marks.” Peeta nods, but he continues to gaze at the scars as if there’s a memory contained within them that he can’t quite reach.

He gives a rueful laugh. “It’s just as well I didn’t make a move on you before we were reaped.  That would have been a massive waste of time.  It made you pretty angry, huh?” “Yes, but not for the reason you think.   I thought you were trying to get an advantage over me.  Get the audience onside and make me look weak.  I didn’t know you were trying to help me.  Haymitch set me straight.” “I remember scraps of it,” he says, raising his head for the first time.  “I thought you were mad because of Gale.  That he’d get the wrong idea and think you felt the same way.” “That’s right,” I say, my hopes starting to rise as they do whenever he shows signs that his memories are coming back.   “And then you said that he’d recognise a bluff when he saw it.”   Peeta nods, considering it.  Perhaps now he’ll realise why we had misunderstood each other’s motives.  Why I had thought he was acting along with me as part of the star-crossed lover’s routine. Suddenly his face brightens as if something he’s agonised over finally has an answer.  “Yes, that’s what it was.  It was a bluff!  It makes sense.  That’s why I went from having such strong feelings to not having them.  I’ve confused what was made up with what was real. Even now I . . .”  He seems doubtful for a moment before he gives his head a shake.   He turns to me with a dazzling smile.  “You know what this means, don’t you?” “No,” I whisper.  A knot has formed in my throat and threatens to choke. “We can truly be friends now. ��None of that unrequited love business making it awkward between us.” He looks at me with wonderment.  “That saying – “the truth shall set you free” – it’s true, isn’t it?  And it’s thanks to you.  If you hadn’t insisted that I confront my past then I’d have gone on believing what had never been real in the first place.”  He shakes his head disbelievingly at his former stupidity.  “You’re a marvel, do you know that?” “I’m really not,” I manage to get out.  I want to cry.  But I also want to punch him really, really hard.  I want to kick him viciously in the groin and scrape my nails down his face and watch the blood flow.  He’s HAPPY!  Haymitch had told me that Peeta thought his crush for me had been an illusion, but now it seems that even the illusion had been an illusion. It was all a bluff!  I have to get out of here. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have people to meet in town.  I think we’ve covered it all, anyway.  I’ll see you next week.  Thanks for the cookies.” Peeta hardly has time to say goodbye, I’m out the door so quickly.  The walk from his house to mine only takes a few minutes.  Nonetheless, it takes all my self-control not to break into a run. I need somewhere to hide. Fast.   In my bedroom, I tear off the shorts and halter top I had painstakingly chosen to wear today.  They weren’t really suitable for the cooling weather, but they showed my figure to its best advantage.  How futile it was trying to look attractive for Peeta.  On my bed are the clothes I wore this morning – khaki trousers, a t-shirt and my father’s hunting jacket.  I hurriedly put them on.  The closet has never looked more inviting.  I push aside the hangers of clothes, curl into a corner and pull the door closed.   And for a few blessed hours I shut everything out. Chapter 9

As soon as I enter the bakery I can tell something’s afoot.  The store appears empty even though we’re about to open, and I can hear voices raised in excitement coming from the back.  It’s there I find Cass, Julius, Cornelia and Flora clustered around a paper Cass holds in his hand. As usual, it’s Cornelia who speaks first.  “Cass has been asked to create and oversee the dessert course for the Mayor’s inauguration party.  And the bakery has been asked to supply the bread.” “Congratulations,” I say.  “That’s wonderful news.  I hear it’s going to be big.”  Or big by 12 standards anyway.  I got an invitation in the mail yesterday.  Haymitch said that all prominent citizens will get one.  My first inclination is to say no.  I have a dislike for these kind of events from all the Capitol parties that Peeta and I were forced to attend.  But I’m certain Peeta will ask Lace and I don’t want to appear as some sad hopeless case by either staying at home or having Haymitch as my date.  The trouble is that I had thought of asking Cass.  Now who?  

“Yeah, it’s a big event but we’ve done bigger.  And Cass has done feasts so he knows what’s needed to cater to a crowd,” says Cornelia.   “Maybe opera,” says Cass who’s already thinking of the menu. “What’s that?” asks Flora. “It’s a dessert of layered almond sponge flavoured with chocolate and coffee and then topped with chocolate ganache,” he explains.  “We can make it here and then transport it in slabs to the venue to be portioned and given the final decoration there.” Coffee.  Yuck. “It sounds delicious,” I say.  Maybe I can get him to change his mind.  Or at least have an alternative.   The subject changes to what type of bread they’ll make and I judge it a good time to get back out front.  Someone has to work around here.  Flora follows and together we ready the store for opening and then unlock the door and put the open sign up.   There’s the usual early morning rush and I barely notice when Peeta arrives and slips past us to get started on the cake orders.  It’s only a few weeks since he started here, but demand for his cakes has increased to the point that the hours he works at the bakery will soon supersede the hours he works at his sign writing business.  I don’t think it will be long before he’s full-time and the sign writing is abandoned.  I know he prefers to decorate cakes than paint signs because he told me.   Not that there’s been a lot of conversation between us lately unless it’s directly related to the tapes Dr Aurelius sends. After Peeta’s joyful revelation that his crush on me was apparently nothing more than a scam invented to give us an advantage in the Games, I haven’t had the inclination to give him any more than I feel obliged to.  I haven’t felt so disheartened over Peeta since those miserable days when he was first hijacked.  At least I was his primary focus then. I thought there couldn’t be anything worse that being told I was no longer loved.  But then Haymitch told me that he believes it had all been an illusion.  Now he’s taken it one step further.   It was an illusion of an illusion.  I don’t know what I am to him.  The female equivalent of Haymitch?  Someone he unconsciously gravitates to because of shared experiences?

The following Saturday, I didn’t bother to dress up for Peeta.  I wore the clothes I’m comfortable in – my usual khaki pants and T-shirt – my hair in a simple braid down my back and no make-up.  I refused the cookies he offered with the excuse that I’ve been eating too much sugar lately.  And when I sat on the couch beside him, I kicked off my boots, pulled my knees to my chest and wound my arms tight around them.  No chance of any sympathetic attempts at hand holding if he can’t easily get to them.

The tape was of the tributes parade.  Both of them. We certainly dazzled in the costumes Cinna and Portia designed for us.  But the most marked difference between the two parades was in our attitudes.  The parade for our first games was shown first.  There’s me, smiling, waving, throwing kisses to the crowd.  Haymitch later asked where I had pulled that cheery, wavy girl from.  But I was just being me, which surprised even myself.  I felt Peeta’s eyes on me.  Maybe he was puzzled too.  There hasn’t been a lot for me to be cheery and wavy about since I got back to 12.   For the Quell, we were told to be contemptuous and unsmiling.  To be above it all.  That was me being myself too.  And then it was Peeta being unlike himself, barely deigning to spare the crowd a glance. Yet I know he wasn’t acting either. When the tape ended Peeta asked his questions. Despite a concerted effort, I couldn’t help being short with him.  His expression was puzzled, questioning, and maybe a little hurt.  Not that I cared.  Yes, yes, it was for the cameras.  Isn’t that what you want to hear?   And the next week, Dr Aurelius sent a propo tape from District 13.  The one where I talk about how I met Peeta for the first time - in the rain, on the verge of starvation, all hope gone.  How he took a beating to give me the loaves of bread that saved us.  And that we didn’t speak until years later when we were on the train to the Games.  “But he was already in love with you,” said Cressida off camera.  “I guess so,” I replied.  The conversation turned to how I’ve coped with our separation.  “Not well,” I said.  The tape ended there, although I had gone on to talk about the Capitol.  I guess that part has no relevance for Peeta’s memories. “It was kept up even after my capture then?” he had asked.   “It was used as propaganda tool.  For audience sympathy.”   And it’s true.  It was. It wasn’t an act by then, of course. But that’s not the question Peeta asked. “But the bread story is true.  I remember that.” “Yes.  That was true.”

There were no more questions.  I assume he was happy with it.  Anything to confirm what he wants to believe. Last Saturday, it was the marriage proposal. Peeta, on one knee, professing his great love and then begging me to marry him.  And me accepting, of course.    It was all fake, Peeta.  As fake as fake can be. “Whose idea was it?” he had asked. “It was mine.  I thought it might convince everyone that our love was real and put a stop to the unrest in the Districts.”  There Peeta.  The honest truth.  It wasn’t even you who suggested we marry.   Happy?  

Actually, when I think back on it, Peeta didn’t seem that happy.  Maybe because his hope for us to be great friends, now that we’re supposedly unencumbered by an awkward history of unrequited love, hasn’t worked out as well as he might have hoped.  Try as I might, I can’t completely hide my hostility towards him.  It’s my armor and I have no intention of taking it off.

Around mid-morning, there’s fewer customers and the sounds of conversation drift out from the kitchen. Julius, Cass and Peeta talk animatedly about bread making techniques.  Cornelia joins in occasionally.  Cass and Peeta congratulate each other on what a great team they make with Cass’s frosting and Peeta’s skill with cake decorating. Peeta fits into this environment like a hand to a glove.  Yet aside from making some connections to the people who work here, I’m an uneasy fit. Peeta is clearly the favourite. And why wouldn’t he be?  He’s the one with the valuable skill.  He’s the one who can charm the birds out of the trees. By the time Cornelia comes to serve behind the counter so I can take my lunch break, I’m feeling very sorry for myself. I go to my favourite spot - a bench beneath a large, shady oak that somehow survived the bombing, in a small park adjacent to the school grounds. My lunch is two cheese buns and some fruit brought from home but I have little appetite for it, so engrossed I am in gloomy thoughts.   “Can’t stay away from the place, huh?” I look up and there’s Max coming my way. He sits down beside me.  “Are you going to eat that?” I sigh and hand him a cheese bun.  Max takes a bite. “What’s wrong?” he asks.  “I’ve known horses with faces that aren’t that long.” “Know a lot of horses, do you?” My tone is caustic but my lips twitch.  We tease and annoy each other but it’s all in good fun.  Few people can shake me out of a bad mood quicker than Max can.  And put me into one too.   “I’ve known a few.   I like mules better, though, stubborn though they are.  They remind me of you.” “Ha ha.”  A compliment wrapped in an insult.  But somehow, he’s managed to hit on the very thing I’m miserable about and made me feel better.   He makes no secret that likes me, shortcomings and all.   And I know he likes me better than Peeta.  He calls Peeta “Psycho Boy” in spite of all my efforts to get him to stop.  I think the fact that it annoys me has an added charm for him. “So what is it?  Has sharing a workplace with Psycho Boy started to wear thin?”

“No,” I say, even though there’s some truth to it. “And stop calling him that.  He’s not a psycho.” Or a boy either.  Peeta and I left childhood behind a long time ago.  I hand Max the remaining cheese bun.  I’m not going to eat it.  “I don’t know if I’m suited to working in a shop, that’s all.  I’ve been thinking of reducing my hours if the Carters agree.”  I know Sateen would like to take them up.  She’s helping her brother save money to start up a clothing factory. “Good.  You can put in more time at the school then.  One day a week isn’t enough the way the school’s growing.  And Moira can do with a hand with the junior school too. You’re a natural at it, you know; teaching.  My parents said they’d like to take you on full-time eventually.  And they can assist with training if needed.” My spirits perk up immediately.   I do like teaching and it’s something I can make a long-term career.  Not since my hunting days when I provided for my family have I had an occupation I can take pride in, and I’ve missed it. “Yeah, I’d like that.  Thanks.  I’ll ask if I can reduce my hours at the bakery when I get back.  I’m sure they’ll be fine with it.”  I suppose I could simply resign.  It’s what I’ll do eventually.  But in the mean time I like the people I work with, still need to keep occupied doing something, and I don’t want to give Peeta the impression that his presence pushed me out.   My appetite restored, I regret giving away my cheese buns.  But there’s still an apple and a banana to eat.   I set to work peeling the banana.  Suddenly an idea comes to me. “Max, I was wondering if you’d do me a favour. The Mayor’s inaugural dinner is coming up and I need a date.” “And you want me to find you one?” I’m tempted to throw the banana peel at him. “No, I’m asking you to be my date. Strictly as friends, of course.” “Of course.  Not going with Peeta then?” “No,” I say, as casually as I can.  “He’ll probably take Lace.”  Like most people, Max had assumed that Peeta and I were still together.  Peeta’s defection to Lace is not something I like to talk about, so Max has only been given information on a need-to-know basis.  But he could have picked up more from local gossip. “I see,” he says in a voice that implies that he sees a great deal.   “I have one question before I accept.  Is this an exercise in making Psycho Boy jealous?  Because I want to know if I should be prepared in case I incur his wrath, like that poor guy he pushed into a pod that time.” I do my best to tamp down my irritation.  Unfortunately, Max’s distrust of Peeta isn’t uncommon.  The incident to which Max refers was broadcast across all of Panem. Not to mention that Mitchell had come to my defence after Peeta had tried to bash my brains out with his gun. “It was an accident and Peeta was hijacked then, and not responsible.   I assure you that you’ll be perfectly safe, jealous or not.”   If I should be so lucky, that is.  Peeta’s too besotted with Lace to feel any jealousy over me.  This is all about salvaging some pride.   “All I’m saying is that I’m up for it if you are,” he says, as he nudges his shoulder against mine.   I scowl at him, just as he intended.

“What I want from you is to behave yourself and not embarrass me,” I tell him.  

Chapter 10

I turn my head to the side to get a look at the timer as it ticks down the minutes.  Half an hour to go.  And then, once this white goo is rinsed off, there’s exfoliating and moisturising creams to follow. The thick white ointment, combined with the heat, makes my skin itch like crazy.  Only I can’t get at it to scratch.  I’m encased in a long metal tube, almost like a casket, with a hole at one end for my head to poke through.  Octavia calls it a cellular regeneration chamber.  I call it a torture chamber.  She and Flavius brought it from the Capitol at great expense.  They hope it will form one of the mainstays of their business.  

But at least it’s the last of the skin treatments, and while I had my doubts, it’s been surprisingly successful.  The skin tone has evened out and there’s no difference now between the old skin and the grafts. And where it had looked slightly melted in places has smoothed out quite a bit too.  Octavia tells me only a full body polish would fix it completely, but I’m happy with the results.   A spot on my right thigh starts to itch, but even by extending my hand out as far as it will go, I can’t reach it.  Another itch springs up on the back of my shoulder. Again inaccessible.  With concentration, I ignore them until they go away.  But then it’s my left ankle.  A travelling itch.  I try to nap using the relaxation techniques Dr Aurelius taught me but it’s hard to drift off when there’s itching inside the chamber, and noise from outside it. Snatches of conversation, and the hum of hair dryers easily penetrate the thin curtain that covers the opening to the alcove.  After a slow start, business at the salon is booming.  You’d think they’d be able to afford thick draperies by now, if not an actual door.   Flavius and Octavia keep up a steady stream of patter. They tell me it’s a requirement in the beauty industry. Customers seem to expect it.  And even if the customer is disinclined to talk, they still converse between themselves, talking mostly of inconsequential things.  However, they have at least one chatty customer today.  Her voice had been partially drowned by a hair dryer, but now that it’s been turned off, I know who it belongs to.  A peal of pearly laughter confirms it.   “My boyfriend told me that none of it was real. It was all about putting on a show and being entertaining to get sponsors.  Everyone had an angle.  The brainy one, the sexy one, the arrogant one and so on.  The star-crossed lovers were made up too, to get sponsors.  It was all a big hoax but not many people know that,” says Lace. “No, it wasn’t,” chimes in a female voice with a District 12 accent.   I recognise the voice, but I can’t quite place it.   “I don’t know about all the others but the star-crossed lovers were real. I was in the same class as them at school.” Of course, Leevy.  She was a neighbour of ours in the Seam who made it to 13 after 12 was bombed. Evidently, she’s returned to 12 to live. “Katniss kept to herself, but Peeta was always staring at her.  We wondered why he didn’t try to talk to her, but he probably thought she was with Gale.  Most of us did.   But then, Merchant seldom mixed with Seam unless it was at the slag heap and that wasn’t Peeta’s style.  In 13, she broke down over what Snow was doing to him and he was only rescued because she couldn’t perform as the Mockingjay.  I also heard she had a pearl she carried around in her pocket – the same pearl he gave to her in the arena.”

“It’s true,” says Octavia, “about the pearl.”  I momentarily fear that Octavia will admit to being on my prep team.   In the districts, anyone who was associated with facilitating the Games, risks ostracism at best.  But Octavia is smarter than I gave her credit for.  “My cousin knew one of Katniss’s prep team.  She says they often shared a bed.  And once she actually walked in on them, cuddling together. Maybe it started as a hoax, but it didn’t end that way.” “See,” says Leevy.  “I’m sorry to say, but when it comes to Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, your boyfriend knows shit.”

There are a few moments of silence before Lace responds.  She sounds rattled. “But he’s not with her now.  Whatever it was, it didn’t last.” “Well, Snow did a number on him, that’s for sure.  Cracked his brain real good.  But what if it all comes back to him?  That’s what I’d be afraid of, if I were his girlfriend,” Leevy says. “I guess it’s fortunate then that you’re not,” says Lace tersely.   “Flavius if you don’t mind, I think I’ll reschedule for the colour.  I really should get back to the shop.” “Yes of course” returns Flavius.  “I’ll make you another appointment.” Nothing more is said until the door opens and then clicks shut. I hear sympathy in Leevy’s voice.  “It’s for her own sake.  Nothing good is built on a lie.” Except for Peeta and me.  No, I remind myself, it was only half a lie.  Peeta was genuine.  And then it became real for me too.     The timer goes off and Octavia comes in to release me from this contraption, rinse off the cream and then apply another one. While she works, she excitedly tells me that Venia and her family are moving to 12 and she’s to join her and Flavius in the salon.  I hardly hear her.  So that’s what Peeta told Lace!  That it was all a hoax.  I suppose it’s not a surprise.  Not from what Peeta himself has told me.  And he hasn’t really told her anything that’s untrue.  It’s just not the whole truth.  So now she knows, but what she chooses to do with it remains to be seen. My situation remains the same. As Lace said, he’s not with me now.  He’s with her.  It’s what Peeta believes that counts.  And even if Peeta’s memories return it doesn’t mean that his feelings for me will too.   The following Saturday I’m at Peeta’s house as usual.  I don’t have high hopes.  If Dr Aurelius’ plan is to make it seem that our relationship was just one big act, I’m sure there’s still plenty of compromising tapes to choose from.  

When Peeta invites me in, his smile is tentative.  I feel a flash of guilt.  He’s probably uncertain about what kind of mood I’m in today.  I have been prickly lately.  And none of this is his fault.  I know he’s mostly watching these tapes because I more or less coerced him into it.  And he doesn’t know how much it hurts me that he’s happy to think that our romance had only been a scam for audience sympathy.  If our positions were reversed, Peeta would be helping me all he could, not sulking and shutting me out half the time, no matter how much he was hurting.  I really should try to be more patient and understanding, and not to take out my frustrations on him.  Most of all, I should remind myself why I’m doing this.  To help Peeta find himself.    

So I return Peeta’s smile with a dazzling one of my own.  And when he asks if I’d like a drink before we start, I don’t wait to be served in the sitting room, but follow him into the kitchen as I used to do and take a seat on a stool at the bench.  Peeta seems a little surprised, but also happily relieved.   “Tea?” he asks, as he holds the kettle aloft. “Please,” I say.  There’s a plate of cookies on the bench.  Not an assortment this time.  I guess he got tired of baking so many when I wasn’t eating them. “Mm, coconut.  I love your coconut cookies.  All your cookies, really.  It’s a shame the bakery doesn’t make them.” Peeta fills the kettle from the tap.  “I’ve mentioned it to Julius, but he says they’d rather concentrate on the items they have.   Apparently, cookies didn’t sell very well in the Capitol.  We sold a lot of them in my family’s bakery, though.” “Different clientele, I guess.  More money to spend on cakes.”  An idea comes to me. “Has he seen your decorated cookies, though?  The ones you frost with floral designs? That could be a great addition to the cake decorating.  Cookies for special occasions.  That sort of thing.” “Yeah, I’ll mention it.  Although the cake decorating keeps me busy.  Have I told you?  I’ve given up sign writing to work full time at the bakery.” “Wow.  You must really like it then.” “What’s not to like?  Doing what I love.  Normal hours.  And there’s no working with hot ovens all day since Cass is the one who bakes the cakes.   You don’t mind me working there, do you?  I sometimes worry that I’m invaded your space.  You were there first, after all.” “Of course not.  Don’t be silly.  I don’t think I’ll be at the bakery for that much longer anyway.  I much prefer working at the school.  I’ve even been asked if I’d like to teach in the classroom. Can you imagine that?  Katniss Everdeen, school teacher, in front of a blackboard with a class full of kids?” “I can, actually.  You’ve always had a natural rapport with children.  Look how you were with Rue.  And there’s Prim.  Sometimes . . .” Peeta pauses here, as if he’s not sure he should continue.

“Sometimes what?” I prompt. “It’s nothing really, just the way you were with Prim.  You were more than sisters.  Almost like mother and daughter.  Sometimes, when I was watching you together, I thought what a great mother you’d make.” “Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond.  There’s a dozen different thoughts and emotions to process.   The pang of loss whenever I think of Prim.  That Peeta had been observing Prim and me together and I had been totally unaware.  That Peeta thought I’d be a good mother, even though I’ve been determined never to be one.   And something else.  “You remember back then?” “Yes.  Most of it, I think.  Nearly everything up until the Games, anyway.  After that it’s patchy, or I can’t tell what’s real or not.  But the tapes are helping a lot, although Dr Aurelius did warn me I should be careful how I interpret.” “Sounds like good advice.”  So, Dr Aurelius hasn’t abandoned me, after all! I feel enormously encouraged to learn that he’s working with Peeta to challenge any pre-conceptions he might have. Peeta fills the teapot from the kettle and places it on a tray alongside two mugs and a small jug of milk.  Neither of us take sugar in our tea.  He nods his head towards the sitting room.  “Shall we?” “Of course.”  I take the plate of cookies and follow him into the room.  It’s the usual set-up, a two-seater couch in front of the television set, a coffee table between them.   “Can you get that?” asks Peeta, indicating a book that’s in the way of him setting down the tray. “Sure.”  I put down the cookies and pick up the book.  It’s of medium size with a fabric cover in a warm red colour.   There’s an end table beside the couch and that’s where I put it.  “What’s it about?”  I open the cover and I see that it’s filled with clothing designs.  No one has to tell me who’s drawn the illustrations. It’s clearly Peeta’s work. Peeta comes to stand beside me.  “It’s Lace’s birthday present.  Effie sent me the book and Lace made the cover.  See, it’s like your family’s plant book.  It’s where I got the idea from, actually. Lace wants to develop her own line of clothing.  When we’ve finished the book, it will be kept in the shop for people to browse and choose a design from.” “What a good idea,” I say dully.  Keep it together, I tell myself.  Don’t think about it.  If I do, I’ll lash out.  I know I will.  But oh, the agony!  My most precious moments with Peeta given to Lace.  I imagine them, probably here in this very room, heads cosily together as she describes what she wants him to draw and then Peeta sketching it for her. Just like Peeta and me when we worked on my family’s plant book while I was recovering from an injured foot.  I wonder if she notices that special look he gets on his face when he concentrates, or how long his eyelashes are. I swallow my hurt and anger as best as I can and move over to the couch where I take up my defensive position.  Knees pressed to my chest, arms around them, head down, eyes front.   Peeta comes to sit beside me.  “Katniss, is there anything wrong?” I shake my head.  “Of course not.  What could possibly be wrong?” “I’m sorry if the book reminded you of your father.” “It didn’t.  Look, can we just watch the tape,” I say irritably. Peeta shoots me a worried look, but seems to have made up his mind that it’s better to say nothing.  No doubt he thinks I’m a moody bitch compared to Lace’s perpetual sunshine.  And for once I don’t care.  He reaches across for the remote and turns on the television. I blink in surprise at what fills the screen. It’s not the Games, or rebel propaganda, or District parties.  It’s the roof.  Our roof. The rooftop garden at the training centre.  It’s late afternoon, going by the light, although there’s little to see.  Just a dome-shaped room with a door, railings around the periphery and a garden on one side of the dome.  After a few seconds, Peeta and I emerge through the door and walk over to the railing.  You can see our lips move but there’s no sound.   “Was this for the cameras?” asks Peeta. “No, we didn’t know about the cameras. We were mostly concerned about being overheard.  It was windy on the roof.  It’s why we went up there.”  To my own ears, my voice sounds shaky. I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, questioning.  But I keep mine forward, focused on the screen. It’s just my luck that the lack of sound means I’ll have to provide a running commentary.    “This is during our first Games.  We had just got back from the Tributes Parade.  We wanted to talk about Lavinia.  She – “ “I remember Lavinia,” says Peeta, cutting me off.  Snow had Lavinia tortured in front of him.  Thankfully, she had died quickly.  Unlike Darius, who lived long enough to have body parts cut off before he died.  Stealing a glance at Peeta’s closed off face, it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. Nothing good, by the look of it. I nod, and say nothing more about her. It’s a timely reminder of why I’m here, and that no matter how much I’m hurting now, it’s no comparison to what Peeta has suffered.  I try to get a grip on my emotions and concentrate on what’s on the TV screen instead. The onscreen Katniss and Peeta walk over to the garden.  “We thought the wind chimes would drown out our voices.”  There’s nothing else to add, so I settle in to watch our youthful selves and ruminate on how much their lives would change.  More that they could ever have imagined.  And doesn’t it look so romantic, to anyone who didn’t know better. I stop to sniff at a blossom like a romantic heroine in one of those silly Capitol movies and Peeta takes off his jacket to place it around my shoulders, buttoning it at my neck.   Eventually we go inside, and I think that must be the end of the tape. But the screen is black for only a second and when the picture returns it’s of Peeta leaning against the rail, deep in thought.  It’s night time, and although I don’t remember the roof being lit at night, everything is visible. It must have been filmed with a special camera like the glasses we had in the first Games for seeing in the dark. Peeta’s not alone for very long.  I see myself walk across the tiled floor to stand beside him. “It was the night before we went into the arena,” I explain.  “I couldn’t sleep.  So I went up to the roof to get some air.  You were there for much the same reason.” Peeta says nothing but his eyes are intent on the screen.  It seems to me, that unlike previous tapes, these are stirring something deep inside. The couple on TV talk amiably at first. But it becomes increasingly agitated. It’s not a flat-out argument exactly, but you can see he’s angry about something, and she takes offense at it.  Then she walks off and he’s back to his musings. But he’s not introspective as he was before, but annoyed and frustrated.  It’s not long before he leaves too and the footage ends.  But then the image returns. It’s bright sunshine in the film that follows and I know what’s to come next.  I reach for the remote and press pause. “Are there any questions before we go further?” I ask. “We were talking about not letting the Capitol change who we are.  To show that they don’t own us.”  Peeta looks to me for confirmation.   “Yes, that’s right.  But I didn’t understand.  Not then, anyway.  I just wanted to survive the thing.  But you wanted your death to mean something.  Something noble.  Something they couldn’t take from you.”   He nods, considering it.  “Yeah,” he says, and his face brightens like he’s had a breakthrough.  “It’s why I came up with the star-crossed lover’s idea.  It was something that would give my death meaning.  And help you at the same time.” “Yeah,” I say.  I turn my face back to the TV to hide my disappointment.  What he says is true and I can’t deny it. That’s precisely the intention he went into the Games with.  When will I learn not to get my hopes up? I press the pause button again to continue the tape.  I see us burst through the dome door laden with food and blankets for our rooftop picnic. We’re relaxed and happy, making the most of the time left to us before we entered the arena once more.  Neither of us thought we’d come out of it alive.  I burrow my face against my knees.  I don’t want to watch this.  It’s too painful, remembering us as we once were.  So young, so in love.  If only I had fully appreciated it then.  But we simply ran out of time. Peeta asks no questions while the tape runs. I only know it’s finished when I hear the clatter of the remote on the coffee table. “It almost looks like a date,” he says, with a queer sort of laugh.   And then, after a pause, “Was it?” I take a breath.  “I suppose it depends on what you mean by a date.”  I have to admit that it’s ambiguous at best.  There was no conscious thought that we were having one.  We played games, ate food, lay in the sun.  I practiced my weaving on the hanging vines.  Peeta sketched me. I lay my head in his lap and he played with my hair while I made a crown of flowers.  But there’s no kissing, no hugging.  Nothing that really stands out that we were more than friends.  Not to anyone who doesn’t want there to be, anyway.  Like Peeta. I unwrap my arms from around my legs and slowly rise from the couch.  I don’t want to hear him attribute it to being part of the act, or a blurring of the boundaries because of how we were forced to behave in public, or simply because that’s how friends interact. “We had only a short time left and we wanted to make the most of it.  It was one of the best days of my life.  It was a good day for you too.  At least you said so.  You said you wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.” My eye lands on Lace’s book.  He’s given that memory away.  And the swimming lessons.  And for all I know, our roof top date too.  What next?  The kisses on the beach?  A gift of burned bread?  All I know is that I’ve had more than enough for one day of the emotional upheaval a mere couple of hours in Peeta’s presence can do. The contrast between the Peeta on the tape, who loved me with every fibre of his being, and Peeta, as he is now, all this love and devotion going to another, is more than I can bear. “Look, I have to go now.  I’m meeting some people in the town and I don’t want to be late.”  It's an old excuse and one I’ve used before.  But it’s credible one.  I try to get out most Saturday nights.   “I’ll answer any questions next time, OK?” “Katniss,” I hear called after me.  I pretend I don’t hear and close the door quickly behind me. Chapter 11

Reluctantly I hand over my fur lined cape to the cloakroom attendant.  It’s chilly in the antechamber.  Every time someone comes through the doors, a blast of cold air comes with them.   It may not be winter yet but it feels like it. “Where’s Arthur gone to?” I ask Max.  I’m in a hurry to get into the main reception room where hopefully it will be warmer. “I think he went to the men’s – no, there he is.” Arthur is talking to the manager of the medicine factory.  We’ve been here barely five minutes and he’s already networking.  Sateen’s got Arthur all wrong.  He’s not shy.  He just doesn’t do small talk.  Get him onto his favourite subject, business, and there’s no shutting him up.  I give him a wave to attract his attention.  He nods in our direction, says something to the manager, and makes his way over to us. “Sorry.”  He offers his arm. “Shall we?” I link my arm through his and my other arm through Max’s.  We make an impressive threesome. Max is dapper in a suit made by Arthur.  When I had asked him to be my date I didn’t stop to consider that a teacher from 5 is hardly likely to possess a dinner suit. The invitation expressly stated black tie.  So, I took it upon myself to arrange one for him.  And then Arthur, always on the lookout for opportunities, offered a suit free of charge if I could wrangle an invitation for him to attend tonight’s dinner.   Easy!  Every invitee could bring a partner.  Arthur is technically Haymitch’s date.   And doesn’t he scrub up well in one of his own creations? He’s every inch the successful business man from the polished shoes, to the expensive suit, to the slick combed back hair.   And Max is resplendent too.  He’s really very good looking when I think on it.  Tall, broad shouldered and with classic features.  A shame about that errant lock of hair though. I should have sent him to Flavius. Oh well, too late now. And I don’t look too shabby myself.  I wear one of Cinna’s gowns.  The very one that Johanna Mason wanted to reach through the screen and tear off my back.  The deep blue velvet strapless number with the diamonds.  They’re not natural diamonds, though.  Cinna said they are synthetic but you can’t tell the difference. They form the bodice with its deep sweetheart neckline to fit snugly to the hips and then flare out to a full skirt with diamonds scattered to resemble stars against a midnight sky.  Flavius has done my hair swept to one side and held with a diamond clip.   I feel very glamourous.   Inside, guests mill around while waiters move between them with trays of drinks.  Tables are set around the periphery and in the centre of the room is a dance floor.  I haven’t danced since Finnick and Annie’s wedding.  That was the night I later went to see Peeta.  He was strapped to a bed, hypodermic syringes at the ready, and staring at me as if were some kind of weird transforming mutant.  And I was in pain from the wound to my side, on the defensive from his barbed comments, and inhibited by the doctors observing us from behind the one-way glass.  But I should have said it.  When he asked, “did you love me?” I should have said yes.   Maybe it would have made the difference.

“Katniss?”  I look up and see Max observing me quizzically.  A waiter stands nearby.  “Do you want a drink?”   “Yes.  Thanks.”  I take a glass of champagne from the tray and the waiter moves away.  “Where’s Arthur?”  I scan the room but I can’t see him. “Over there.”  Max point his glass towards the far side of the room.  I can just make out Arthur in deep conversation with a prosperous middle-aged couple.  “No flies on Arthur.” I nod. “None at all.  But it’s what he’s here for.” “So, what does one do at these things, besides stand around holding a drink?” asks Max.

“You mingle.  And hope they serve the food soon.”  I take a gulp of the champagne.  I don’t really like it but I need something to relax me.  I was ill at ease as soon as I entered the room. Too many reminders of other parties, I guess.  And Peeta should be around here somewhere.  With Lace.   “He’s behind you,” Max says.  “With the mayor and his wife.”  Without thinking, I quickly turn my head in that direction. Peeta is looking our way and gives a brief wave.  I force a smile.  Lace stands beside him elegant in a simple yellow lace gown, her mahogany hair falling in loose curls to her shoulders.  My own gown, which I was so pleased with before, feels overdone and garish now.  Ideal for a Capitol party, certainly.  But not for a conservative district like 12. I turn back to Max.  He has a smirk on his face.   He leans down to whisper into my ear.  “If it makes you feel better, Peeta’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw you come in.   In that dress, and with not just one man, but two, he’ll be jealous in no time.   If he’s not already, that is.” I scowl at him.  “I told you.  I’m not interested in making him jealous.  In fact, I hardly think of him at all.”

Max almost chokes on his drink.  “If you say so,” he says.  But the knowing smile remains.   I itch to slap it off.

We do the mingling thing, moving from one group to the next.  Max is surprisingly good at it and it takes a lot of pressure off me.  I’ve never been good at this.  The exchange of pleasantries when meeting people for the first time.  When Peeta and I were together, I’d let him do it for me and I’d just smile and answer questions when asked.  I take a moment to sneak a glance at him.  He has an arm loosely around Lace’s waist, looking rather bored, actually, as Lace and Arthur talk animatedly together.  It’s probably about the clothing industry.  I didn’t know they knew each other.  But knowing Arthur better now, he probably knows all the business owners in 12. Peeta turns his head in my direction suddenly and I quickly avert my eyes, embarrassed to be caught looking.   The food starts to come out and we take our seats.  Arthur is seated next to Haymitch, of course, and I have fun watching the speculative glances that come their way.  Haymitch thinks it’s a big joke and attempts to put an arm around Arthur who shoves him off. Everyone at the table dissolves into laughter, which garners the attention of nearby tables.  I see Peeta look over, and it seems to me that he’d rather be here with us, rather than with the staid group of people he’s seated with. The first course is some kind of fish served in a buttery sauce with almonds.   Braised goat with roasted vegetables is for main.  And then the course I’ve been waiting for.  Cass’s dessert.   He decided to forego opera for something more ambitious.  It’s a dome of crisp chocolate decorated with gold leaf.  A little jug of hot chocolate sauce accompanies it and when it’s poured over the top, the chocolate melts to reveal a rich chocolate mousse beneath with chunks of preserved pear at the bottom.  It’s absolutely delicious and I eat half of Max’s serve as well as my own.  

After dinner, many people move between tables to mingle some more.  Max heads off to the bar to get more drinks, Arthur is back to his networking, and I’m left alone, my two dates otherwise occupied.   “Hey you,” says a voice close behind me.   I turn my head to see Peeta smiling down on me.  Lace is with him.   “Oh, hi!” I say.  I try to inject as much friendliness into my voice as possible. It’s not that I’m unhappy to see Peeta, it’s just that I’m not happy to see her.  “Having a good time?” Peeta shrugs.  “I suppose it’s an improvement on the Capitol parties.” “You’ve been spoilt, that’s your problem, Mr. I’m-Bored-With-It-All” says Lace, with her trademark giggle.  “What about the rest of us who haven’t been to anything fancier than the Victory Tour parties, not that District 8 could afford to put on a particularly good one.” Been to a lot of Victory Tour parties, then? I’m tempted to ask.  What was a factory worker doing at a district party? Only dignitaries, their families, and prominent citizens were allowed to attend.  Something’s not quite right about Lace. “The food was great,” says Peeta.  “But that was the only good thing you could say about them.”   I nod. “Yeah, they were awful. Especially the District parties where you’d have to face the families of the dead tributes.” The smile on Lace’s face disappears.  A moment of kinship between Peeta and me isn’t what she wants to see.  Nor a subtle rebuke that has no idea what she’s talking about.

There’s an awkward pause. I wish they’d move on but they remain where they are.  It’s as if there’s a purpose for them coming over, but they haven’t got around to it yet.   Peeta breaks the silence.  “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he says, pretending to be annoyed.   “Ok, Ok,” says Lace, in mock surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted.  I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway. Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.”  She kisses his cheek before she leaves and Peeta’s eyes follow her retreating form while she disappears down the hall. Peeta takes the empty seat beside me.  “So, what do you think of the party?”

“Hm?” I ask, momentarily distracted.  I’ve been wondering what Lace means by “don’t bug Katniss.”  Why would she say it?  And why would she say it in front of me?  “Oh, um, the party’s alright, I guess.   Certainly not the worst I’ve been to.” “I’m mostly here because Lace wanted to come,” explains Peeta.  “She hopes to expand her client base to specialise in formal wear.  And the people here are the people wealthy enough to afford it.   She made the dress she’s wearing.” “She and Arthur have something in common then. He came for the same reason.  To make business connections.  It’s a lovely dress.”  I feel I should say something nice about it.

“So’s yours.  Cinna?” “Yes, Cinna.”  There’s a stab of pain at the mention of his name, and I put my hand to the crystal beading on the low neckline, as if I could somehow connect myself to the man who designed it.  Peeta’s eyes follow and I snatch my hand away, embarrassed to be thought trying to draw his attention to my breasts.  They’re nothing to boast of, but Cinna knew how to make the most of my figure and I was both younger and thin from the strain of the Victory Tour when this gown was made.  The gown is tight over the bust and I’m almost spilling out of it.   “He certainly knew how to dress you,” says Peeta.  “You always looked amazing in his creations.” I smile wanly at him.  “Thanks,” I say.   It isn’t really much of a compliment.  Attributing my “amazingness” to Cinna’s designs and then speaking in the past tense even though I’m wearing one of them right now. “So . . . Max,” he says, putting emphasis on “Max”.  “You’ve never said anything.” Yeah, like we tell each other things like that. How much did you tell me about Lace? “He’s a friend.” I say.   “Just a friend?” “Peeta, it’s none of your business.”  This line of conversation is irritating.  He hardly talks to me about his own relationship but he’s being nosy about mine.     “Yeah, sorry.  It’s not.  But, for the record, I want you to know that if it makes you happy, I support it.” Now he’s really annoying me.  “Why would I need your support?”

Before Peeta can respond, Max appears with a glass in each hand.    “Hi Peeta,” he says. “Hello Max.”  Peeta stands up.  “I’d better go.  Lace will be back soon.  I’ll see you later, Katniss.” “She’s got him well trained, hasn’t she?” asks Max, taking the seat Peeta just vacated. I just give him a look.  But silently I agree. She talks to him like a child.  “Stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” “Yes, Mommy.”  He even seemed to need her permission to talk to me.  Maybe her attraction is that she gives him the affection he felt he didn’t get from his mother.  Now there’s a weird thought. The music starts up for the dancing.  Max grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “C’mon.  This will get you in a better mood and help work off all that alcohol you’ve drunk.” “I’ve hardly had anything,” I protest.   “Yeah, sure.”  Max puts his arms around my waist and I put my mine around his neck. It’s slow music and we shuffle around for what passes for dancing nowadays.  He leans down and says in a low voice, “Over there.  At three o’clock.  Peeta and Lace.  Let’s give him something to be jealous about.”  I’m pulled hard against him and then he attempts some fancy turns that has my feet barely touching the floor. “Will you stop that?” I say, seriously annoyed. People are looking at us, wondering what we’re doing.  I catch a glimpse of Peeta.   His face is unreadable.  It’s the mask he puts on when he wants to hide his thoughts. His actor’s mask. “Definitely jealous,” says Max.   I don’t say anything.  Even if he is, one thing I’ve learned about Peeta by now is that whatever he’s feeling, it will soon be interpreted the same way he’s interpreted everything else.

I see Peeta whisper a few words to Lace.  She nods and they leave the dance floor and then disappear through a set of double swinging doors.  It’s a service entrance of some kind because I’ve seen a couple of the waiting staff emerge and exit from that door.  My imagination goes into overdrove over why Peeta and Lace would use it.  Neither the restrooms or the main entrance is through there.  If I didn’t have Max with me, I’d be tempted to follow.   The dance ends and with nothing better to do, we join Haymitch at the bar.    At Haymitch’s request, the bartender has lined up shots of whisky in a long row. It’s all the different types stocked at the bar, and Haymitch wants to compare and sample them all.   Max has one, out of politeness, I think – he doesn’t like whisky.  I quickly discover that I don’t either, but I like the way it blazes a trail of fire down my throat and then spreads through my veins, to dull the anxiety a little because the longer Peeta is away, the more tense I become.  I put out my hand for another shot.  Haymitch laughs and Max looks on questioningly but I ignore him and down it in one gulp.  My head feels fuzzy but I keep my eyes on the swinging double doors, waiting for Peeta and Lace to emerge.  When they eventually do, they head over to a group of people around our own age and have a merry time, talking and laughing.  Peeta’s arm is around Lace’s waist and he bends his head to drop a kiss onto her mahogany hair, mussed, I presume, from a recent make-out session. “Always.  You promised me always,” I say, under my breath. “What?” Max asks. “Nothing.”  I put the empty shot glass on the bar. “I think we can go now.  I’ve had enough.”

  Chapter 12

Dear Peeta,

I’m writing to you because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.  

I want to apologise that I threatened to end our friendship if you didn’t try to get your memories back.  Friendship shouldn’t be conditional and my motives for insisting that you do were selfish ones.

I want to apologise for my insinuation that the real Peeta Mellark didn’t come back.  Whoever you are, and whoever you choose to be is the real Peeta Mellark.  Again, my motives were selfish. I want to apologise for implying that you a coward.  You have a right to live your life as you choose.  You have a right to make your own reality.  I was the coward for not facing mine. I want to apologise for presuming to know what’s best for you.  Only you can do that because you’re the only who truly knows what you want.  Again, my motives were selfish. It seems strange that after all this apologising for being selfish that I intend another selfish act.  But since it’s about myself, I feel entitled to make it.   I want to end our relationship. Entirely this time and for reasons I don’t want to share.   It’s nothing you’ve done.  There’s nothing for you to feel guilt over.  This is about me and how I want to live my life. I’m sorry to leave in the middle of the tape viewings.  Especially since it was indirectly initiated by me, and, I suspect, done at least partially for my benefit.  But if you choose to continue and you need someone to help give context, then Haymitch is the logical choice.  I know you trust him more than me anyway. Please continue to work at the bakery. This is work that you love and I don’t. I’ll be full time at the school eventually anyway.  I’ve given my notice to the Carters and requested that it be effective immediately. Flora and Sateen will fill in until they get a replacement. I intend moving out of the Village as soon as I find alternative accommodation.  In the meantime, I ask that you to refrain from initiating any contact.  I thank you for tending the primrose bushes but I want it to stop. I wish you every happiness in life, Peeta. No one deserves it more.  You already have the foundation for it.  Work that fulfils you, a woman you love and who loves you back, and many friends.   As for us, we were mere ships that passed in the night, tossed together upon raging seas, and then set on course to sail in opposite directions once calmer waters prevailed.   Kind regards, Katniss. So, what do you think, Prim?  That last line too much?  Yeah, it is pretty corny.  I’ll get rid of it.  It’s just hard to know how to finish it.  The rest of it seems so cold.  But maybe that’s not a bad thing.  Once you know something is as good as dead, finish it off.  Cleanly.  An arrow through the eye.  A sharp knife to the jugular.  Pretentious attempts at metaphors have no place in it.  Or was that a simile?  I forget the difference.  It’s a good thing then that I won’t be teaching English. Or art.  My gaze comes to rest on the canvas atop the dresser.  Its right side is facing outwards now.  I’ve at last accepted that the real Peeta Mellark did come back.  The Peeta Mellark that he is now, anyway.  I had once compared the painting to Peeta, his true self hidden, his mind fractured, but not beyond saving.  Now I’m stunned at the sheer arrogance of my former assumptions.  What do I know of Peeta’s true self?  Who am I to assume his mind is fractured just because he hasn’t fallen at my feet to declare his undying love?  How do I know he needs saving?  Or if he even wants to be if he does?

It’s a beautiful painting, though.  A single bloom with a bud attached.  The leaves painted in shades of grey so as to not take the focus from the bright yellow of the primrose.  I wonder if Peeta meant it to represent life springing from ashes, and the bud to represent the constant renewal of life.  What do you think, Prim?  But Prim is silent.  Prim is dead. Peeta is dead.  It’s time to face harsh realities.   I print out the letter in my neatest handwriting, leaving out the bit about ships passing in the night.  And then I seal it in an envelope and stuff it in a drawer.  I think better of giving it to him.  It’s a dilemma – how to divorce myself from his life.  If I shut him off suddenly and without explanation, it will cause confusion and pain.   If I do it gradually, it will still cause confusion and pain, but at least it will be a progression and give him time to adapt.  If I tell him the truth, it will also cause confusion and pain.  Confusion, because in Peeta’s mind a romantic relationship with me isn’t even a possibility.  And pain, because he’ll have to tell me he doesn’t feel the same. Besides, pride is one of the few things I have left. So, I write another letter. Dear Peeta,

I’m sorry to have missed you when I called around earlier.

A lie.  There was no such attempt.

I wanted to let you know of my decision so you have time to make alternative arrangements.  For a few weeks now, I’ve questioned whether I’m the most suitable person to talk to about the tapes Dr Aurelius sends.  Apart from the fact that you have trust issues with me, I feel that someone who was an observer rather than a participant might be of more value.   I think Haymitch would be the perfect choice if you plan to continue.  I’ve consulted with Dr Aurelius and he has no objections.

Half a lie.  I did consult with Dr Aurelius but he gave no opinion when I told him what I planned to do.  He was only interested in my mental state and what activities I was involved in.  

I want to apologise for my insistence that you “find yourself” as a condition of friendship.  Friends don’t ask for conditions.  And I was also wrong to imply that you’re not the real Peeta Mellark.  Whoever you decide to be, you are the real Peeta Mellark. You can’t be anything but Peeta Mellark and I won’t think any less of you if you abandon the program. Much love, Katniss.

I hold the letter in my hand for a full hour before I made the short journey to Peeta’s house to slip it under his front door.  I know I’m doing the right thing but burning a bridge is never easy.  Something in me broke on the night of the Mayor’s party.  Right in front of me he sneaked away for a grope with Lace, and when he came back it was to talk and laugh with his friends like I didn’t exist.  Not one glance came my way.  Not even to see if I was still there.  My faith in Peeta’s love has been corroding for some time.  Now it’s completely rusted away.  I love him as much as ever, but I simply don’t have the heart for it anymore. When I get back to my house, I feel surprisingly OK.   Like a great burden has been lifted.  Free, almost. Perhaps the numbness will leave me soon, and despair will take its place.  Perhaps I’ll even regret that letter and wish I could take it back.  I guess I could break into Peeta’s house if I want to.  He rarely bothers to lock his back door.  No, this is the right thing to do.  For everyone. For me.  And for Peeta.  Be decisive for once in your life, Everdeen. I distract myself with making a to-do list. I’ve already given notice at the bakery. The Carters were taken aback at the suddenness but not really surprised since I’ve twice cut hours at the bakery to work more hours at the school.  I suspect they knew it was coming.   I’m at the school three days a week now but mostly in the classroom since it’s getting too cold to take children into the woods, especially the little ones. Finding somewhere else to live will take time. Due to the large influx of immigrants, housing is in short supply.  People are coming in faster than they can build them.  But I’ll put feelers out.  I don’t want anything large, just comfortable and well built, and not too far from the woods and the school.   And there’s another thing I should do.  I should be open to dating.  Not that I want a torrid romance or anything.  But I don’t want to be a virgin for the rest of my life either.  In the Capitol, people had sex just for the fun of it.  I heard that they even arranged to meet perfect strangers for an hour or two of sex and then they’d never see each other again.  I think that’s going way too far, but maybe I could meet someone nice, who wants what I want.  Some companionship, some fun, but nothing serious.  Max, maybe?  No.  I dismiss that from my mind immediately.  He’s far more valuable to me purely as a friend. Besides, once you’ve vomited on someone, it’s likely you’ve blown any attraction they might have felt for you, anyway.   It was really his fault.   He shouldn’t have slung me over his shoulder like that just because I was walking too slow for his liking.  There’s not a lot that I remember after we left the party.    Only that my stomach was doing somersaults and my head was spinning.   I might have blubbered a lot about Peeta too.   When I awoke in my bed around noon the next day, on my nightstand was a jug of water, a glass and a piece of paper, folded in half.   My midnight blue sparkly Cinna gown was draped over a chair.  That’s when I realised I was naked.  On the paper was a message from Max.  You’re paying to have my suit cleaned. Take a couple of painkillers and drink lots of water.   P.S. I kept my eyes closed.   OK, I might have peeked.

I wanted to pull the covers over my head and never come out.   I haven’t seen Max yet, but I know I’ll never hear the end of it.  This is a gold mine for someone who loves to tease as much as he does.   Well, I’m certainly not paying his cleaning bill.  He got the suit for free, didn’t he?  

At five o’clock, I take a position at the window in my sitting room.  It’s around this time that Peeta comes home from the bakery.  He would have heard of my resignation but I doubt he’ll be surprised.   I’d already told him that I didn’t intend working there much longer.  I see him open his front door, and then stoop to pick something off the floor.  My letter.  The door closes behind him.   It’s done then.  Now he’ll be reading it.  Processing it.  Possibly puzzled by it.  Maybe upset? Angry? Annoyed?  Indifferent? I suppose it’s inevitable that Haymitch soon hears of it.  He’s at my door not long after Peeta had left his house.   He stinks of white liquor.  He had probably settled in for a pleasant evening of drinking himself into oblivion before Peeta disturbed him.  Since he’s now disturbing me, he must consider this close to a national emergency.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?  You and me, we made a deal to try to save him. Remember?” “He doesn’t need saving.” I tie the sash of my dressing gown and lower myself into a chair.   I’d been about to go to bed.   “He hasn’t needed saving since he returned to 12. He’s happy the way he is.” Haymitch stares at me, incredulous.  “Then what have these tapes been about?  You weren’t concerned about his happiness then. He only started watching them because you threatened him.” I put my head in my hands.  There’s no point in denying it.  If Peeta’s put me through an emotional wringer, then I’ve done the same to him.  That’s why it has to stop.

“I know.  And I was wrong.  I’ve been doing it for selfish reasons while telling myself it was for his sake.  I didn’t take into consideration that Peeta’s changed.  And that he might not want the same things that he did.” My voice cracks despite my efforts. “That he might not want me.” I wait for Haymitch to yell at me some more, but there’s only silence.  When I raise my head, I see that he’s taken the chair opposite and he’s taking a swig out of his bottle.  I think even if Haymitch were in a burning building, he’d save the liquor before himself. “Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him.  So you can’t blame him – “ “I don’t,” I say. “You do.  You’re punishing him for things that are out of his control – “ “No!  You’re not doing this to me again.  This guilt trip thing that you do.  The circumstances were different then.  Peeta wanted to be helped.  For himself. It wasn’t to please me.  And while it seems strange to say it, there was a clarity about him then too.  Now he just wants to see the past through a particular lens.  When we watch the tapes, no matter what they are, they’re all confirmation for beliefs he already holds.  And he’s happy to believe them.” “Maybe he’s just afraid – “ “Afraid of what?  That he’ll discover that it wasn’t just a sham?  That I fell in love with him?  You know what happened when I told him I love him.  He misunderstood.  That’s not someone who’s afraid.  That’s someone who wants a certain reality where I’m nothing more to him than a family member.  He’s told me several times that he’s not in love with me and he wants us to be friends. This whole thing – the tapes, trying to restore his memories – is me not facing reality.”  

“I think you’re giving up too soon,” he argues.  “If you persist for a just a bit longer – “ “No.  I’ve had enough.”  I shake my head wearily.  “I’m tired, Haymitch.  He’s happy. We should leave him be.  And I want to get on with my life too. Besides, if he wants to keep on with the tapes, he can.  He doesn’t need me for that.  What did he say about it, by the way?”

“He didn’t even mention it.  He’s upset because he thinks you’re distancing yourself from him and he doesn’t know why.   This is cruel what you’re doing to him.” “And this has been easy for me?” I demand, moved to anger. “Why are his feelings more important than mine?  He’s the one with a girlfriend, remember.”

Haymitch puts up a hand. “Yeah, yeah.  Alright. I can see your side of it too,” he says, trying to calm me down.    But I’m not done yet. “Peeta’s made it very clear that he wants Lace as a girlfriend and me as a friend,” I say.  “Well, it’s not what I want. Do you really think Peeta would’ve hung around being my friend if I’d ended up with Gale? No, he wouldn’t.   It’s far better to go our separate ways now before there’s any more hurt on either side. I know it’s upsetting for him now but he’ll soon get over it.  He’s not in the same position he was when he came back.   He has a job, a girlfriend.  He has other friends.  He has her family.” As I list all the things Peeta has going for him, my guilt begins to ease.   I am doing the right thing.  Peeta will come to see it in time. “But what if that’s not what he really wants?” he asks.  “Shouldn’t Peeta have a say?  What’s the difference between this and what you were doing earlier?” “The difference is that he’s made his choice,” I say, thinking of the guest room ban.  “I just didn’t want to confront it before.”

Haymitch opens his mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it.  He turns his attention back to his bottle instead.

“Why do you think he came back to 12?” I suddenly ask.   This has never made sense to me and the answer is unlikely to come from Peeta now.  “Why couldn’t he have left me alone?  That day when I found him planting the primrose bushes outside my house, I thought he’d come back to me.  But it was just a cruel joke.” “He can’t leave you alone.  Not after what the Capitol put him through.  It made him fixated on you.  More that he already was, anyway.”  Haymitch rises from the chair.  “Well, if you’re determined, there’s nothing I can do about it. I just hope it’s the right decision.” “I hope so too,” I say to myself after Haymitch is gone.  But the truth is that I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’m reaching in the dark, trying to be fair to everyone, but afraid of being fair to no one. That night I have a dream.   There’s nothing unusual about that, except this time it’s not a nightmare.   It’s a pleasant, comforting dream that harks back to simpler times.  Before Prim was reaped.  When Peeta was the boy with the bread and Gale was my best friend. I trusted him with all my secrets.  Even with Prim, I couldn’t be so open, my priority always to protect her.   “Catnip,” dream Gale says. “I know exactly what you’re going through with Peeta.  Same as me with you.” “What do you mean?” I ask. “Trying to be his friend, while he’s with another.  Living in hope that things will change, but all the while knowing that the odds are not in your favour.” “Yeah.”  I rest my head on his shoulder and his arm goes around me.  He smells of apples, damp leather and wood smoke. “Sometimes, I want to walk away. Try to forget that I ever knew him. But then I remember how he was, and how much we meant to each other, and that he’s only the way he is now because of me. “   “And he gives you just enough to keep hopes alive,” adds Gale. I nod against his shoulder.  I know how my indecisiveness must have looked to Gale, but there’s no rebuke in his voice.  He’s just telling me as it was. “I didn’t want to lose what we had,” I explain. “Is that why you want Peeta? Because you don’t want to lose what you had?  Because you can’t repeat the past, Katniss.  You should have learned that by now.” I think about that for a moment.  It’s a good question.  “When I was sent to 12, I didn’t care whether I lived or died.  I sat in a chair all day and only got out of it to go to the bathroom.  But when Peeta came back, I started to come back too.   If there wasn’t something of the old Peeta there, that would have been it for me. But there is.  Memories or not, he’s still Peeta.”

“Not quite Peeta.  The part of him that loves you didn’t come back,” says Gale.  

“No.”  Not the kind of love I want, anyway.  I think about the barely begun crush I had on Gale before the Games.  It had still lingered a little, complicated as is was by my confusion about Peeta. But really, it didn’t survive the Games. It just took me a while to realise it. “But what if it did, and it’s still there buried down deep.  That’s possible, isn’t it?”  There has to be some hope.  

“Was that how it was with you for me?” Gale asks. “No,” I answer. “But we were never going to last even if we had got together.  We clashed too much.  Our values were too different. Maybe if the Games and the war hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t have mattered.  But it did.”

“Do you remember the conversation we had in 2?” he says.   “That time we kissed?  Just before that we talked about Peeta.  How I didn’t stand a chance with you if he didn’t get better.  That you’ll never be able to let him go.   I knew I couldn’t compete with that, no matter much pain I was in.   And that’s your problem. You can’t let anyone go who’s in pain.  It’s a reason why you had trouble letting me go.” “I remember, but I don’t see how it could possibly be relevant to the present situation.” “Easy.  Catnip, he’s not the one in pain this time.  You are.  Let him go. Look out for yourself and let him come to you.”   “And if he doesn’t?” “Then the Peeta you knew is dead.  And then you mourn him and you move on.” “Like you did?”  I ask.  But there’s no answer.  I’m talking to the wind.  Gale is gone.

[litlifelover]

Everything's Fine

Happy Gadge Day, my friends! :)

This is actually my last minute plan as a contribution for today. Originally I started another story for Gale and Madge, but it turned into a monster, which won't be ready anytime soon, I'm afraid. So I sat down this morning and in between phone calls, and e-mails, and work related mail, and colleagues needing my help, I used every spare minute to write this drabble (geez, I hope nobody from work reads that ggg).

Huge thanks to @xerxia31 for editing this so very last minute. Seriously, I asked her about 1.5 hours ago and she immediately went to work. Thank you, lovely! :)

Okay, I'm done. I really hope you enjoy. Would love to hear from you, and wish you all a very HAPPY GADGE DAY 2017!

Read on AO3

"Gale, it's Monday morning. Sam has gymnastics on Tuesday, and Lily's piano lesson got moved from Wednesday to Thursday," Madge explains, back turned to the busy kitchen, while simultaneously packing lunch for the girls. Her daughters sit in their breakfast nook and playfully argue over who's the cooler Disney Princess. "Wednesday is that information meeting at the elementary school, Friday is the housewarming party at Katniss and Peeta's. On Saturday we promised the girls we’d visit Santa at the mall, don't you dare have forgotten about that. Sunday we have the big family lunch at your parents house. Pray tell," she turns around and fixes him with a glare. "When exactly should I make time to bake 200 muffins for your company's charity event?"

Gale raises his arms in front of him, a gesture of surrender. His wife is super-mom, seriously, he knows that. But even she has her limits. And ever since she started working part time again, she's always grumpy. And constantly complaining about not having enough time for anything.

It's not like they needed her to go back to work as a graphic designer, but after staying home and being a fulltime mom for seven years she just wanted to go back. And Gale understands that. He really does. And he supports the decision.

Still, her rant makes him slightly miffed. It's not like she's the only one who is busy. And her schedule wouldn't be as packed as it is if she simply told him once in a while to take over some of the chores. He gets it, she's used to being the one in charge. The one who gets everything worked out, almost never forgets about anything. The one who plans, and organises, and makes things happen.

Madge is not used to having to admit that she’s reached her limits.

"Sorry I asked," he grunts, arms now crossed in front of his chest, leaning against the counter beside the coffee maker. "You loved making them before, so I assumed you would want to do it this year too."

"Well, you assumed wrong," Madge spits, knife in one hand, toast in the other, her glare focused on him.

"Fine," Gale throws back, now pissed too.

It's only then they realize that it got quiet in the kitchen. Both their girls look at them with huge eyes.

"Mommy?" Lily, their younger one, whispers. Her blue eyes brim with unshed tears. While Samantha is the tomboy, Lily is the sensitive one. And when her parents fight she gets quiet and clingy.

"It's okay, baby," Gale answers her. He goes over to her and picks her up. Knows that she needs a hug now, simultaneously taking Samantha's hand and squeezes it once reassuringly. "Mommy and I are just discussing this week's plan and are a little bit at odds with some of the dates. Everything's fine."

He smiles his big smile, the one where one side of his mouth curls up higher than the other and makes a dimple appear. The smile he saves for his girls. For his family. For her. Madge first fell in love with that smile, she told him once. He only ever smiles like that for her, he told her then. And now includes their daughters.

Some of the fight leaves them, and they look at each other over their daughter’s back.

"I'm sorry," she mouths to him, he can see the guilt masking her eyes.

"Me, too," he mouths back. He puts Lily back down in her seat, presses a kiss on her head, and then one on Samantha's, before he steps over to Madge, wraps her in his arms, and presses a kiss to the top of her head as well.

Madge doesn't hesitate to sneak her arms around his waist to hug him back. They hear the kids start their arguing about Elsa and Moana anew. The adults chuckle lightly.

"I'll ask Mellark about the muffins. He owns a bakery after all," Gale finally offers as they step away from their embrace. Madge goes back to preparing the sandwiches for the girls, he grabs a mug and fills it with coffee.

He sees her hesitate, but in the end she speaks with a small sigh, her concentration still focused on the bread. "Could you make it work to bring Sam to gymnastics tomorrow? Lily will be at your mom's and I have a deadline coming up."

"Of course," he agrees immediately. "And I'll ask Katniss if she can watch the girls on Wednesday, so we can go to that school meeting together. I know you hate all those insufferable pageant moms. We can make fun of them from the back row."

Madge stops in her movements. Her eyes turn to him, smiling softly. Gale takes a sip from his coffee and winks at her over the rim of his cup.

"I love you," she chuckles.

He leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Love you, too." Then he puts the mug down, and steps over to his daughters. "Need to run. Goodbye, pumpkins. Be good, work hard, stay nice, no swearing. See you tonight."

"Goodbye, Daddy," they chorus, both munching on their muesli.

He brushes his hands over both their hair, then turns back to his wife. "See you tonight, babe." A hurried kiss, and he's gone.

And that's it. They may fight, but in the end they always try to figure a way out. Together.

xXx

With a bottle of beer in his hand, Gale lounges on the couch and waits for Monday Night Football to continue after the commercial break. Normally he would meet with the guys to watch, but after this morning's differences between him and Madge, he decided to stay home tonight.

The girls are asleep by now and Madge is in their home office working on the project she mentioned this morning.  

Forty minutes into the match she steps into the living room and plops down on the couch beside him, her back resting against the armrest. Her bare feet burrow under his thigh. Her white blouse is wrinkled from a whole day of wearing it, a couple small blotches of pasta sauce sprinkle the front. Her hair falls in waves over her shoulders, no longer constricted by the messy bun she wears it when working.

Gale wraps his arm around her jeans-clad legs, his hand holding on to her knee. Without a word he offers his bottle of beer, which Madge declines with a shake of her head. Her hand comes to rest on his forearm, her thumb rubbing softly back and forth. For the next minutes they just sit and watch the game.

"So, I need to talk to my boss in the next couple of days." Madge eventually breaks the silence, eyes still on the screen.

Gale nods, takes a sip. "About the new project?"

"No. That will be done in time. Actually, it's about reducing my hours again."

He stops short, turning his head to look at her. "Come again?"

"I want to cut back," she repeats.

A deep sigh escapes him. He should have known she would react like this after this morning. "Madge, if this is about all the stuff you handle around here-"

She actually smiles when she affirms, "It's not."

Gale isn't convinced, not even when she starts to shake her head. "We figure something out, baby. You were so looking forward to getting back to work …"

Madge shrugs, but her face doesn't change. He takes another sip.

"I had a doctor's appointment this morning while the kids were at school."

The beer nearly goes down the wrong way. Part of it runs down his chin. With a fast gesture he swipes it off, at the same time putting the bottle down on the coffee table and turning to her, grabbing her hand. "Everything ok?"

"Oh, yes! Yes!" she assures immediately, her free hand brushing over his bearded chin. "Just a routine checkup."

He sighs in relief and grabs the bottle of beer again, turning back to his previous position.

"It was scheduled three weeks from now, but I called last week to reschedule."

"And everything's fine?"

"Everything's fine."

She starts to play with his fingers, still with that content smile gracing her features. For a few minutes they don't say a word. He doesn't get where this is heading to. Sometimes his wife simply doesn't make sense.

"Ok? So what has this appointment to do with you reducing your hours, exactly?"

His confusion must show on his face, because Madge laughs out loud, her head thrown back, and her hand covering her brow. She looks young, carefree and happy; she reminds Gale of the college girl he first fell in love with, and who thankfully had been generous enough to give him the time of the day. He can't do anything other than join her in her laughter.

"What?" he chuckles after several moments, still confused about her behavior.

Madge looks up, her smile even broader than before, and with a swift movement slips under his arm and cuddles against his side. He rests his hand under her shoulder blade, and squeezes her tighter against him. Her hands hold on to his face; eyes searching every wrinkle, every spot, every spark. Fingers trailing through the beard at his chin.

She rubs her nose once against it, then presses a quick kiss to the corner of his lips before she finally answers.

"I'm pregnant."

[katnissmellarkkk]

Okay, so I wanted to get this out, like twelve hours ago, buttttt Tumblr is having issues with me today and it wouldn’t let me. So anyways, better late than never! 

This is a Christmas-y oneshot, set years Post-Mockingjay, with their first toastbaby. It’s completely canon-complacent and focuses on their lives and family after the war. It got way longer than I intended. Actually, originally, it was meant to be a Thanksgiving oneshot but uh... I took too long so it’s not Christmas. Only they call it Yuleday here, because I can’t imagine Panem calling it Christmas, idk why. Anyways, please read and enjoy! 

Oh yeah, and thank you @rosegardeninwinter for writing the song Katniss sings to her daughter in here!

Summary : Everlark spend Yuleday with their daughter and the rest of their blended family. 

The sticky vanilla liquid drying against the counter clings to my forearm. I wrinkle my nose slightly, the smell of vanilla too strong for my liking.

No, I prefer the smells of cinnamon and pine and fresh baked bread, I think to myself, as I watch my husband slip on a oven mitt and pull out a new loaf.

The kitchen is much messier than Peeta typically allows it to get, but he didn't have the time this week he anticipated he would to bake for our family's impending visit.

I lean unconsciously closer to the baked good, my mouth already watering at the sight. "Katniss," Peeta warns while he places a cake pan inside the oven, his voice growing stressed. "Be careful of the door." He gestures with his chin to the white-hot contraption just inches from my legs.

I roll my eyes at his fretting and pick up a piece of bread from a loaf we never finished last week. "Don't worry, I've been married to a baker for a while," I reply coyly as he begins to stir white, creamy homemade frosting around in a bowl. "I'm used to getting burned every so often."

It's his turn to send me a look now. "Yeah, because you forget to put a mitt on when touching the rack."

"Hmm, funny, my husband said at the time it was his fault for not warning me how hot it was," I shoot back as I dig my finger into the frosting bowl and pop the sugary substance into my mouth.

"That's sanitary," he deadpans and pushes me away from his workspace playfully.

"Oh, come on," I implore, pressing my hands against his chest as he tries to move me out of the kitchen and towards the living room. "Don't you ever sample your treats while making them?"

"No, Katniss," he replies, trying to remain serious but I see a smile peaking through. "Because I'm a professional."

I go to make a comment, pointing out every time before he's been less than professional in his workplace—with me, in particular. In the back room, with the most counterspace—when he leans down and plants a kiss on my lips. More than likely to shut me up.

"Yeah, this is sanitary," I tease against his mouth when we break apart ever so slightly.

Peeta leans back a little, keeping his chin still pressed against mine. "When have we ever cared about sanitary?"

I smirk up at him as his hands find my hips tenderly, his fingertips gliding underneath my shirt, touching the edge of my stomach. His lips find mine again or mine find his, but either way, in a matter of seconds I'm opening my mouth to let his tongue enter, eliciting a loud moan from him when my teeth graze his bottom lip.

"Mmm," he whispers when he pulls back again.

"Mmm?" I repeat, chuckling. "That's the best you can do?"

He tightens his arms around my waist, holding me to him. "I was about to say, I do enjoy taste testing my own frosting that way."

"Well, as long as you had a reason for invading my mouth."

"Like I said, I'm a strict professional."

Before I can reply back, there's a loud knock at our front door. Followed by another and then another, growing more noisy and cacophonous with the passing seconds.

Neither of us make a move to get the door. "Are you sure we have to invite Haymitch?" I inquire, my voice very serious.

"I believe I left that decision up to you, my love," Peeta replies cheekily, planting a small kiss on my nose.

"I can hear you two," Haymitch barks from the other side of the door before he knocks again, just as loud, and then rattles the doorknob. "Let me in, I'm freezing," he demands gruffly.

Peeta opens the door with a sardonic look, revealing our grouchy mentor and, at his feet, our tiny daughter, bundled up to keep from the cold. "Put a coat on, Haymitch."

"Why would I do that? I was coming here to sit by your fireplace all day anyway."

"Mommy!" Indigo shouts and races her chubby little legs in a beeline to me.

I scoop her up easily, having missed her for the entire forty-five minutes she was away from me. "Did you have a good time helping feed the geese?" I ask, in a tone I would have found absolutely embarrassing three years ago. I never even spoke to Prim in that tone.

"No, I hate them," she proclaims, very seriously, before laying her head against my shoulder exhaustedly. "They're very demanding cree-ters," she explains.

I nod, petting down her long, dark hair, moving it out of her little face, giving me access to the stunning blue eyes Peeta gave her. "They are very demanding creatures, aren't they?"

"But someone has to help Granpuh," she adds on the end, very matter-of-fact.

I shake my head at that, hoisting her higher on my hip. "I think Haymitch takes care of himself just fine, Indigo," I murmur sternly, as my old mentor passes by me, his eyes falling on the frosting bowl still sitting on the counter where we left it.

"Excuse me, Sweetheart. It's Grandpa to her," Haymitch corrects gruffly, pointing to my child.

Peeta hums as he leans against the doorframe, his shirt tightening up around his shoulders as he stretches his neck. "Katniss, remember when you were pregnant and Haymitch swore our kid wouldn't call him Grandpa?"

"I seem to remember that well."

"Yeah, well I seem to remember you saying no one is ever calling your daughter Indy and yet, here we are," the older man reminds me and all levity is gone from my face instantly, only to be replaced with irritation.

Three years ago when I gave birth, me and Peeta both agreed on the name Indigofera. Or, more like, he agreed because I liked the name.

I never expected to have a child. I spent majority of my life swearing I'd never procreate. The world I grew up in, the only world I knew, was nowhere I'd allow a child to grow up in. Not if I had any control of over.

Not when every year from the age of twelve to eighteen, my child could be stolen from me, could be taken away and tossed into a dressed up cage, forced to fight to the death, likely die on national television.

I'd never allow my child to live in that world.

That sentiment only grew stronger once a child of my own was no longer just a vague image, but a living, breathing, loud little being.

The idea of my Indigofera being subjected to the world I knew, the world that fell apart almost twenty years ago now, is beyond devastating to me.

I still wonder sometimes how Peeta ever was able to convince me to have a child.

As I think of him, he's right beside me, saying something quippy to Haymitch, before pulling Indigo out of my arms and unzipping her coat. I watch on at their exchange as she puts her tiny little hands on his cheeks, telling him happily about her time with Granpuh and the geese. I watch as Peeta's eyes brighten when he looks at her, I watch as she smiles more and more with his encouraging nods, prodding her to keep talking. I watch as she squeals out and laughs when he tickles her and kisses the side of her face.

And I still wonder, how on earth he convinced me to have a child.

But I'm thankful every day he did, from the bottom of my heart. That little girl is the most important being in both our lives and, though I had no idea at the time, we were not complete without her.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," Indigo complains as he starts to pull away, very obviously intending to head back to the kitchen and finish up baking and frosting.

"We're going to eat once Grandma and the others gets here, Bean," I promise, stepping in to scoop her back up.

"They're so slow," Indigo says, with no shame or remorse in her voice for the blunt statement.

"Indigo," Peeta chides gently. "That's not a nice thing to say."

"It's kind of true," I add sheepishly after a moment, agreeing with our daughter.

My husband just rolls his eyes at me now. "You're a bad influence on her."

"Oh, give me a break, Peeta!" I exclaim defensively. "You gave her chocolate pancakes for breakfast today. I think you're the bad influence."

"I made them for you too, Katniss," he reminds me wryly.

"That's a little different-"

"Hello," Haymitch interrupts as he plops down on the sofa, his usual spot in our house. "Some of us would like to eat Yuleday Dinner tonight."

"And?"

"And that's not going to happen if we don't let the boy work, Sweetheart."

The boy. Haymitch never did get new nicknames for us, despite Peeta being a man, a husband and a father for quite some time now.

Peeta hauls Haymitch up by the arm from his seat. "If you're going to be in my house, you're going to help me with dinner," he says firmly and Indigo giggles against my neck, watching her daddy drag her grandpa into the kitchen.

Haymitch being grandpa was only ever meant to be a joke. Neither me nor Peeta ever intended for Indigo to actually view Haymitch Abernathy as her grandfather.

Though it makes sense. He's been a constant in our lives since we were sixteen. And even when me and Haymitch are at each other's throats, he still shows up here, sitting on the couch, expecting dinner, at least once a week. He regularly shows up at the bakery Peeta runs now almost entirely on his own, asking for free samples. And he still loves our daughter like his own flesh and blood.

The only true gripe I have about Haymitch and Indigo's relationship is the nickname Indy. I knew when we named her Indigofera, after the mysterious plant that my father used to jokingly say was about as real to us as unicorns—the color plant was all but extinct long before I was even born—that her natural nickname would be Indigo. Peeta himself says we gave her a mouthful of a name, choosing to go as far as adding in a middle name that we both lacked ourselves. But something about the nickname Indy is extremely unappealing to me.

And as her mother, as the person who grew her and carried her inside me, and loves her more than all the things in the world combined, I think I should have final say on what she's called.

I'm abruptly pulled out of my thoughts by a soft, little hand pulling my tangled hair. "Mommy, what time does Finn get here?"

Of course, that's who Indigo is focused on. It's not just my mother arriving today to join us for our Yuleday Dinner. It's everyone that me and Peeta consider family.

Including Annie and Finn, her child with the sensual, alluring, kind-hearted Finnick Odair. The child who has taken after his father in ways that seemed unimaginable.

Indigo knows, even at three-years-old, that we always treat Finnick's memory with respect. We never forget him or anyone else that ever helped us make the country a safe place.

Of course, she's too young to fully understand. What she understands is Finn, who at eighteen, has all his father's looks and charm, is her suto-cousin, is her playmate and brings her presents. And as far as I'm concerned, that's all she needs to understand.

"In an hour," I reply gently, bringing myself back to reality. Pushing her dirty hair back, I lean my nose against her's, letting my eyes grow bigger. "You know what that means?"

She lets out a loud shriek of excitement and all but kicks her way out of my arms. "Bath time!" She yells as she propels herself excitedly towards the stairs, going on all fours to struggle her way up independently.

I stay inches behind her, making sure I'm able to catch her if she should tumble, but the precaution isn't necessary. Indigo gets to the top stair and takes off running towards the bathroom down the hall.

"Lots of bubbles," Indigo commands in a very serious tone as she watches me pour a cap full into her bath water.

I remind myself for the thousandth time to send Effie a thank you note for bath bubbles she sent weeks ago. My old escort is one of the few people I haven't kept in close contact with over the years and it's no surprise really. Me and Peeta never stopped looking at the Capitol with disdain, perhaps even more so after the war, and Effie, even with a good heart deep inside, is Capitol, through and through.

But she's still sent sporadic gifts here and there over the years. She's still called Haymitch dozens of times since the end of the war. She's still kept her mouth shut about Indigo's existence for the last three years and for that, I am indebted to my old escort for life.

Peeta and I agreed early on in my pregnancy that Indigo would never be property of the Capitol. It didn't matter how much safer the world was now, or how many new faces have come along for people to fawn over in the last eighteen years, or how adorable Indigo is, we both vowed with everything we had that no one outside our family and friends and community would know of her birth. If I did anything in my life, it would be protect my child.

The way I failed to protect my sister.

Even almost twenty years later, the memory still stung. The image of my sister being blown apart, right before my eyes, is permanently ingrained in my mind. I still wake up from nightmares, reliving Prim's last moments alive before the bombs took her away forever.

But the once searing pain had faded into a dull ache, a deep imbedded hurt that never went away entirely but instead became a part of who I was.

I help Indigo into the tub and instantly get to work, washing her up as she splashes around and plays with her bubbles. Technically Effie sent them to me, along with a lot of other useless items that I all but threw out immediately, but they were better used for Indigo. Whereas I saw the impracticality in many of Effie's gifts, Indigo saw a new luxury, a new toy, a new activity or adventure she could have.

It's the Peeta in her. It's his appreciation for beauty that he passed down to our daughter.

I've told him countless times in the last few years that if she turns out to have a massive spending addiction or have desires to live a luxurious life, it's all on him.

"Alright, eyes shut," I warn dramatically, waiting for her to cover her big blue eyes with her tiny palms before dousing her head with water.

After she's dried and dressed she runs into the kitchen barefoot and immediately flings herself onto Peeta, gripping his prosthetic leg. "Daddy, look how clean I am!"

He chuckles as he finishes wiping the counter off before scooping her up. "Imagine how clean you could be every day if Mommy didn't take you to the woods to play in the dirt?"

He's teasing me and I know it, but I still shoot him a dirty look. "She gets dirtier in Daddy's kitchen than the woods."

"Dirty? From baking?" He directs the questions towards the three-year-old in his arms. "No!"

Indigo gives him a shy smile before a loud giggle escapes and nodding her head, affirming his point. "See," he points out, gesturing to her grinning face.

"Daddy is the bad influence around here," I say as I pull her from his arms.

"Only because Mommy corrupted me," he says back as he moves to grab the broom, the last step in his clean up routine before the rest of our guests arrive.

He leans around me and Indigo to grab the cleaning device, before not so subtly sneaking a kiss on his way back. I just look to our daughter and, indicating to her father with my chin, wrinkle my nose dramatically, causing her to laugh more.

"Mommy's mad at you," she informs him, finding this very humorous.

"Hmm, is she?" Peeta asks, as if he's shocked by the news.

"Yes," I affirm. "For implying I dirty my child, when it's you who covers her in flour and cake batter every other day."

"Oh, well, Indy, whatever will we do to gain Mommy's forgiveness?" He isn't gaining any sort of forgiveness from me by using her annoying nickname. Still he pretends not to notice my narrowing eyes, as if after eighteen years he doesn't know me like the back of his hand.

"Bake her somting!" She exclaims, clapping and excited again. She's always excited. I'm not even sure if she's mine some days with how enthusiastic this little human can be.

"Hmm, I could," he agrees, but then dramatically he gazes around the kitchen, as if seeing it for the first time. "You know what though? I just cleaned it all up in here. So I guess I can't bake Mommy something. I guess I'll have to try other methods."

As if he planned it the entire time—which, without a doubt, he did—Peeta leans in gently and starts pressing kisses to my skin, right where my jaw meets my neck. I resist at first and so his lips move upwards, towards my forehead, towards my nose and then my chin.

"Okay," I relent, laughing in spite of myself, batting him away. "Okay, you're forgiven." I reward him with a smile as he moves his lips from peppering my face to my mouth itself. He only gives me a chaste kiss, since I'm holding his daughter, but it's enough to make my stomach flip like it did on the beach, when we were seventeen.

We were also in a death match, neither of us intending to live through the following day, but that fact somehow has separated itself in the almost twenty years since the war from the moment between me and Peeta, and for that I'm grateful. I'm grateful for my mind compartmentalizing itself, for the horrors witnessed and forever printed inside my head somehow shifting away from specific moments in the games, moments I can now look back on more fondly than when I was seventeen.

I look at Peeta again then, as he gives me a sweet smile and turns away to start sweeping the floor, to rid it of the thick layer of flour split while baking, and I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the last eighteen years. I'm suddenly intensely grateful for the almost two decades he's given me, that had been the best years of my life.

Of course, the little squirming creature in my arms have only made the years better, and I kiss her face gently, murmuring softly, "Let me braid your hair," against her little pink cheek.

She obediently sits in front of me and starts humming as I comb the knots from the long dark locks she inherited from me. "What're you singing?" I ask, smiling, already knowing what song she's trying to hum.

"Bloo sky," she replies simply, before going back to humming again to herself. I smirk softly, waiting for her to ask me to take over.

And, of course, with the predictability of a three-year-old, Indigo turns around abruptly after a long moment of silence with a frazzled look overtaking her big blue eyes. "Mommy?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Can you sing bloo sky? I can't 'member all the words."

My smirk turns to a full on smile now, as I begin to twist her now soft and silky hair into a braid. "Don't let your mind be troubled, dear. Don't you get lost in fear. For through all the storm clouds and darkest days, I promise I will be here."

Indigo beams at me, tipping her head back to watch me sing before her own little voice, lisp and wrong words and all—though, I have inexpressible pride that her melody is perfectly on pitch—joins in with me.

"And a blue sky will come shining through. And a blue sky just for me and you," I sing as she accidentally says too instead of through. "Through all the storm clouds and darkest days, there's a blue sky for just me and for you," we finish.

"And for Daddy," Indigo suddenly asserts, like she forgot him until now.

I laugh gently. "Yes, but that won't fit the rhyme."

"What's a rhyme?"

"Nevermind, Indigo." I can barely hold back a chuckle as I finish her braid, tying it with the band around my wrist. Since she grew hair long enough to get caught on things, I've always made a special point in carrying extra hair ties for her, everywhere we go.

"Sweetheart, am I expected to go grab our guests in my car? Because I don't have enough room so someone's going to have to hang onto the bumper-"

"Don't worry, Haymitch," I cut off, laughing again, at the image of him attempting to gather up our blended family and friends in what he refers to as a car. "And I didn't miss you saying our guests," I add, turning away from my child to give him a look.

"I helped the boy clean the kitchen, I get to take ownership over the guests as well."

"Grandpuh?" Indigo's little voice peeps. "I wanna go for a ride before Finn gets here."

"Finn?" Haymitch picks. "Every person you've ever met is coming over today and it's Finn Odair you're excited to see?"

But Indigo adores—and I mean, adores—Finn and he's always been so good with her, more patient than any typical teenager is expected to be, and his arrival is all she's really thinking about.

"Haymitch, stop giving my daughter crap and take her for a ride in town," Peeta calls from the kitchen, evidently by the clanging noise, putting away the last of the dishes. "Hurry up too, I don't want her out there when the crowd comes in."

We never allow Indigo out into town during the busy times a day. During the times when the crowds, even here in the once decimated Twelve, grow too large for either Peeta or my liking. Too many opportunities for a stranger to grab her, too many chances for her to get lost, too many things could go wrong. Too many dangers exist for a three-year-old, even in this world that is miles better than the one we used to know.

Peeta and I do our best to put the past behind us, but we both still have times when the memories of war and bloodshed and cruelty creep in, and it's on those days all I can imagine is the world shifting again, some sort of disorder or disarray ruining the peace that will always feel foreign to me. It's on those days all I can see is the games coming back, is someone taking Indigo from me, putting her through what no child should have to endure, her sweet, little innocence being ripped away violently. Someone taking me or Peeta from her, her pure heart being hardened, the blue eyes that sometimes I swear I could see my sister in turning ice cold.

It's on those days I shut and lock the doors, I refuse to open the blinds, I refuse to let my daughter out of my sight. It's those days I beg Peeta not to run to the bakery, to just stay with us, to just not go where I can't see either of them.

It's on those days I plan what I will do if the world does fall to its knees again, if my worst fears when even thinking of the abstract idea of having a child come to life. I never tell anyone of these thoughts, but on the days Peeta has a flashback or can't sleep, on the days when he feels like he’s still seventeen, locked inside Snow's mansion, a tortured shadow of the wonderful boy with the golden heart, on the days he paints horrific images he'll never let our daughter see, I know he makes his own plan too.

As always, Indigo breaks me out of my thoughts as they run dark, jumping up excitedly, ready to go for a ride in Haymitch's car. It's actually more resemblant of a cart, with just room for three people if you squeeze, and no doors in sight. But she loves it and it makes her happy and after everything else, I know I can trust Haymitch with my child.

I fix her little green overall dress, straightening her dandelion patterned shirt underneath. "Don't let Haymitch get your dirty," I instruct very clearly.

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't mess up your hair."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't be too long."

"Yes, Mommy."

"And don't talk to strangers."

"Okay, can I go already?"

Both Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me and it takes all my restraint not to say something profane in front of Indigo.

As soon as they leave, I get to work, helping Peeta straighten up the house before our guests arrive.

As I'm finishing fluffing and re-arranging the pillows, two warm hands come into contact with my waist. "Excuse me, sir, I'm working right now."

Peeta's arms wrap entirely around me now, his lips on my neck. "Don't worry, I know the boss. She'll... understand."

"Will she?" I cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

He nods confidently. "She rather enjoys activities such as these."

I'm about to coyly ask what activities he's implying when his lips trail up further, finding residence closer and closer to my mouth.

His lips have just contacted mine when I whisper breathlessly, unable to stop myself, "the second our daughter leaves, you just can't help yourself."

His kiss turns to a laugh. "She does tend to take up a lot of the bed space. We have to catch these opportunities for us when we can."

I chuckle in response, because it's true. As much as we both love our child—more than words could ever say—lately, her fear of sleeping in her room down the hall has meant we've gained a new, invasive bedmate.

"That we do," I agree, smirking now as I fiddle with his sky blue collar that matched his eyes. "I see had a wardrobe change."

"Mhmm. Thought I would look nice for Yuleday."

"Is there someone special you're expecting to see? Someone you want to dress up for?" I tease, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my lips to the center of his chest, right at my eye level.

"There is, actually," he affirms slyly. "Two people, in fact. Both women. One a little smaller than the other. Both have dark hair and loud voices—"

"Excuse you?"

"Both have me wrapped entirely around their fingers," he adds, full on smiling now.

"Good save," I retort, about to turn away when I feel his hands grip the underside of my thighs and hoist me up against him.

I pretzel myself around his body, unable to help the girlish noise of surprise that slips out as he holds me in his arms. "We only have maybe ten minutes until Indigo and Granpuh," he imitates his three-year-old, but his nose teasingly presses against mine and his voice is very suggestive, "come back. We should... make the most of it... before we have to entertain guests all day."

I return the glint his eyes, my desires in line with his. Our lips meet halfway in the minimal space still remaining between us, and we waste no time before our tongues begin to intertwine, twirl and gently twist.

I feel his hand sliding up my ratty, torn shirt, just barely crossing over my stomach to my ribs when a knock at the door suddenly catches us off-guard.

"Haymitch isn't usually back this fast," I say as Peeta—very reluctantly—sets me down.

But as soon as the words slip from my lips, a thousand thoughts race through my mind.

What if Haymitch had lost Indigo somehow, in the crowd that always grows large on Yuleday? What if someone took my baby? What if she's scared and can't find me and I don't even know it yet because I let an old drunk man take her out of my sight? What if she fell out of Haymitch's cart and smacked her head on the town's icy cobblestones? What if the car spun out and hit a tree and now one of our neighbors is coming to tell us the grave news?

I'm holding my breath, my heart suddenly beating a million miles a second, as my husband pulls open the door.

Behind the door is not Haymitch nor a random member of our community. It's Delly. Delly Cartwright-Bagley and her husband and three children in tow.

A half hour early.

I can't help the reaction that slips from my lips, the stress of my fears overpowering my filter. "Would it have killed you to show up on time?"

Peeta shoots me a look but I ignore him. Delly however is unfazed by my irritation. As is her husband, Kanon.

"Happy Yuleday, Katniss!" Delly beams and pushes her plate of frosted cookies into Peeta's hands to hug me tightly. "And we only showed up early because your husband invited us to," she adds, talking too loudly into my ear.

My eyes narrow at Peeta but he's clearly just as unhappy with himself, since now our plans have been interrupted.

"I said they could come early and help," Peeta defends slightly, just as Delly's husband notices the button I must have unknowingly undid.

"Mmm, well you two could go upstairs while we finish getting everything ready for the rest of the guests," Kanon teases, ruffling Peeta's conspicuously tousled hair as he leads the three young ones inside from the cold.

Delly pulls back from me then and leads her eldest, Evelyn Malia Bagley—but, much like with Indigofera, is known solely by Evie—to the kitchen, with a high level of familiarity.

The confidence inside my house is only natural at this point, considering the relationship with our family and Delly's has grown much closer than I ever could have anticipated.

Delly is Peeta's childhood best friend, and therefore after the war she was one of the biggest supporters and greatest confidants to him in his darkest hours. The times I couldn't do anything, because I was the source of his fear, of his anger or his pain. 

Or rather, Snow made him believe I was.

Delly's presence in Peeta's life was far more helpful than any over the phone therapist could have ever been, and for that I am eternally grateful. However, I never expected her to be a close friend to me as well.

Begrudgingly on my part some days, but it was fact. If I ever needed anything, if I was having a hard time, if I ever wanted to talk with someone besides Peeta—which is rare but happens every so often—I'm still shocked to realize Delly Cartwright-Bagley is one of the first people I'll turn to. I’m still shocked to realize the girl who once had baby fat and yellow hair, who sat two rows ahead of me in school and chewed her bubblegum obnoxiously loud, is one of my closest companions. 

She's surprisingly more understanding and wise underneath her overly perky personality and boisterously loud voice.

And, of course, the man she married also helps the equation. Kanon is a kind, tall man, a few years older than the rest of us. He's rather quiet but will poke a joke at someone he knows well enough. He's hardworking and loyal and intuitive.

He's the exact opposite of Delly, which sounds like it should be a recipe for disaster but in reality has proven to be a wonderful occurrence in everyone's life.

After all, we all let out a sigh of relief when she could quit working at the medicine factory.

For all of Delly's good qualities—and there are a great many—she's not exactly an ideal factory worker. Or manual laborer. Or cleaning personnel.

When Delly took over operating the counter at Kanon's Candy Store, which unlike the bakery, is more of a novelty than an essential, everything sort of fell into place.

"Aunt Katty!" I hear a small voice shriek, pushing her older brother out of the way to sprint into my arms.

I barely have time to catch little Kendall, Delly's youngest child before she’s flung herself onto me with a force only her mother could have matched.

"Hi, Sweetie," I all but coo, disgusting even myself a bit.

I hug her almost as tightly as she hugs me, and I intentionally ignore Peeta's smirk in my direction.

Okay, so I'm not the most subtle about having a favorite out of Delly's litter. But Kendall is only three months different in age than my Indigo, so I have the excuse of spending the most time with the little wild, rambuctious thing.

Although my child is by far the ringleader in their friendship. A fact I try not to think of too often, as I could easily imagine a multitude of things Indigofera could get into if I don't keep a close eye on her.

"Where's Indy?" Kendall asks as I cart her to the kitchen. She's the only one I let that nickname slide with.

"She went for a ride with Haymitch."

Speaking of my child only increases my anxiety for her whereabouts. I suddenly regret letting my old mentor take her at all, as my gut continues to constrict painfully, thinking of every scenario in which she could be taken away from me. Forever.

My only job, the only one I truly cannot live with the idea of failing, is keeping my daughter safe.

I failed once before to protect someone I loved more than my own life. Twice, I correct myself, looking at Peeta, who's now guiding five year old Rhys by hand to the kitchen.

I cannot fail Indigofera, like I failed both Prim and Peeta.

Delly senses the tension building inside of me as I come to stand beside her, Kendall still on my hip. "Haymitch would never let Indigo get hurt," she says without preamble. To her credit though, she says it quieter than her typical range of volume. "C'mon. It's his granddaughter."

The four of us laugh, the fact that a little person with giant blue eyes and a constant pair of messy braids is what entirely melted Haymitch Albernathy's heart still laughable three years later.

I let Kendall down and watch as she and her siblings begin to set the table dutifully, with more order and structure than I had at their age.

I feel the everlasting anxiety that's making a permanent home inside my gut suddenly release, like a knife being pulled out of a stab wound, as Indigo's voice fills the room.

"Mommy!" She yells, racing into the kitchen as fast as her little legs can carry her. "Look at what Gamma Sae gave me," she exclaims, holding up a stuffed bear for me to see.

I don't acknowledge the toy or her hair that's coming out of the braid I only just did, or even the grass stain on her dandelion patterned shirt. I just yank her up into my arms and squeeze her tight.

I should be ashamed of myself, that my three-year-old knows when I've worried or been in distress over her, but all I am is awed when she lays her little head on my shoulder and whispers softly, "I'm okay, Mommy. Granpuh wouldn't let anything hurt me."

There is an awkward pause in the room for a moment, only noticeable to the adults. I don't know if it's because they understand my anxiety—Peeta, at least, typically does—or if it's because they think I'm insane, but no one speaks until Indigo shuffles herself downwards and immediately tackles Kendall, excitedly showing her the stuffed animal Greasy Sae gave her.

Delly, as per usual, breaks the silence. "You know, if you two ever want to finish the... activity you were engaged in when we showed up, I will gladly take care of Indigo for an afternoon."

I roll my eyes, long past the point where Delly could make me blush with her innuendos. "I'll keep that in mind."

Peeta is chuckling as he finishes drying off a now clean cooking bowl. "You're a more appealing babysitter than Haymitch," he says, his eyes falling on the older man, who's standing with the kids now, not-so-subtly keeping closer to Indigo, as he isn't too fond of most children in general.

"You sure we wouldn't be ruining your fun?" I tease now, looking at Kanon, who's arranging the cookies they brought onto a different plate.

"Katniss, we have three kids," Delly all but deadpans. A rarity for her. "All under eight years old. One more won't make a difference."

Kanon speaks up then as me and Peeta snicker. "We also learned to be faster," he adds slyly, looking directly at me. "The joy of having a few kids. Makes you a better multi-tasker."

"I so miss when you used to be quiet," I say in a monotone as the doorbell, that no one uses, unexpectedly rings.

"Peeta, how many people did you invite early?" I snap.

He holds up his hands defensively. "No one else, I swear."

"Sure."

But when I open the door, revealing my mother, Annie and Finn, I know he's got to be telling the truth. He wouldn't have invited my mother early for anything. The tension that existed years ago is all but gone—especially since Indigo's birth, the event that drew us closer than we had been since I was a child—but still, Peeta remains cautious. When it comes to my mother, he leaves her visitation completely up to me.

Her husband, Rod Marin, doesn't attend our celebration however. I don't know if it's the chilly reception he may or may not receive from me, or if it's the fact that my mom doesn't want to bring Rod's daughters with them, but either way, she has attended our home alone for the last five years and, as selfish as that may be, I prefer it this way.

Still, I greet her warmly. "Hi, Mom," I say as she hugs me tightly.

"Sorry we're a little early, honey," she professes as she steps into the house that was once her home too.

"That's fine," I assure, even though I'm not dressed or ready yet.

Annie is next and she instantly throws her arms around my neck. "I missed you," she murmurs in the sweet, gentle way she's always had since I met her in District Thirteen.

"We missed you too," Peeta calls from around the corner as he comes into our eyesight, holding a very excited Indigo in his arms.

"Finn!" She screams as she all but launches herself away from Peeta and into the eighteen year old's arms.

"Hi!" He exclaims as he catches her and swings her upwards, returning the overzealous squeeze she's giving his neck. "How's my best girl?"

"She's gweat!" Indigo beams and my heart melts a little, watching her with the boy who looks so much like his father. The boy who's always been such a joy in life. The boy who saved his mother eighteen years ago, who has been nothing but respectful and kind and funny to me and Peeta, who has shown incredible maturity at such a young age.

Then again, at his age I had already been through two games and a war. Peeta had already been hijacked and fought his way back. I'd already lost my little sister. Me and Peeta had our toasting at only a year older, at nineteen. Maybe eighteen isn't a young as it seems to me now, looking at youthful Finn, who I watched learn to walk and talk and swim and tie a knot.

Or maybe I was just as young when all that tragedy occurred. Maybe I just felt older because of the circumstances in which I was born, because of the world in which we lived.

I shake my head slightly, trying to shake the bad thoughts away.

"Indy, guess what?" Finn prompts enthusiastically—but not without shooting me a teasing glance, knowing my distain for her nickname.

"What?"

"I brought something."

"What?"

Both Peeta's and my curiosity has been peaked now, just as much as our child's. Annie's hesitant glance, that looks both hopeful and apprehensive, only fuels my confusion more.

"Well, there's a new tradition in some of the other districts that I think you'd find fun," he explains, but his eyes flicker to me and I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he could be suggesting. "You see you cut down a tree—or sometimes people in One or Two buy a plastic tree—and then you bring it home and decorate it."

Indigo claps her hands together, too excited and too precious for me to disappoint her. "I want to do it!" She yells, with an exuberance only a three-year-old could possess. "Kenny, we're gonna decorate a tee!"

I hear a variant of what being exclaimed in the other room, where my mother, Haymitch and the Bagley's still are.

"Where do we buy decorations?" My child asks, abruptly serious, the details of this tradition becoming clearer in her little mind.

"Indy," Finn quickly tries to corral. "I brought decorations with me, but we need a tree and..." He hesitates, looking at me now.

"And?" She prompts, confused.

"We have to ask your momma if it's alright to get one. Since it's her house we'll be doing this in." He winks at me, then turns his eyes pleading, half mocking me.

Indigo doesn't have to even feign the look, she naturally inherited that sweet, wide eyed, begging glint. Either from Prim or Peeta—probably both—and I'm powerless against it.

"Fine," I relent dramatically. Indigo rewards me by jumping from Finn's arms to mine and kicking her little chubby legs excitedly. "But not until after dinner," I condition.

"We should probably go get the tree now though?" Peeta suddenly speaks up, looking at the clock on the wall. "Before it gets dark?"

I shoot him a glare over Indigo's head. "It won't get dark for hours. And why do you seem not surprised by this?"

Peeta shrugs too innocently and when Annie giggles and nudges his shoulder, I realize they had been conspiring behind my back.

"Daddy is definitely the bad influence around here, Indigofera," I declare, as my husband walks closer to us, leans down and kisses my hair.

"We love you," he says teasingly, against my crown. "Even if you are a stick in the mud sometimes."

Before I can respond, likely with a snappy comment, our daughter pops her head off my shoulder. "Daddy, I want to pick out the tee."

Of course she does. That girl has been in charge of us since the day she was born.

"Okay, Bean. Ask your mother if it's alright," he tells her, but it's just a formality at this point, as to not ruffle me further. She's his kid too, he can take her to get a tree if he wants.

"Mommy, can I-"

"Yes," I say exasperatedly, giving Peeta a look as I hand him Indigo.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart," he whispers, leaning down and touching his nose to mine. "I'll take care of our girl."

"I know," I sigh, because I do know that. I've never not trusted him with our child. Even if I prefer to keep them both here with me. Even if I'd have preferred to keep her inside of me, where I knew I could protect her always.

I can't keep the smile off my face though when he pecks my lips unexpectedly and then my nose. "We won't be long."

"Better not be," I call as he grabs their coats and carries my little girl out the door, following behind Finn and Kanon and the Bagley kids. "Or else I'm eating without you."

"Same here," Delly calls from the kitchen, though they probably can't hear her.

"Go change," Annie suggests, touching my messy braid gently. "I'll go help Delly and your mom."

I shoot her a grateful smile and make my way upstairs. In the years since the war both Annie and Johanna have remained, shockingly—maybe only to me—constants in mine and Peeta's lives. They both returned to their home districts, but through visits and telegraphs and phone calls, even just for Jo to call me an idiot, they both became a part of a new blended family I didn't even know was being created.

Though I am grateful now for it. Beyond words. As neither me nor Peeta can offer Indigo any sort of extended family, her having Johanna, Delly, Annie and their families somehow fills the space left empty from the loss the war gave us.

As if on cue, just as I'm thinking of her, I hear a loud rapt on the bathroom door and know Johanna has arrived.

"Come in," I yell as I pull on a dark green—which for some reason is an acceptable color on Yuleday—sweater and push a brush through my hair viciously. I'm just moving on to rebraiding it simply when Jo enters.

"Hello, Brainless," her voice rings out as she steps into the bathroom.

"I'm shocked you knocked."

"I didn't wanna see you indecently."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Probably won't be the last."

We both let out a laugh and—pretending to be at least a little begrudgingly about it—embrace for a moment.

"Missed your stupidity these last couple of months," she murmurs as she pulls back.

"My stupidity? You once almost shot an arrow at Haymitch."

"You thought that was an accident?"

I can't help but snort as I turn back to the mirror and finish up my braid. "How's Christopher?" I ask, my tone a little more serious.

But she just shrugs, her gaze focusing now on Indigo's tiny comb. The one with the diamonds that Effie sent and Peeta insisted we keep.

Christopher is the man Jo, almost against her will, fell for almost two years ago. She refuses to commit to him entirely, especially since he has a son not much older than Indigo and that prospect alone terrifies her, but when Peeta visited her last year he told me that Christopher and his son, David, without a doubt live in that house with her.

"I can't believe you keep stuff from Effie Trinket?" Jo segues gracelessly. "Especially for a three-year-old."

"Blame Indigo's father. Both for her love of fancy things and his compliance in letting her have them."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, because you make sure she only gets the bare necessities."

"Okay, who's side are you on?"

"The one who makes the dinner around here."

"I hunt it."

"He stuffs it and bakes it."

"This feels personal. Is this because I didn't save you any pumpkin cake or sweet nut bread from Harvest Dinner?"

"Now that you mention it-"

Johanna is abruptly cut off by the sound of a yelp. Only, instead of the sound being a distress call or a bone chilling cry, it's one of excitement.

"Johanna Mason, get down here!" Annie yells, way too excited to be beckoning Jo of all people.

She rolls her eyes—a little too good-naturedly to be as annoyed as she'd like for me to believe—before exiting the bathroom and heading down to greet Annie at the bottom of the staircase.

I chuckle to myself, marveling at their odd friendship, before brushing my teeth and washing my face and heading down to join them as well.

I almost run headfirst into my husband as I walk by the front door. "That was quick," I note breathlessly as Peeta catches me by the waist, burying his now chilly face into my neck. Probably more for warmth than romance.

"Hmm, Indy-Indigo," he corrects himself humorously. "She is very decisive. Saw the tree she wanted and looked at no second options."

I wrap my arms around his neck and peer over his shoulder. "And where is the little decisive thing now?"

"Having a snowball fight with Finn and Kendall in the snow. You'll be happy to know your daughter is winning."

I roll my eyes. "Of course she is. Well, I guess we better start the fire to warm her up when she's done."

"Hypothermia would be a bummer on Yuleday," he agrees cheekily.

"For us more than her."

"Pretty much."

Inside the living room, Kanon and Haymitch—but mostly Kanon—are finishing setting up a newly trimmed tree, right by the back door.

"Sweetheart, it's your dream," Haymitch taunts. "Having part of the woods in your house."

"Did he knock a few back on the way to grab a tree?" I ask Peeta quietly, as he wraps his arms around my waist from behind.

"Probably. I was busy watching the four little ones, I didn't have time to monitor an old man too."

"Should have put Finn on Haymitch watch."

"You know, I can hear you," our old mentor barks as Kanon finishes putting up the tree.

"Indigo!" I hear my mother exclaim, as the front door opens again.

I spin around in time to see a little person, shorter than all the other kids, practically dance her way into the house. "Gamma!"

"Hey," I halt her, pulling away from Peeta. "Let's not track snow into the house, baby."

Delly and Annie both help dust off the other three while I pull Indigo's scarf, boots, hat, gloves and coat off and toss them all aside carelessly. Much to Peeta's dismay, as he sees the snow fly all over the entryway.

"Let's not track snow into the house, baby," he imitates.

"Shut up."

As soon as she's free from the white frozen slush, she launches herself towards my mother. "Hi!"

"Hi, sweet girl! How'd you like playing in the snow?"

"It was fweezing. But I beat Finn and Kenny at our snowball fight so it was worth it." She smiles up at my mother proudly and for a moment, Indigo looks exactly like Peeta and I am amazed at that fact somehow. Considering, at first glance, she's all me besides the eyes.

Except sometimes she looks at me and I see my sister at her age, so deeply ingrained in her eyes, in her mannerisms, in her voice, that I'm taken back to being child again myself.

"You're a little messy," my mother also notes, pushing back the hair that has fallen from her braid.

"Well I like to play so, things happen." Her little shrug is one of the most endearing things about her.

"Your mother also loved to get messy."

I furrow my brows. "I was always very clean, Mom."

"Oh I doubt that," Peeta disagrees and has the audacity to laugh, standing right beside me now. "You aren't even very clean now."

I turn to him, pressing my face close to his, trying to look threatening as I push my nose against his. "I will get you."

"Oh, please do," he eggs on, his smile turning into a grin.

"I have a bow, I could literally-"

"Is dinner almost ready yet?" Rhys, Delly's only son, complains.

Chuckling slightly, I pull my face away from a still smirking Peeta. Thankfully, no one else noticed our exchange, aside from my mother, who's too polite to do more than smile.

"Yeah, Rhys, dinner's all ready," Peeta says, putting his hand on the back of the little boy's head and guiding him to the table.

Dinner is only slightly chaotic. Four kids under eight-years-old, a teenager who can match Haymitch's humor effortlessly, Jo and Peeta and I swinging insults back and forth like compliments and then Annie, who's quiet and blissful spirit can't be tempered for anything in this world on holidays, and my mother, who feigns oblivious to the chaos surrounding her, all adds up to an interesting affair. Add in the stupid stray cat my daughter adores meowing at the back door and it's practically a circus.

But it's a circus I have found myself loving, more and more, since Indigo joined us. Since I somehow made the most beautiful and intelligent and spirited human being, somehow the dreary outlook I used to hold on this new post-war holiday has turned to excitement.

Maybe it's the fact that eighteen years have passed since the war that stole my sister from me. Or maybe it's that I'm looking forward to who's here now, who's experiencing this holiday with me, who I get to share this day with and witness their enthusiasm.

My daughter.

I never thought, in a million years, I'd have a child of my own. I never thought once that she'd come to exist, that I'd feel safe enough or strong enough or brave enough, to bear bringing something to delicate, something so wonderful and precious and breakable, into this world.

But she has lit up my life in ways I didn't even imagine possible. I thought I was happy, blissfully happy most days, with Peeta. And I was. But that was before I saw what life was like with Indigo and now I can't even picture how miserable and downcast this day would be without her.

As the sky begins to darken outside and Peeta stands up to light candles along the windowsills while Kanon adds logs to the fireplace, my child suddenly starts squirming in her seat. "Can I decorate the tree now?" She asks as I wipe her face with a cloth napkin.

"In a minute, Bean."

"I want to now!" She whines as I scrub the leftover food that didn't make her mouth off her cheek.

"Indigofera," Peeta says in a warning tone.

"I wanna decorate the tree right now," she says in a slightly quieter voice.

"Okay," I murmur, smiling slightly as I drop my hand from her face and let her go. "Go decorate, Sweetie."

With my consent, she practically flies out of her chair and—nearly knocking Evie over—pushes her way to the bag of ornaments Finn brought from Four.

"She didn't get a nap today," I explain to Johanna and my mother, who watched the almost tantrum unfold.

"You were the same," my mother replies and then chuckles. I toss her a look, before I spot Finn lifting Indigo up to place a trident high upon the tree.

My eyes aren't perfect but from where I'm sitting I can make out the name Finnick Odair gracefully carved underneath and my gaze falls on Annie.

She offers me a knowing smile and shrugs. "He wanted to handmake the ornaments himself. Meaningful ones you can't just buy. I wasn't going to discourage him."

I nod, a feeling of pride for some strange reason flooding me. I didn't raise Finn. The indefinite length of my sentence to Twelve was never revisited and, in truth, I had little reason to care enough to fight it. But it did mean I wasn't able to make it to Four, to see my mom or Annie and Finn at my own whim.

But Annie has always made a point to come here, every so often since the war ended. She's written letters and called and sent photos, consistently, for so many years that I've lost track. They were both here the day after I had Indigo. They've never missed any of our birthdays. And I've watched that boy, with his father's tan skin, bronze hair and sea green eyes grow into a man who'd make Finnick proud.

And it's nearly impossible for me not to feel so sort of pride in him as well. If for nothing else, the way he treats my daughter. Always patient, always kind, always ready to play.

"Where'd he get this idea?" I ask, if for no other reason, just to change the subject before I get visibly sentimental. "To decorate a tree, I mean."

Annie's expression shifts and changes slightly. "Coral McGonigill."

Johanna's ears almost noticeably perk up. "Is she is his new flavor of the month?"

"Well, she's lasted for several months," Annie corrects, but doesn't seem too enthusiastic of this girl.

"Do you like her?" I ask, my brow furrowing. I don't even want to imagine my child dating. The idea of her spending time alone, with anyone I don't personally know already drives me nearly to the brink of insanity, but to add in teenage impulses and hormones? My skin is crawling at the thought and I feel a wave of nausea come over me suddenly.

Before Annie can answer though, Haymitch is cutting into the conversation.

"Look at you guys," I hear him guffaw over my shoulder. "Gossiping like old ladies."

Jo throws her fork in his direction, barely missing her target. His left eye and cheek. "Hey, hey, hey," Haymitch bellows now. "Not in front of the children."

"I agree with Haymitch," Delly calls from behind the tree, where she's helping Kendall hang up a pink squirrel ornament.

"Of course you do," Johanna mumbles, loud enough only I can hear, and I have to repress a laugh.

All levity though slips away from my features as I watch Finn hand my child a new ornament. I feel Annie's eyes on me, apprehensive and a little fearful.

The ornament is an angel. It has blonde hair and blue eyes and my sister's exact nose and mouth. She's wearing a skirt and blouse, both pure white, to perfectly match the halo floating above her head. But the skirt is untucked in the back, giving her a duck tail, and it's this fact that registers in my brain. It's this fact that makes me realize that the ornament is Prim, even before I read the name sprawled across the bottom.

Peeta's staring at me now too, but it's my mother that grasps my hand. Our eyes barely meet for a second but we both understand what the other one is thinking.

She should be here. She should be helping decorate the tree. She should be playing with my daughter, who she'd surely love.

But she isn't. Because someone I trusted may or may not have built bombs that killed her. Because a vindictive woman thought that killing her and dozens of other children was the only way to win. Because I was too stupid for too long and didn't see what the real plan was, even as it sat right under my nose.

But she can be here now. If there's anything I learned from Indigo, it's that someone can exist, even in a small part, inside another person. It's that life doesn't have to end at death, as long as someone is around to remember them.

"That's a beautiful ornament, Finn," I say, as evenly and as kindly as I can.

He takes my other hand, his eyes sweet and gentle. "I made it for you. I thought..."

I nod, even though he doesn't finish his sentence. "I know. Thank you."

My mom keeps hold of my palm underneath the table for minutes after everyone else has moved, and even with the issues that still lie between us, I give her fingers a squeeze. Because she's the only one who really understands my grief.

I watch on as the kids decorate the entire tree, top to bottom, with shaped ornaments, ranging from plants to flower to boats to berries to pastries. And a loaf of bread, which Peeta finds particularly funny.

At the end though, all that's left is a large star, clearly meant to sit at the top of the tree. "What is this?" Evie asks Delly, turning it over in her hand.

"That goes on top of the tree," Annie explains, gesturing to the point of the pine near the ceiling.

"How do we get up there?" Rhys asks, stealing the star from his sister, his little eyes confused. "Daddy isn't even that tall."

"Someone's gotta lift us up to the top," Kendall states, munching on something I hope came from her dinner plate and not the floor.

"My daddy can lift me up there!" Indigo suddenly exclaims and reaches her grabby little hands for the star.

Rhys, however, jerks it out of reach automatically. "Why do you get to do it?"

"It's her house," Delly chides her son sternly.

"And she's the youngest, Rhys," Evie says, in a tone that clearly imitates her mother. "Give her the star."

He does so reluctantly and I'm glad that moment passed by quickly, before I had the chance to tell Rhys—as much as I care for him, and I do, deeply—that he better give my kid her star.

I don't even care that this isn't my tradition to start with. My house, my rules. My kid puts the star on the tree, end of story.

"Daddy!" Indigo squeals as Peeta scoops her up in his waiting arms. "Lift me," she commands, holding the large tree-topper with both hands.

Kanon and Haymitch start directing her, as her little eyes can't see to the top, even with Peeta lifting her as high as humanly possible. But when she gets it into place, she grows so excited that her limbs start flailing.

"Look, Daddy! I did that!" She says once he has her on his hip again, pointing to the star she just placed.

"I saw," he enthuses, brushing back the long, dark hair that's almost entirely out of her braid. "You did good!"

And if I thought my heart was melting before, with Finn and Indigo, it explodes when Indigo puts her tiny hands on Peeta's face and turns him towards her. "I love you, Daddy."

His eyes are awed and grateful, as this was all he wanted for years. For years upon years, he remained patient and understanding when I said I wasn't able to give him a child. When I explained all my reasons to why I didn't want a family. He always was respectful of my wishes and of my feelings.

But I saw it in his bright blue eyes, the ones he passed down to our daughter. He wanted a child so badly. He wanted this, this love that Indigo so easily has to offer, that we effortlessly shower her in.

It took me fifteen years to realize that perhaps I wanted it too. Perhaps my fear was overshadowing me from what I truly wanted. Perhaps it was better to have a child and do everything to keep her safe, to fret and worry in addition to love and adore her, rather than to never know that kind of love at all.

"I love you too, Indigo Sky," he murmurs back softly, before she leans in and kisses him.

I feel my mom squeeze my hand again and I know it's not out of sorrow this time, but out of joy. Joy that her child was able to have a family full of so much love. A family so similar to the one she had decades ago.

I squeeze her hand back, feeling horrific now for how angry I was with her for so long. I don't know who I'd be or what I'd do if someone took Peeta or Indigo from me.

"I think Mommy needs to admire the tree," Peeta says, eyeing me conspicuously.

I stand up, looking at the decorations admiringly. Of course, this tree was mainly decorated by young children, so the majority of ornaments gravitate towards the bottom or are clumped into one place, but still, I tell Indigo how pretty it looks and how good of a job she did.

My eye still catches on the Primrose Everdeen angel, hanging right in the center of the tree, and I have to force myself to refrain from tracing the face on it. The details are even more impressive up close and I wonder if Finn has become an artist or if his girlfriend is the talented one.

Just as I'm about to say something, anything really, to take my mind off my deceased sister, a meaty smell fills the air and my stomach lurches without warning.

I propel myself towards the kitchen sink and lose majority of what I just consumed at dinner.

Behind me, I hear a small commotion. Peeta telling Indigo to go to Finn, Delly and Kanon keeping their kids back, Annie and Johanna saying something to Haymitch.

My mom's hand comes in contact with my cheek, feeling my face and pushing the hair that fell from my braid back behind my shoulder. "What happened?"

As I'm about to answer, Peeta comes up to stand on my other side, one hand subtly turning on the water to flush out the sink, while the other rubs my back soothingly.

"I don't know," I croak, as puking always makes my throat raw. "I just smelled something like meat-"

"Told you it was Haymitch's fault," Jo cuts in, clearly speaking to Annie.

"I only asked if this bird was still good," the old, paunchy man defends himself, holding up some game I shot a while back.

"Well, if it makes Katniss throw up just by smelling it, I'd say no," Finn says.

"You don't have a fever," my mother notes, but her eyes are still confused. Though, I will say, not as worried as I thought they might be and for that I'm glad. The last thing I wish to do is ruin everyone's holiday, especially when I've only just started to enjoy this festivity in the last few years.

"I'm fine," I insist, pulling away from both my mother and my husband and wiping my mouth on a cloth quickly. "Seriously, I'm fine."

"Okay, but still sit down," I hear Delly say and I roll my eyes but do so anyways. Because I'm genuinely tired, not because anyone told me to.

"I'm fine, Indigo," I promise when I spot my daughter's scared eyes, still being held in Finn's arms. "I'm just tired."

Peeta follows me to the couch and, even though I wish to refuse out of embarrassment, when he offers me a fizzy water and starts subtly massaging my back, I can't help but lean my head into his chest gratefully.

I still fight the urge to fall asleep right there though. I still conjure up as much willpower as I can to stay alert, to watch Indigo and Kendall play with their stuffed toys, to listen to Finn and Haymitch shoot smart remarks back and forth, to listen to Annie and Jo catch up or my mother and Delly share stories of their vastly different lives.

By the end of the night though, when it's way past all of our bedtimes, as people start to filter out, planning on catching the late night train or taking a shortcut to their houses here in Twelve, my eyelids begin to involuntarily droop.

"You can sleep," Peeta whispers against my forehead. "I'll take care of everything else."

I want to turn down his offer, to say I can help clean up and put Indigo to bed. But when the last of our guests dissipate and Indigo, exhausted herself, climbs into my lap and curls up against me, I lose the battle and doze off right there on the couch.

Hours must pass, because when my eyes crack open again, the flames in the fireplace have been put out, the entire kitchen and living room are clean, and my child is missing.

Of course, those are the first words out of my mouth. "Where's Indigo?"

"I tucked her in. She's in her own bed tonight," Peeta promises, pulling my arm up to wrap around his neck. "I told you I'd take care of everything."

"You didn't have to..." I mumble sleepily as he lifts me up against him.

"Shhh, just go to sleep," he whispers, his lips pressing against my neck then collarbone. "Just rest, Katniss."

When I wake up again, the sun has already risen in the sky. Thankfully though, my child hasn't yet.

Peeta is alert already, propped up on his elbow, when I open my eyes. "Hey," I rasp, my voice not working yet.

"Hey, beautiful," he greets softly and I roll my eyes at the compliment. I do appreciate hearing it though, despite the years we've been together and how some things can lose effect over time. Peeta's little comments and gestures still haven't. They still mean more to me than I'd ever admit.

Now that I'm fully awake, I feel a small bit of embarrassment creeping back in. "Sorry about last night."

His blonde brows twist with confusion. "You mean getting sick? I don't think that's anything for you to be sorry about, Katniss."

"It was just strange," I note, more to myself than to him. "I just smelled the meat Haymitch found and for some reason, my gag reflex couldn't handle it."

The look that crosses his eyes is sly and reserved and I must still be a little foggy from exhaustion, because it's a rare time where I don't understand what he must be thinking.

He changes the subject abruptly anyway. "Did you have a good time yesterday?" He asks kindly.

"Yes," I reply, maybe a little begrudgingly. Considering for years I complained that I hated this newfound holiday, it is both a joy and a joke to Peeta that I look forward to this day now.

"Good," he replies and kisses my forehead, then my mouth warmly. "I like it when my wife is happy."

"Your wife is always happy when she's with you."

He moves back a little to smirk. "Me too."

I can't help teasing him though. "You're always happy when you're with you too?"

"Yes, Katniss, that's exactly what I meant."

I lean up then and kiss him again, this time with more passion. It's a real testament to our marriage that he can still conjure up butterflies in my lower stomach, after almost two decades since we had our first kiss-our first real kiss-in that cave.

"Thank you," I whisper softly as we break apart.

His eyes flicker lightly with confusion. "For what, Sweetheart?"

"For everything. For Indigo and the life we have. For the last eighteen years," I profess, genuinely. Words have always been difficult for me, and they still don't flow at the slightest slip of my tongue, but it's easier now. It's easier with Peeta, just the two of us, and the strong foundation in which our relationship and life is built upon.

Words for him, however, have always come as easy as breathing. "You have made my life so wonderful," he murmurs and tenderly kisses my lips one more time. "Thank you."

Weeks later, the source of my mysterious illness, my nausea and exhaustion, is discovered when we find out I'm pregnant again.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday joanofshark13!

We wish @joanofshark13 a very Happy Birthday! In order to celebrate your birthday, @ally147writes has written you a special Everlark story! We hope you like it :)

A New Dream

AN: Inspired by my own recent studying for exams, though mine didn’t have as happy an ending! Also, I’m Australian, so these are modelled after my own high school exams — didn’t have enough time to enlist a helpful American, unfortunately. Happy Birthday to the prompter!

Rated G, but not for lack of trying…

As he steps through the automatic doors of Panem Senior High’s library, Peeta lets out a relieved sigh.

Silence. Blessed, beautiful silence.

It took him a solid, stupid week to realise he wasn’t going to get any study done at home. Between his brother’s bizarre pubescent relapse of getting his old band back together (“We’re gonna make it this time, you’ll see!”), his mother’s snarky, passive-aggressive asides every time she walks past his room, and the never-ending beeping of his father’s baking equipment, the environment there is not conducive to any sort of study.

He drops his bag at an empty desk in the far corner, under a skylight letting in bright shafts of cold morning sunlight. It’s quieter than he thought it would be, given that their exams are starting next week. It’s only him and two other people he recognises from his year group, heads down over their own books with steaming cups of coffee sitting at their sides. It’s just gone nine-thirty, though; they won’t be alone for long.

After an hour of note-taking for his chemistry exam, a soft thump from across the table draws him out. Perched in front of him is a familiar backpack, tattered army green with paperclips where the zipper pulls should be, textbook corners peeking out of the small rips around the edges. At the very top, in faded black marker, the initials K. E glare at him.

His heartbeat kicks up at the sight of it, like he’s some hopeless, tragic version of Pavlov’s dog.

Peeta steals sneaky, covert glances left and right for the bag’s owner, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Only the pinch-faced librarian shuffles between the stacks and her returns desk, muttering under her breath about things Peeta can only guess at.

He tries to get back to his work, but it’s hopeless. Instead, he draws in the margins of his work: a long Rapunzel-like braid, twisting down the length of the paper like a vine.

Like magic, when he looks up from his notebook again, she’s sitting before him, rifling through her bag for a textbook and a pencil-case that looks handmade.

She matches him in weariness and an intense, obvious desire for the next two weeks to be over with, but Katniss Everdeen is still the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, the girl he’s been in love with since he first realised what love was, what love could be.

But whether he has the right to those feelings, Peeta has never been sure; he’s never spoken to her before. She’s never spoken to him before, either. The closest they’ve ever gotten to trading words happened a few years ago, when she was partnered with him for a dissection in science class — all the times she’d come into the bakery and mutter under her breath for a cheese bun don’t count in his mind. Where he couldn’t bring himself to make the first incision on the poor frog, she stepped right on in, taking the scalpel from his hands and slicing the creature from throat to belly. He’d wanted to say something, anything, but what are you supposed to say to the girl who disembowels your frog while you look away and try to hold your vomit in? Because Peeta sure as hell didn’t know.

But even before then, and after, they’d traded glances for years. Sometimes, he thinks he catches her watching him while he’s watching her, but that makes no sense. God, he’s wasted so much time over the years just waiting, figuring he’d have countless opportunities to catch Katniss and tell her everything, have all his dreams answered, one way or another.

But now? Now they’re two of maybe fifteen people in the library, and even though there’s still free desks, she’s chosen to share a table with him. Who knows where they’ll be after the next two weeks are over, or if they’ll even see each other again? All of it, all the fears, all the anxiety, all the possible regrets that already threaten to haunt him for the rest of his life, come forth in one, whispered word:

“Hey.”

She freezes, glances up at him over the top of her textbook. Her silver-grey eyes survey him, like she’s mining his mind for his deepest secrets. He’s almost written her off, gone back to his work, when he hears her raspy, mumbled reply:

“Hey.”

Peeta swallows; he never planned for her to say anything back. Already his throat feels dry; he’s never felt so much pressure to carry on a conversation before.

“It’s… uh… it’s insane, isn’t it?” he stutters. “All this… you know, study.”

Well done. God, someone needs to smack him out.

She shrugs and takes a gulp from the bottle beside her. It smells sweet, like vanilla and roses. Some kind of tea, maybe.

“I guess, yeah.”

He shifts, turns another page in his notebook even though the one he’s working on is still half blank. “You… um… you couldn’t study at home, either?” God, he’s never had so much trouble speaking before! Words are so easy for him, natural and comfortable, but this… it’s not painful so much as it’s… difficult.

She scrawls something else in her notebook before setting down her pen. “I like it here.”

“Yeah. I mean… I do, too.” He clears his throat a little too loudly, and the librarian hisses at him to quiet from behind her desk; Katniss shoots the woman a dirty glare when her back is turned, and Peeta can’t help but grin, like she meant the defence for him.

“So, um… are you nervous at all?” It’s a dumb question; they’re all nervous.

She traces her index finger in a circle over the cover of her textbook. A maths one, with tiny drawings scribbled all over the spine, along the edges of the closed pages and all over the cover until none of the natural colours are visible anymore.

“For some more than others.”

He shakes his head. “You’ll do fine.”

“So will you.” She smiles, just a tiny hint of the thing, but he swears his heart stops.

She picks up her pen and cracks her books back open, punches numbers into the calculator sitting beside her elbow. He’s been dismissed, but the few sentences he coaxed from her are more than he could have ever expected. Grinning, Peeta gets back to his own work, the practice equations coming together in his mind with far more clarity than they had earlier.

A gentle, languid sort of humming draws him out again around lunchtime. His stomach is a writhing, groaning pit of want for the snacks he has stashed in his bag, but he ignores it for as long as he can to just listen for a while longer.

She has a stunning singing voice; he’s known that for over a decade. When she was five, she sang The Valley Song in front of the entire school in a high, sweet pitch that made even the birds outside fall silent. He never heard her sing again after that. He wonders sometimes how much of Katniss died along with her father.

The humming isn’t equal to her voice, but it’s close, with the same heart and soul funnelled into every note, even if she doesn’t seem aware that she’s doing it at all. He doesn’t recognise the tune, but it’s beautiful, soft and haunting. In a way, he falls for her all over again just listening to it. He wants to hear her singing always.

“What did you just say?”

His gaze snaps up to meet hers, his stomach sinking to somewhere around his knees with each passing second. She’s staring at him, her eyes unreadable. Did he speak just now? Did he say all of that out loud?

Horror runs through him like a storm, crashing and violent without pattern or reason. He shoots to his feet, knocking against the underside of the desk. Katniss looks up at him, her brows furrowed.

“Peeta?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll be …” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder to the stacks behind him. “I need… I need to go.”

“Peeta, wait!”

He almost kicks his chair over in his haste. He doesn’t look back, but he can feel the burn of Katniss’ gaze following him away, matching the heat flaring up his cheeks.

He stops in the foreign language section, presses his forehead against the cool steel of the shelves. He could better understand the books here than what just happened with Katniss. He never knew how people could blurt out their deepest secrets without being aware of it. It always seemed stupid, beneath him somehow; he’s been living with his feelings for Katniss for thirteen years now, and not once has anything so moronic happened.

Peeta closes his eyes and plots a course back to the desk that doesn’t involve Katniss seeing him, or him seeing her — maybe he could crawl back along the floor or something?

He jumps as a small set of hands land on his shoulders. They twist him around, push him back against the shelves with more strength than he expects.

His eyes fly open and meet with a pair of smoky grey ones, set with a flinty glint of something like determination.

But he still can’t quite believe it. “Katniss?”

She shushes him and leans in, presses her lips to his in a whisper of a kiss so light he feels nothing at all and everything at once.

As quick as it happened, it ends. Her hands slip from his shoulders and hang limp at her sides. The foot of space between them might as well be miles for the echoing cold he feels.

It was a wisp of a kiss, no more than a second, but Peeta’s gasping, reeling for breath like he’s run a marathon.

“Katniss,” he whispers. “Wha… why?”

The smooth olive skin of her cheeks flush a bright shade of pink. “I just… I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again, after all this,” she admits, her teeth nibbling down on her lush bottom lip. It’s all Peeta can do not to swoop in and take over the work for her. “I didn’t want to… after what you just said… I had to…”

“You had to what?” he presses her when she trails off. His hands snake up her arms and settle on her shoulders, keeping her in place as her gaze darts around them, seeking out the nearest exit.

“I had to know what it was like, just once.”

“Just once, huh?”

He moves his hands up to cradle her cheeks, cuts off her words before she can speak them and kisses her again. He can’t not kiss her again. Her confession winds through him like alcohol, warming and drugging him through, narrowing his world to nothing but the girl in front of him. Her lips are the softest things he’s ever felt, parting just slightly beneath his to let him in to learn her: how she tastes, how she feels, how she sounds when he lets the tip of his tongue run the sensitive length of her lower lip, how she shivers in his hold and lets out a rattling gasp when he takes that lip between his own and suckles.

When he pulls away, just the barest inch, it’s not because he wants to. He reels for air as she stares at him with trepidation and wonder, a disbelief he knows is matched in his own gaze.

“You like me, too,” he whispers, his eyes closed, his forehead pressed against hers. “Real or not real?”

He can feel her tremble beneath his hold, but she nods, a quick, small thing, but there.

“Real, but what can happen, really? After exams are over, we’ll both work, then go off to different colleges. We’re kidding ourselves if we think anything can happen, aren’t we?” But she looks like she’s begging him, hoping to be proven wrong.

He laughs, and she scowls. He can’t help it; when he left the house this morning for the library, he never, not once in his wildest dreams, pictured his day going anything like this.

He grips her hands and pulls her close, kissing her again until they’re both breathless.

“Katniss, after these exams are over, you and I are going to have a good, long talk about why these kisses cannot possibly be the only ones we ever share.”

[feelingjane]

Hi! This is the first part of my very first Fanfiction :D I’m super excited and very nervous too. I want to thank Courtney @shesasurvivor for accepting me as her mentee, also to the lovely ladies of @loveinpanem for giving me the push I needed to start writing.

I hope you like it, I’m going to post it on AO3 soon.

This story is Everlark high school reunion, inspired by the movie “10 years”, you’re gonna find some similar dialogs and other things

All mistakes are mine, I hope is readable because english isn’t my first language, so here it goes!

Never Had

2007

Annie had begged her to come with her to the swimming competition between their team and another high school. She had a new boyfriend from the opposite school and she wanted to see him “Swimming in all his  swimmer-body glory” she said with a dreamy look on her face. Katniss rolled her eyes when she heard it, but even she had to admit that he was actually very good looking, even more so with water dripping all over his toned body. But as soon as the competition was over, she almost run out of the gym, shooting Annie an apologetic smile. It was Friday and she wanted to get home soon.

Katniss  walked to her car, enjoying the crisp autumn air, even if it made her shiver on her light coat and yellow flats. She cursed her obsession with the shoes, but she loved them too much and took every opportunity to wear them. It had been the last item that her dad bought her before dying and she loved having them as a daily reminder of him.

She rummaged through her purse, looking for her car keys, but finding her cigarettes box first. She took it out and grabbed one, lighting it and taking a long drag, enjoying the sensation. It was a filthy habit, but it was something she enjoyed too much to quit.

She had started after the dead of her father, almost a year ago, when she found her mother sitting on the porch in the middle of the night. Katniss had woken up thirsty, when she saw her mother’s silhouette outside. She walked out to ask her if she was ok when she saw the cylinder between her fingers. Her mother looked up and without any questions, she lifted the box and offered her one. Now they shared a smoke every now and then, enjoying a comfortable silence between them.

Katniss had moved to Twelve with her mother and little sister at the beginning of her junior year, almost a year ago, after her dad died of a heart attack. Her mother couldn’t stand being in their old town anymore, deciding it would be good for her and the girls to breathe another air, meet new people and start again, plus her older brother lived nearby. Katniss was against it at first, not being a big fan of change, but seeing the way her mother had started to look healthy again, and her little sister was happy to be near her cousins, it made the moving a little easier. Even when she left someone important behind.

She was reaching her car when she heard footsteps approaching “Katniss!” she heard a deep voice calling her. Her body shivered and her heart skipped  a beat when she turned around and saw him jogging to her. It was annoying, this reaction of hers to him, to this boy. Her stomach flipped and her heart clenched because she shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not with him.

Peeta Mellark had been her classmate on physics since junior year, sitting behind her on every class. He was impossibly bad at it and she made sure of telling him. But the guy had a way of turning all her snarky remarks on a joke that made her fail on her attempts of scowling at him. He was funny and well liked between their classmates. He had deep blue eyes and curly blonde hair that was under a dark blue beanie most of the time, and always with an easy going smile on his face.

Katniss had been a bit reluctant of becoming friends at first. She had left her boyfriend behind in her old town, but they still kept a long distance relationship. Which was a pain in the ass if she was honest, she missed him so much that sometimes when they talked on the phone they ended arguing because of it, because they hadn’t seen each other for so long that they couldn’t even talk about something that wasn’t their relationship and lamenting how far away they were. Katniss felt that she and Gale were slowly deteriorating, but they tried anyway, she loved him and he loved her too.

Which was why being friend with Peeta wasn't the best idea. They had a way of communicating that she had never had with Gale. Peeta was an attentive guy, he noticed when she was in a foul mood and tried to make her smile in class at least once. They also saw one another at the occasional party, joking about their inability of drinking keg beer and secretly sharing a bottle of some peach liquor that Peeta stole from his house. She wondered how he could bring a full bottle of something without going noticed, but once she asked, he just shrugged and served her another drink.

They had fun, they laughed and lately, they had developed the habit of greeting each other with a handshake that made her tingle from head to toe. It had begun innocently enough, she confessed him once that didn’t liked to hug people and preferred a handshake but people often assumed that it was ok to touch each other without permission, and that pissed her off. So Peeta had started to shake her hand instead, an odd gesture to most of their friends, but an endearing one to her.

Little by little, Katniss had started noticing things about him, like they way he got excited telling her a story from his brothers or a new song he had heard. He loved music and arts and was trying to educate her on classic rock bands. Katniss liked the way he made gestures with his hands when he talked and how his eyes shone form every emotion that he was trying to convey.

One afternoon, they met at the library to finish an assignment, she noticed that he had calloused fingers and even some small injuries, so she reached for his hands, without even thinking. He turned sharply to her, eyes wide. She realized her actions and tried to act nonchalantly, asking him what he did to get those.

“I’m learning to play guitar” he answered, she retrieved her hand from his and folded them on her lap. He cleared his throat “I’m not very good” he said in a self-deprecating way.

Katniss looked at him, lifting her eyebrows. “Don’t let that stop you, if you want to play, you shouldn’t quit because you’re not good at first” she said. Peeta gave her a shy smile and kept working. She caught him looking at her from time to time, but decided to ignore it.

Now, in the parking lot, she couldn’t stop all the emotions running through her, so she gave him her best smile. “Hey, Peeta” she greeted him, taking a smoke of her cigarette. Peeta trusted his hand and she shook it.

“Hey” he smiled at her “Are you going already? Some of us are going to Delly’s house, why don’t you come?” he said in a rush. Katniss crooked an eyebrow at him, amused. Peeta flushed deeply and shook his head, laughing a little, he took a deep breath and asked her again “Would you like to come?”

Katniss liked Delly, she was the first student to greet her, and showed her around school. She had gone to a few of her parties, but the fact that Peeta was asking her to go, made her stomach twist in guilt. She wanted to go, but she knew she shouldn’t

“I, ah…well I can’t” she said. Peeta visibly deflated, his shoulders sagging a little.

“Oh, yeah of course, you must have something to do, right? Like…talk with your boyfriend or something” he looked at the ground, stuffing his hand on the pocket of his hoodie. Katniss finished her cigarette and stomped her yellow flats against the stub. Peeta looked up again, seeing that Katniss hadn’t answered yet. “You guys are still a thing?” he asked her, his blue eyes looking right to her.

Katniss cleared her throat. This was uncomfortable, she had a boyfriend who loved her, back at her old town. But here, right in front of her, was the funniest guy she had ever met, he was sweet and smart and right now, she was melting at the sight of his curls peeking out from his beanie, the way his hoodie wrapped around his shoulder and the perfect fit of his jeans. His smile now was  more cautious. She hated that deep down, she knew how he felt, but she couldn’t do anything about it, she had a boyfriend. She had a boyfriend she repeated like a mantra.

“Yeah…he was going to call tonight” she answered. She felt restless, she needed to breathe or a cigarette to calm her down. She took another one from her purse, lightening it fast, taking a long smoke. Peeta kept looking at her, his eyes showing her a different emotion she couldn’t pick. He blinked a few times, smiling at her again

“Well, can I walk you to your car while you burn your lungs?” he teased. Katniss nodded her head, walking slowly next to him. “Have you seen him lately? Your boyfriend?”

“No, he’s working at his dad store, saving money for college” she said. It was the discussion they had every time they talked. He wanted them to go to the same school and live together, something Katniss wasn’t so sure anymore, if she had this feelings for the person walking next to her, she thought their relationship wasn’t very strong. Or she was a shitty girlfriend, that was the thing that made more sense now, but she couldn’t admit it yet.

“Where are you going to college?” he asked her.

“I haven’t decided yet…but not so far from here” she said “I have the feeling I’m one of those really nostalgic students who are going home every weekend” she smiled. He was silent, just walking and nodding his head. She couldn’t see his eyes or his face. “What about you?”

Peeta shrugged “I don’t know, maybe I’ll go to New York with my brother” he said. She knew his older brother lived there, working as a lawyer and making a lot of money. “I would like to explore my options before making a decision, you know?” he turned to look at her, his demeanor serious. Katniss stopped walking, they had reached her car.

“Yeah, that’s-that’s a good choice” she stammered. Why was she so nervous all of the sudden? “This is my car” she pointed lamely to her old green car. She threw away her cigarette and scratched her neck nervously.

They stood there, in front of her car looking at each other. She felt a rush of longing, but she quickly drowned it, she couldn’t feel this way, she was not going to break anyone’s heart with her stupid reactions. It must be just stress or hormones, she tried to convince herself. She shivered, feeling all her emotions running through her veins. Peeta took off his beanie suddenly, reaching her and putting it on her head. Katniss looked at him, startled by his proximity. He looked at her with a similar expression, like he couldn’t believe himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry” he whispered, his hands still on the beanie. He slowly let go of the garment, his hands going to her hair, caressing her tresses between his fingers. Katniss heartbeat was fast now, her eyes wide, looking at him. “You look cold, this should help” he said softly, his hands now resting on her shoulders, squeezing her lightly. She shivered again. He wasn’t that much taller than her,  so his mouth was in level with her forehead and she could feel his warm breath fanning on her face.

“Thank you” she whispered. They were so close, she could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose. She noticed that his eyelashes were long and lighter than his hair. She looked up to see that his curls were pointing everywhere, the static giving him a funny look. Unconsciously, her hands darted right to his hair, trying to smooth it down. She heard his sharp breathe intake. That took her out of her trance , her eyes widening at how close and intimate they were, leaning to each other, a magnetic pull between them.

She should stop, take her hands off his hair and get in her car. But she couldn’t move, she kept running her hands through his curls. Peeta took a deep breath, moving his hands from her shoulders to her waist, grasping her lightly.

“Katniss…” he whispered, his eyes now hooded. She closed her eyes and shook her head, her hands reaching the curls at the base of his head, her fingers caressing his neck. She felt him shudder. His body heat was making her dizzy, her mind focused on him, his smell, his skin, so soft under her fingertips. The way his mouth was only inches away from her was driving her crazy too. “Katniss” he tried again, squeezing her waist. She leaned on his chest, pressing her cheek against it, feeling his strong heartbeat beneath. She tried to calm herself, breathe in and out, willing her heart to slow down.

“I’m sorry, Peeta” she apologized, it seemed like the right thing to say. But sorry for what? For not going to the party or for having a boyfriend? She added “I’m sorry that I can’t go to Delly’s”. His hands slowly went to her back, pressing her against him, she lowered her hands from his neck and grasped his shoulders. This was all she could give him, a hug, nothing else. She had a commitment.

“It’s ok…don’t worry” he whispered, his hands caressed her back, entwining his fingers through her hair. They stood like that for a few seconds, feeling each other, their breathing and warm body heat. She felt his scent, like a soft cologne and clean laundry. There was something else too, a smell she couldn’t pinpoint. She supposed that was his natural smell, it made her bury herself closer to him. No, she couldn't do this, what was she doing? It wasn’t fair for anyone. She felt her throat tighten with guilt, her stomach giving her something close to nausea.

She took a shuddering breath and looked up, trying her best to smile at him and not break at the sight of his sad, deep blue eyes looking down at her. He gave her small, lopsided smile, shrugging his shoulders. They released each other, an understatement passing between them.

“I should go” she said. Peeta just nodded his head, looking down and stuffing his hands on his hoodie, a rush of wind messing with his curls again. Her hands reached her head to take off the beanie, when Peeta looked up and took a step back, putting his hands in front of him

“No, please, just…take it, it’s cold. Just bring it back on Monday, Everdeen” he said with a teasing  tone. She placed it down her head again and turned to open her car. She thought of getting in and take off speeding through the parking lot as fast as she could. But she turned and looked at him.

“Have fun at Delly’s” she said, trying to lighten up the mood.

Peeta shook his head, giving her a sad smile. “I hope he knows how lucky he is” he said, and turned around to leave. Katniss remained there, looking at him walking away from her. She swallowed a lump through her throat. She was stressed, that was it. And she needed to be alone for a while. That was it.

She got to her house after an hour and a half of wandering around the town, eating ice cream and chain smoking at a park. She had to do something, she couldn’t do this to Gale, her boyfriend who loved her so much that wanted to be with her in a few months, saving to get an apartment together. And she couldn’t even convince herself of calling him. What kind of girlfriend am I?

She parked her car and reached for her purse, taking out her silenced cellphone, she winced thinking of the amount of missing calls she was going to see, after ignoring it completely since leaving the swimming competition. To her surprise, there was nothing there. Weird, she thought. Fridays were the day when Gale got out of work early and called her for almost an hour each week.

She got out of her car and reached her door. As soon as she opened, she saw him, sitting on her couch with Prim. Gale.

He turned to look at her, his expression loving and bright, grinning from ear to ear at her. He stood up fast and walked to her, cradling her face between his warm hands and lowering his mouth to her, kissing her for the first time in months. Her arms reached to his shoulders and she felt her heartbeat pick. She distantly heard Prim sighing. She broke the kiss, looking at Gale for the first time. She smiled to him, looking at his handsome face. His eyes were soft and his smile big, she hadn’t seen him this happy in a long time. She started to laugh and reached to hug him, he pressed her against him, lifting her of the ground playfully.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. He let her go, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

“I missed you, so I got here, we have dinner reservations by the way” he replied. He then looked up, to her head. Katniss felt her stomach drop. The beanie. He frowned a little, but his expression was amused “This is new, I didn’t know you liked this color” he said, reaching for it. Katniss ripped it from her head, throwing it to the couch quickly, before he could touch it or ask more questions about it.

“I missed you too” she said. And it was true, seeing him brought up all those repressed feelings she had. It was hard being long distance, she missed him so much that she tried to drown all her love for him. Gale caressed her hair and she closed her eyes, leaning into him, hugging him hard and pressing her cheek on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. This was what she needed, to see her boyfriend and to trust her love for him. After all, Peeta was just a classmate.

Right?

[xerxia31]

Not Real

All Katniss Everdeen wanted was to see the one who got away one last time...

My contribution to the Fall 2018 edition of More Stories to Save Lives, in support of Hope for Caroline. Rated T.  Also cross posted to AO3. 

Commander Katniss Everdeen stood in front of Trident Hyperrealism Industries, housed in a glossy candy-coloured glass building that stretched up to the sky, and wondered for the hundredth time what she was doing. This was definitely not her district, not her scene at all. But she’d made a promise, and Katniss always kept her word. Clenching her jaw, she pushed through the doors. Her perfectly polished uniform boots clicked on the slick marble flooring, echoing through the massive, opulent lobby. Vases of tropical blooms perfumed the carefully climate-controlled air, contributing to the feeling of decadence. Everything about the space, the building, the whole damned city, was an affront to Katniss. It was all too shiny, too gaudy, too fake.

Though she was on Earth, her planet, the Capitol was as different from her home in District Twelve as any of the outer rim planets she’d visited in her two plus years in command of the starship Mockingjay had been. Foreign and loud and filled with people who had more in common with exotic birds than with Katniss herself, the Capitol might as well be in the delta quadrant instead of nestled in the Rockies only a fifteen second teleport from home.

Katniss shook her head. She had to stop thinking that way. The Capitol was her home now. District Twelve was no more than a memory. She made her way to the reception desk, gave her name, and was directed to an elevator bank, a charmingly old school feature of an otherwise thoroughly modern building. The four-floor ascent in a mirrored box took longer than transporting to the building from her quarters on the outskirts of the Capitol. It reminded her of - no. She wouldn’t think of that place or that time. Not now. Not yet, anyway. A man of extraordinary beauty stood to greet her as soon as the elevator doors opened. Tall, athletic, with golden skin, bronze-colored hair, his incredible sea-green eyes twinkled as he reached out to shake her hand. He couldn’t be real, she thought. He must be one of the simulations that Trident Industries was famous for. The reason she was there, though she wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone else. “Welcome, Commander,” the man said, his voice deep and rich, flowing like melted chocolate. She couldn’t help but be impressed. The simulations she’d encountered in her years of training at the academy had been jerky, somewhat robotic, obviously fake. This, on the other hand, was incredibly convincing. He reached out to shake Katniss’s hand and she was startled by how solid he felt. As if reading her mind, he chuckled. “Finnick Odair,” he said. “Owner of Trident Hyperrealism Industries, at your service.” “You’re real?” she blurted, years of studying diplomacy forgotten in an instant. But he merely smiled, unaffected, perhaps unsurprised by her question. “I am indeed, and I’m here to make all of your fantasies come true.” It was that comment, delivered in a slightly smarmy way, that broke the spell for Katniss. She couldn’t argue that Finnick wasn't one of the most stunning, sensuous people on the planet. But she could honestly say he wasn’t attractive to her. Maybe he was too pretty. Maybe he was too easy to get, or maybe it was really that he'd just be too easy to lose. Katniss was somewhat of a specialist in losing people. “Mr. Odair,” she said, pulling her hand from his grip. “Your assistant told me you’d be able to design a package to suit my requirements.” “Of course,” he said, gesturing towards a small red loveseat, then settling himself across from her. “Trident Hyperrealism Industries is known across the galaxy for our fully immersive simulations that allow you to visit anywhere in the universe and have the perfect vacation experience. No transport ships, no bad weather, no bad service, nothing but pleasure at any of our four hundred and seventy-six thousand pre-programmed destinations.” He glanced at Katniss’s Star Alliance uniform. “Though perhaps it isn’t travel you’re looking for?” “No,” she admitted. “I’ve been to all of the planets I care to visit and then some.” When Katniss signed up to captain a two-year diplomatic tour, she’d anticipated seeing strange new worlds and meeting fascinating new beings. Instead, she did nothing but work and sleep for twenty-eight long months. Her small crew was hardly sufficient to keep the ship running and she’d pulled double, sometimes triple shifts to ensure that everything got done and that her people were sufficiently rested and taken care of. Every minute of each highly anticipated planetary landing was filled with duty and obligation. Though she’d been to Rigel Seven, she’d never gotten to see its twin moons. On Juno, she’d only glimpsed the legendary Tower of Inysis from the window of a transport. During her last excursion, to tiny Bacchus Minor, she hadn’t even set foot on the ground, her meetings and resupply mission having taken place on a satellite orbiting the pretty jewel-green planet. Adrift in the cosmos, Katniss struggled with the isolation of life on a starship, the exhaustion, the loneliness.There was no glamour, no adventure. And while there was definitely satisfaction in a job well done, it was hollow when she had no one to share it with. Her few hours not occupied with work she had spent alone in her bunk, staring at the ceiling, remembering. Regretting. So after her tour, she’d resigned her commission and accepted a teaching position at the Alliance Academy. She was due to begin work in just two weeks time. And though it would undoubtedly make more sense to be spending her first week back on Earth exploring or setting up her new quarters, she was sitting on a candy-coloured couch in a candy-coloured office, chatting with a candy-sweet man who made her teeth hurt and her skin crawl. “Ah,” Finnick said, and a wide smile showed every perfect, sparkling tooth. “So you are looking for a more personal experience.” “I was told that you could arrange for me to see someone. Or, to see a simulation of someone,” she mumbled, and Finnick nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes. We have simulations of a wide variety of the most popular beings from history, all impeccably programmed with perfectly rendered with historically accurate voice and speech patterns, reactions and abilities. You absolutely will not be able to tell that the person you’re speaking with isn’t the real deal, guaranteed! You can spend time with Elvis Presley, Alabaster Harrington or Henry Cavill,” Finnick said, listing several sex symbols of the past two centuries. Katniss frowned. “Or,” he hedged, “Maybe you’re looking for a more intellectual experience? Maybe Stephen Hawking or Albert Einstein is more your speed?” “No,” she said. “I want to see someone contemporary. Someone who is, uh, still alive.” “Of course,” he said. “Caesar Flickerman is a popular choice.” Katniss recoiled. Caesar Flickerman had to be over a hundred years old. He had been performing on entertainment broadcasts for as long as anyone could remember; his appearance - white face paint, blue lips, and brightly dyed wigs - virtually unchanged in all of that time. “I didn’t know he was even still around,” Katniss mumbled, suppressing another shudder. “But no. The person I’d like to see isn’t famous.” “I see,” Finnick smirked. “A custom simulation.” “Yes. Will that be a problem?” “No, no of course not. We are quite capable of fulfilling all of our customers’ special requirements. As long as he has a digital record, I can produce a simulation so perfect, it would convince his mother.” The slick grin was back in place. “How did you know he’s a he?” Katniss asked. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Commander. And I can assure you that all of our simulations are fully functional, solid, firm, and programmed with a full library of skills.” It took Katniss two, perhaps three beats to understand the subtext of Finnick’s words. Fire raced up her throat, painted her cheeks. “Mr. Odair,” she said tightly, “I am in no way looking for some sick sexual fantasy.” “Of course not,” he soothed, but his lecherous expression was unchanged. “But what happens in the simulators is none of my business, so long as your expectations are fulfilled.” Katniss’s attention drifted as Finnick outlined the specifications of the program, the cost, the amount of time she would have in the simulator, and what she could expect in terms of realism. Her mind wandered, as it often did, to the man she had spent two and a half years missing with every fibre of her being, to the things she’d said the last time she’d seen him. To the things she wanted, needed, so desperately to tell him now, even if it was only pretend. “And where would you like this encounter to be?” Finnick asked, the smarmy tone creeping back into his voice, catching her attention again. “Your quarters?” “It doesn’t matter,” she sighed. “Your lobby, the sidewalk out front, the virtual location won’t make any difference.” “Surely you’d like something comfortable and private. A hotel? A Turkludiaan den, perhaps?” He was all but sneering; clearly he’d made up his mind that she was some sort of sexual pervert looking to get busy with a stranger on whom she had a crush. But he was dead wrong. Not about the crush part, but about the rest. She wasn’t looking to screw a make-believe stranger. She wanted to see the love of her life. To tell him she was sorry. “It’s not like that,” she snapped, half-rising, and his eyes widened, hands lifting in supplication. She deflated, sinking back into her seat and dropping her head into her hands. Katniss sighed. Every rational thought screamed at her to simply leave. She’d known all along that this was a bad idea. But after twenty-eight months of what was essentially a self-imposed exile, twenty-eight months of not having taken a single shore leave, a single vacation, even a single day off, she was at a breaking point. And it was obvious to everyone around her. Even her cousin, Gale, had noted Katniss’s sadness during their weekly video chats. She was tired and worn out, and Gale was worried enough that he’d threatened to come home from school on planet Spectra to take care of her. Katniss couldn’t allow that. Gale was settled on Spectra and was a model student, hardworking, brilliant. Allowing her own heartbreak and stupidity to compromise his future was unacceptable.

So when Gale, who was frugal to the point of being cheap, sent her a Trident Industries gift card two days ago, just before she’d disembarked from the Mockingjay and walked away from her life on the starship, Katniss had promised to actually use it. “Take a virtual vacation,” he’d insisted. She’d tried to tell him she was fine, needed nothing, but Gale knew her too well. “Live a little,” he’d begged, silver eyes shining in the video relay. “You deserve this, after everything.”

“I just want to see someone I used to know,” she murmured to Finnick, staring at her shiny boots. “One last time.” “Someone you can’t speak with in person.” It wasn’t a question, not really, and the soft tone caught Katniss off guard. She glanced up. The leering, lecherous salesman was gone. In his place was just Finnick Odair, still incredibly gorgeous, but with a kind, compassionate expression instead of a dazzling smile. It made him seem more human somehow. More real. “Right.” “I can do that. I’ll need to access his public records, to ensure the simulation reacts as closely to how he would really act as possible.” “I don’t know where he is now,” she admitted. “He was a student at the Alliance Academy, up until a few years ago. Last I heard, he was teaching at the Panem School of Fine Arts.” Finnick nodded. “That will help. There should be plenty of biometrics available. What’s his name?” o-o-o Katniss talked herself into and out of showing up at Trident a dozen times, but in the end her frugal nature won out. Fifty-five hundred credits was a terrible amount to waste, even if they weren’t her credits to begin with. She berated herself as she got ready, brushing out her long black hair and agonizing over what to wear. It was a simulation. It wasn’t going to care what she looked like! She could have - should have - shown up wearing anything; her uniform, her old hunting clothes, even pyjamas. And yet she pulled from her closet a dress that she hadn’t worn for more than two years, a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. It had been his favourite, another lifetime ago. The building was just as garish as it had been her first visit, but this time Finnick Odair wasn’t there to greet her. A beautiful young woman with an ethereal calmness led Katniss down a long white corridor to a set of imposing silver doors. “Everything has been programmed to your specifications,” she said softly. “The simulation is completely self-sustaining, you don’t have to do anything. But if for any reason you need to exit before the completion of the program, the computer will respond to your commands.” Katniss nodded. She’d studied engineering at the academy before being hand picked for the command program. And while this simulator was leagues ahead of the simple holodecks she was accustomed to, she understood the fundamentals. “Thank you,” she said, but remained motionless outside the closed doors long after the young woman had walked away. Finally she shook aside the lethargy and doubt and entered the simulator. And then gasped. Katniss knew this place, knew every bench, every rock, every flower. She’d spent the past two years seeing this place every time she closed her eyes. The gardens on the rooftop of the academy training centre. Out of every possible place in the universe, how had Finnick Odair chosen this? There was no way he could he possibly have guessed how much this place had meant to her. Had meant to them. It was almost enough to send her running back out of the simulator, down the corridor, back to her spartan grey quarters at the academy. Back to her spartan grey life. But Katniss Everdeen was done running. She stepped cautiously forward, barely hearing the soft snick of the simulator doors closing behind her, immersing her completely in the illusion. She wandered the garden paths slowly, reverently, mouth agape. It was incredible, every detail exactly as she remembered it. She reached out to stroke the glossy green leaves of a hanging vine where it twisted around a pergola. It felt exactly like the vines she’d practiced tying into knots during one of her last visits to the real rooftop gardens. Apple trees perfumed the air. Their gnarled branches just like the ones they’d climbed with abandon during their academy years, playing catch with the sweet fruit. Even the wind chimes tinkling above a lush flower garden were exactly as she remembered them, their gentle chords the soundtrack by which a quiet young woman and a kind young man had made love all those years ago. “Katniss?” She turned slowly at the voice she knew better than her own, the voice of her heart. He was standing perhaps a dozen steps away, an old-fashioned wicker picnic basket in hand, the artificial sun filtering through his ashy curls, crowning him in gold. Peeta Mellark. He was smiling softly, the smile that had always made her feel like the most important person in the universe. As if she could have forgotten how gorgeous he was, how strong and broad and solid. He set the basket down and took a few steps towards her, his grin unwavering. She marvelled at how life-like he was, every detail utterly perfect from his golden eyelashes, so long they brushed his cheeks with each blink, all the way down to the double knots that secured his shoes. It was as if she’d been transported back in time, to those days more than two years ago when life had been perfect, when she’d been happy and loved. All of her pent-up longing overflowed, and she let herself just for the moment forget that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t really Peeta standing before her, and with a little laugh jumped into his arms. He caught her and spun her around, the arms encircling her just as warm and strong as she remembered. A thousand moments surged through her, all the times those arms were her only refuge from the world. Perhaps not fully appreciated then, but so sweet in memory, and now gone forever. As if reading her mind, he pulled her in close and buried his face in her hair. Warmth radiated from the spot where his lips just touched her neck, slowly spreading through the rest of her body, enveloping her in comfort. It felt so good, so impossibly good, that she knew she would not be the first to let go. “Still the most beautiful woman in the galaxy,” he murmured, and Katniss laughed, a pained little sound stained with longing and regret. The real Peeta wouldn’t be so kind, she thought. He’d still be angry, and he should be. She’d hurt him terribly. But when the simulated Peeta pulled back, he was smiling at her as if she were more radiant than the sun. “Peeta,” she started, but he laid a gentle finger across her lips, halting the apologies that yearned to trip from her tongue. “Shhh,” he said. “We have time. Let’s relax first. Have a bite to eat.” Peeta led her down one of the sun-dappled paths to a patch of grass right at the edge of the rooftop. She wrapped her hands around the railing and looked out over the edge, where the sun hit the glossy buildings spread before them, making them twinkle like a vast field of fireflies stretching to the horizon. He moved to stand behind her, his warmth against her back. “I’d almost forgotten how pretty it is up here,” she murmured. His puff of laughter teased the shell of her ear, made her shiver. “That’s my line,” he said, amusement colouring his voice. “And you always insisted that it’s not as pretty as our woods.” He wrapped an arm around her collar bones, pulling her back against his broad chest. She smiled, leaning into him, letting herself truly live in the memory made real. Eventually, he led them away from the railing, to where he’d lain a blanket over the soft artificial grass. When he opened the basket and started to pull out the food it held, she laughed with true delight and his grin widened. Inside was a feast — fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, reminiscent of all of the picnics they’d shared in these gardens over their years together. “And the pièce de resistance,” he said almost shyly, lifting a tureen that she was certain contained lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish she had always said was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer. She sobered. “You have a remarkable memory,” she said haltingly, regret again flaring in her gut. “I remember everything about you,” Peeta said, tucking a loose strand of soft ebony hair behind her ear. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.” “I am now,” she whispered. “Well, I don’t have much competition here,” he chuckled, self-effacing as always. He never had any competition anywhere, she wanted to say. But she didn’t, because it wasn’t true. He’d always been in competition with her drive, her ambition. It’s why she’d lost him. They sat together in the computer-generated sunshine of an unnaturally perfect day. Peeta fed her bites of bread, slathered in goat cheese and topped with apple slices and they reminisced; about their childhood in District Twelve where they knew each other only by sight, about the friendship that bloomed between them when they found themselves the only two children reaped from their district to join the Star Alliance academy, plucked from their impoverished obscurity and dropped into the garish Capitol to train for the elite star force. A friendship that grew so much deeper when only a couple of years into training, a rogue asteroid destroyed their home district in a hail of fire, leaving them both orphaned and alone with only each other to count on. When the food had been consumed, and the remnants tucked away, Katniss took a deep breath. She’d arranged this simulation for a purpose, there were things she needed to say. “I’m sorry,” she said, and his soft smile fell. “No,” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish. She knew he’d simply absolve her, the simulation was behaving exactly as Peeta had before she’d left him, kind and forgiving and always putting her needs before his own. “It’s not okay, Peeta,” she said, her voice low but steady. “It never was. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left. Not without fixing things between us.” She thought back to when she’d been offered the command of her own starship, years ahead of when most young officers were picked to head up missions. It was so unexpected, had flown completely in the face of their plans. They’d always intended on being commissioned together. She would cut her teeth serving under whatever commander headed up Peeta’s first intergalactic diplomatic mission. His talented silver tongue, his ability to paint pictures with words were abilities that made him a star at the academy. They both knew he would ascend the ranks fastest. But he didn’t. She did. And flush with pride, she’d gone to him, excitement about her accomplishment colouring her every word, every thought. He’d been calm, rational, reminding her of their plans, their future. She’d been angry defensive, afraid to listen to anything that could have jeopardized her independence. Unforgivably, she’d accused him of not supporting her dreams. Peeta, who had been her biggest supporter forever. Even as she’d said the words, she’d known they were untrue. But each one flew from her lips like arrows, each hitting her target, piercing him deeply.

The fight had been awful. She’d said so many terrible things, and he’d responded with stony silence. Angry, frustrated, overwhelmed, she’d run. Left him standing on the lawn of the academy stooped in defeat, the waning sun glowing against his dress whites. That image was burned into her retinas, into her heart, and had haunted her for the past two and a half years. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since. The anger she’d clung to like a shield only lasted so long, replaced quickly by regret. She’d tried looking him up in the database, but he’d left the academy almost as soon as she’d boarded that damned ship, moved on to a new life that didn’t include her. So she moved on too, threw herself into her work, tried not to think about him, about what he might be doing, who he might be loving. Peeta listened, the slight breeze tossing his curls as he sat on the blanket, their knees just touching, the warmth of his presence giving her the strength to say everything she needed to say. He never once interrupted as she poured out her heart in a way she couldn’t have with the real Peeta, the one who had been so angry he’d blocked her access to his communicator, who probably hated her. This Peeta listened attentively as she told him about her years in space. As she confessed to having thought about him every single day. “I knew I could survive without you,” she said. “But it’s a terrible, lonely life.” “Enough,” he said finally, pulling her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. “I’m to blame too. I shut down, cut you out of my life. If I had stopped being so wounded I would have remembered that our relationship was so much more important than my hurt and jealousy.” Katniss whimpered, burying her face in his shirt, enveloped in his scent. She’d loved him, had always loved him, and yet when she’d walked away that awful day, he’d let her go. When he hadn’t contacted her even once those months before her ship left, she’d simply sealed off her heart. Years of friendship, of passion, of love, were walled up, destroyed, and tossed aside like so much trash. Commander Everdeen needed no one. But she’d been lying to herself. That’s why she was here, on a rooftop, tucked into the embrace of a fake version of the only man she’d ever truly loved instead of virtually touring the lavender sand beaches of Astrazaria. She knew she’d never be able to move on without saying it out loud, without telling at least some version of Peeta she was sorry for all of it, even if he’d never actually hear the words. “Do you forgive me?” she whispered, more for herself than for the illusion of him. His arms tightened. “Yes,” he said. “Can you forgive me?” She nodded against his collar. She’d forgiven the real Peeta’s tiny part in their break up years ago. The sun slid lower in the sky as they clung to each other, soft sighs and gentle caresses speaking of regret, but also contentment. Streaks of pink and gold kissed the horizon, reminding her that their time was almost done. That all too soon, she’d be alone again. The dream, her fantasy, would be over. But she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do. She’d told him, and in doing so had freed him from where she’d caged up all of her happy memories. Now maybe she could start to heal. “Ah Kitten,” he murmured, and she froze. Kitten was the pet name Peeta had used when they were intimate, never any other time, and certainly never where anyone else could ever have heard him. How on earth had that gotten into the simulation? It was their secret, something that was only for them. She could feel his soft exhale against her temple. “I miss you so much.” His voice cracked, just a little, and her heart shattered. It was too much, his arms, his voice, his words. It hurt too much. This wasn’t going to help her get over him. “I can’t do this,” she mumbled, tears stinging. She wouldn’t let them fall though, she’d never once cried in front of the real Peeta, not even when she’d left him behind two years ago. She sure as hell wasn’t going to cry in front of this simulation, however real he might feel. His expression when she pulled away and scrambled to her feet nearly gutted her, the confusion, the fear. She turned away, couldn't bear to watch. “Computer,” she barked, listening for the acknowledging beep. Behind her, Peeta gasped. “Katniss?” he rasped. She couldn’t do this anymore, she missed him too much. She was a fool to think that anything could ever heal the Peeta-shaped hole in her heart. This had only made things worse, only made her confront how badly she’d screwed up. How much she still loved him. “End simulation,” she whispered. In the blink of an eye, it all vanished. The rooftop, the gardens, the tinkling wind chimes, all of it disappeared, leaving behind just the bare grey walls. “What the--” a voice from behind her. Katniss whirled. Inexplicably, the simulation of Peeta was still there, staring at her, wide-eyed. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “End simulation!” she yelled, but he didn't so much as flicker. “Shit,” she hissed. What the hell was wrong with this computer? She spun and marched towards the sleek panel on the wall. She'd have to override it herself. Behind her, he kept murmuring her name. And she tried, desperately, to ignore the pleading, disbelieving tone of his voice. He sounded like he had when she'd told him she was leaving. When she had broken both of their hearts. She was trying to manually key in a set of commands when his hands fell on her shoulders, so warm and solid that it made her tremble. This was not supposed to be happening. Finnick promised she could end this at any time. Was it her own desperate need for him holding his avatar there, manifesting him with the force of her desire? “Katniss,” he whispered again, and she felt his warm breath caress her ear. Then he was turning her to face him, and she didn’t resist. Blue eyes roamed her face, as if searching for something crucial. His hands, those hands, so perfectly rendered, long-fingered and elegant, rubbed up and down her arms, shoulders to elbows. Then he smiled, a confused, bewildered little half smile. “You’re real,” he whispered. “Holy shit.” Katniss rolled her eyes, she couldn’t help it. Of course she was real, and this simulation was a little too sentient, it was starting to alarm her. But then he was laughing, he was laughing and pulling her into a tight embrace. “It’s really you,” he choked, laughter mixing with something much more poignant. “I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing, Odair,” she mumbled, voice muffled against Peeta’s shoulder. She knew she needed to push away from the simulation, but surrounded by his warmth, by his clean, spicy scent, his big hand cupping the back of her head in that familiar way he always had, she just couldn't. His chest shook as another bout of rich laughter rumbled from his chest. “I thought you were a simulation,” he said once his laughter had calmed. “But it’s really you. You’re really here.” He pulled back enough to see her face, his eyes twinkling with excitement. Her brows furrowed. “You thought…” Katniss trailed off as finally the pieces clicked into place in her mind. “You bought a fantasy from Trident?” Was that possible, that he’d been thinking the same way she had, feeling the same regrets, the same need to set things right, however pretend the setting? Or had Finnick Odair somehow arranged this, convinced him to show up, to pretend to be a simulation? Her head spun.

But Peeta nodded. “I paid 6 000 credits to relive the best day of my life,” he said, and his words made her stomach flutter, a tide of hope rising. “You did too.” It wasn’t a question, exactly, but there was a hopeful lilt to his voice. She shrugged helplessly. “You’re really here.” He cupped her cheek in one huge hand, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I just got back to Earth six days ago,” she whispered “I thought I’d never see you again,” he admitted. “Are you disappointed? That it’s really me?” She squirmed with embarrassment; It had been one thing to bare her soul to an empty room. Knowing it had really been Peeta, her Peeta, was horrifying. She fought with her emotions, elation at seeing him again when she’d thought it would never happen and terror that he hadn’t meant the things he’d said, had only been playing a role. “You were so angry when I left.” “God no,” he said, pulling her against him again, his joy palpable. She didn’t resist in the least, wrapping her arms around his waist, her heart overwhelmed by the knowledge that he was here, flesh and blood and Peeta. He was here and he was holding her, like he once had. Like he did in her dreams. Her smile was so wide, he must have been able to feel it against his shirt, but she didn’t care. “I was hurt, and scared, and more than a little selfish,” he admitted. “But I meant every word I said in here, Kitten. I’ve missed you so much. I wanted to see you again so bad.”

“Me too,” she whispered. His soft lips brushed across her temple and he sighed, a contented little sound that she had missed so much. “How long are you staying?” he asked. “For good.” She tipped her head up to meet his confused gaze. “I’m home. I resigned my command and took a job teaching at the academy.” The joy that split his handsome face was almost heartbreaking in its beauty, before he schooled his features into a more cautious optimism. “What does that mean? For… for us?” There was no ‘us’ as far as Katniss knew. She’d come here to get over Peeta, to finally be able to move on after years stuck in limbo. But she finally realized that was the fantasy, that was the ‘not real’. She could never get over him. And she didn’t want to. “That depends on what you want, I guess.” She had been so busy spilling the contents of her soul that she hadn’t asked him about his own life. For all she knew, he had a wife and a dozen gorgeous blond babies waiting at home. The very idea was a like a spear through her heart. “I want you,” he said, serious and solemn. “I’ve wanted you since we were five years old, back in Twelve. I’ve never stopped. And I never will.” He leaned in to kiss her, to really kiss her, and the tears she’d spent forever holding back trickled down her cheeks.

“I love you,” she murmured, the words maybe too soon and yet also far too late. He picked her up and spun her again, laughing as he kissed his own loving declarations into her skin, every word and every caress a healing balm. “Let’s get out of here,” she said when they broke apart, breathless and flushed. “Are you sure?” He waggled his eyebrows, voice brimming with mirth. “We could relaunch the simulator to one of Finnick’s fantasy programs. How about a Pfflachlin coital suite?” Katniss laughed, really laughed, her joy overflowing. “No,” she said between giggles. “No more fantasies. I want real.”