The Contract

by maktub

I knew by signing that dotted line that I was joining a desperate league of barely-adults willing to give up their bodies for the long-lived enjoyment of the few and the wealthy. Originally written for Prompts in Panem, Round 6, Day 6.

I read and reread the registration forms as I waited for the doctor to return from whatever test he was doing now.

Have you ever been hospitalised? [ ] yes [ X ] no

Have you ever engaged in sexual intercourse? [ X ] yes [ ] no

Have you ever had a Sexually Transmitted Infection? [ ] yes [ X ] no

I still didn't quite understand why all this was necessary despite how many times the doctor had explained it. Something to do with ensuring a quality product for the client.

Honestly though I'd felt so highly strung all morning, I could only think of Gale's solemn face as I left after breakfast, and the way Prim refused to look at me, instead crying into the soft flannel of his shirt.

Looking around the hospital room made me feel like I was eleven again. Watching my dad clutch at his chest, eyes squeezed shut, lips sloping downwards as final, unintelligible words stumbled from them.

I guess they all looked the same in the end; hospital rooms and people.

A rustling blue curtain startled me out the memory.

"You're in luck, Miss Everdeen. Usually people go on the waiting list for months before they're matched, but a family registered just yesterday and your HLA discrepancy is a perfect nil, nil for four out of five. You'll be able to begin straight away."

In truth I didn't at all understand the science behind the system but his bright smile told me all I needed to know.

Katniss Everdeen was hired.

–-–

It was a dreary Wednesday morning when I knocked on the door of the Mellark Mansion, and it was made all the colder by the woman who answered the door.

Mrs Mellark, my new employer.

She wore a perfectly pressed pale blue shift dress that matched her uncomfortably blue eyes. They sat like unnatural beads on her long, sharp face, pulled even tighter by the severe blonde bun atop her head.

"Welcome, Miss Everdeen," even her voice was icy, "or may I call you Katniss?"

I mumbled some kind of permission and she smiled tightly, before directing a well-manicured hand inwards.

"Well, Katniss, I think it'd be best if we'd discuss a few of the finer details of the contract before you settled in, hm?"

I nodded mutely and followed her pristine form to an ornate office that seemed to bulge around a giant mahogany desk sat directly in its centre. Unsure I hovered at the door before she nodded towards a red-cushioned chair across from her wooden throne.

Pulling out a thick stack of stapled, yellow-tabbed papers, Mrs Mellark spoke in a clipped tone, pointing out the important points as though I hadn't read this contract about a hundred times.

"As you know, you'll be working in the household, tending to the needs of the family as they arise," she sounded almost bored and I hated to think how many times she'd given this speech.

"You'll receive the weekly salary agreed upon as well as food and living, your room is in the east wing of the building and while you can cook in the staff kitchen at your leisure, you'll be expected to join the family for most meals…"

I tried not to squirm under her critical gaze, but Mrs Mellark only smiled that tight little smile and continued on.

"I'll tell the kitchen staff to increase your calorie quota to start with, you're looking a little lean."

I'd be offended if only I hadn't struggled to get food on our table for the past seven years. If all that was required of me was a few extra calories, I'm sure I could handle it.

Too bad I knew better.

Her nails drummed against the final page of the contract, eyes skimming over the words.

"And finally the base value of two hundred thousand dollars plus standard excess for individual organ value and necessity of termination will be given to your family in the event of a successful transplantation to either my husband or one of my sons," a cruel smile settled on her face, eyes glinting in the cool light of the room, "though I suppose my sons will probably find use for you prior to said event."

–-–

Having almost no possessions except a suitcase of ratty clothes and faded pictures of my family made the move-in pretty easy.

I'd been provided with a uniform – a simple grey dress – and linens. The small bathroom attached to my room had a toothbrush and toothpaste neatly stacked on the sink and the experience of showering had been more complicated than I could have imagined.

I expected it would take a while to figure out what all the buttons were for.

But as I lay on the excessive queen bed of this luxurious room I could now call my own, it all seemed so trivial.

They didn't need to butter me up anymore now that I was here. They'd be getting my organs no matter how well they treated me; the money was too good to pass up.

I wished that I could curl around Prim's tiny form and explain to her why I had to do this. But I knew that maybe she'd never understand. Our mother at least had the decency to stay, even if she was pretty useless, lying around in bed, still crying over the man who'd died seven years ago.

This was the way the world worked though.

At eighteen you were eligible to apply for donor status.

Wealthy families would pay anything for the assurance that they'd have perfectly matched organs waiting at their beck and call, like house pets. We even died at the end of it.

So I knew by signing that dotted line that I was joining a desperate league of barely-adults willing to give up their bodies for the long-lived enjoyment of the few and the wealthy.

I'd tried to scrub the cloying, lingering scent of Mrs Mellark off me in the shower but the image of her white teeth bared for me was burned in the back of my brain.

"I suppose my sons will probably find use for you…"

Legally, I was the property of the Mellark estate. In the eyes of the law I had the same rights as an inanimate object – I couldn't be stolen.

Probably the only thing that tipped the balance in my favour was the highly regulated payouts to families of donors. That's why I was doing this after all.

A knock at the door sounded and I pulled myself from the bed, smoothing down my grey dress as I went to greet whoever was on the other side.

Mrs Mellark.

I hoped that I'd eventually get used to her enough they my skin didn't break out in goose pimples every time she was in my presence.

"Dinner begins promptly at six," she eyed my uniform, "Casual dress would be appropriate."

Looking down at my dismal suitcase as she marched away and I wondered if she had the same definition of 'casual' as I did.

–-–

Looking in the mirror that afternoon was like looking at a stranger.

I swished from side to side, the floaty skirt of the blue dress caressing the skin of my thighs as it passed.

My mother had pressed it into my hands silently as I packed, her eyes wide and pleading as though now she finally cared about my well-being.

At the time (god, it felt like so long ago when it was only yesterday) I'd mumbled a half-hearted thank you but now I was grateful I had something to dress up in.

Though even I couldn't answer why I felt like impressing these people.

All they really cared about was the fact that, when the day came, their immune system wasn't going to reject my organs.

I made my way through the maze of Mellark family photos, blond-haired, blue-eyed portraits staring down at me. Cream walls and plush carpets, I wondered how it would feel between my toes, how many times I'd clean it before I was required to fulfil my final commitment.

The dining room seemed to be the central masterpiece of this grandiose estate. On one side large windows framed the orange glow of the garden in the setting sun, while the other had a giant painted portrait of the family.

The others hadn't arrived yet so I took my time to study it.

The man I presumed to be Mr Mellark sat in the centre atop a plush looking armchair, he was a large, looming figure, even seated, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes suggested a happy countenance.

Mrs Mellark's talon-like fingers perched atop his shoulder as she stood to his left. I had to give credit to the artist, they'd managed to perfectly capture the underlying cruelty of her overtly pretty face: sharp cheekbones, smug smile, eyes that felt too blue against her pale skin.

The sons were almost identical.

The eldest stood on the other side of his father, blond hair perfectly coiffed, lip curled up on one side. It was harder to pick the order of the other two, but the one I presumed the youngest sat on the floor, leaning against his father's armchair, Mr Mellark's solid hand resting on his shoulder. His hair curled across his forehead and his eyes held a warmth that was lacking in the others'.

I shivered. What kind of family wanted to eat every meal under their own portrait?

The wide doors behind me opened and I was face to face with the two straight haired brothers. Their eyes gleamed as they gave me a once over.

It reminded me of the way people would look at the freshly skinned rabbits back at the Hob. I held their gaze as those hungry smiles melted into welcoming masks.

"You must be Katniss," the taller held out his hand, "Mother's told us all about you."

I tried to keep the bite out my tone as I responded, "I'm sure she has."

The pair laughed, white teeth flashing.

The shorter held out his hand for me to shake, "I'm Rye by the way, and my older brother here is Rafferty."

For being in their twenties, the brothers' skin was unusually smooth. My memory flickered to the rough callouses of Gale's hands, tough from years of labour.

But I pushed that memory away and greeted them with the little enthusiasm I could muster.

A hearty laugh filled the room and the figure that had seemed so opposing in the painting entered, clearly responding to some funny comment made by the third son.

Mr Mellark in person seemed less like a king on his cushioned throne and more like a large, huggable teddy bear. The corners of his eyes crinkled and I felt my own burn a little at the signs of a father so obviously pleased to be in the presence of his children.

Rye (or was it Rafferty?) coughed and whatever had had the newcomers so joyous seemed to have been shed like a winter coat by the door.

Mr Mellark recovered first, coming forward to introduce himself, ("Most people call me Edrik ") but the third son kept his head bowed towards the floor. I could just make out the frown on his face.

Mrs Mellark entered the room before we could be introduced. A sharp clap directed everyone toward his or her seat at the dining table. I hovered a moment before finding the only empty chair to be across from the third Mellark child.

Even as I sat he refused to look at me.

A maid brought in the first course, careful not to meet my gaze as she set a small bowl of thick carrot soup in front of me. Despite everything, it was a struggle to stop my eyes rolling to the back of my head as I spooned the creamy substance past my lips.

Rye and Rafferty told some story about their day in the office. I kept trying to catch the eye of the man across from me, but his gaze would slide across me as though I wasn't even there.

I only managed it when I let out a small moan at the taste of the thick, fluffy bread coated in the remnants of my soup. His eyebrow quirked and I could feel my cheeks heating under the cool gaze before he turned his attention to his mother clearing her throat at the end of the table.

"Katniss," I looked up at the woman as she dabbed at her lips with a cloth napkin, "have you had the chance to meet everybody yet?"

My eyes flickered across the table to find his gaze steadily on me, "No, not quite, Mrs Mellark."

"Well I'm sure you will in time," her voice reminded me of sap oozing from a maple tree, "though I wouldn't worry too much if you can barely get a word out of Peeta here, it's a battle of it's own just to get him to flirt with the Mayor's daughter."

Peeta, the name rolled around in my head.

Looking over at him I could see a redness clawing its way up his throat and cheeks, "I don't think you realise exactly how uninterested Madge Undersee is in a man like me, Mother."

A sharp laugh pierced the silence that had befallen the room, "Oh Peeta, we all know that is just a phase, a real man would have snapped her out of it by now."

I held my breath trying to gauge the reaction of the table but everyone seemed to be too preoccupied by the tablecloth. Only Peeta was willing to meet her steady gaze.

Before the argument could escalate she returned her steely eyes to me.

"As I was saying, Katniss, the family really are very pleased to have you. We were very impressed by your scores in the physical fitness tests, we've never had a twelve!"

It was hard to know how to respond to this praise.

Thank you.

I'm glad that you're excited by the quality of my organs.

You know they're worth more with that twelve? Almost twice the price of an eight.

I was saved from giving what I was sure was going to be an embarrassingly awkward response by the arrival of the main course: lamb chops with mash potato and green salad.

I don't think I'd ever eaten lamb, an expensive import only available at the butchers in the centre of the merchant quarter.

The tender meat felt utterly excessive on my tongue. I could almost feel myself getting drunk on the rich aroma of butter and rosemary. If I was going to die for these people, I may as well enjoy food more than I had in my entire life.

Prim would be eating food as decadent as this one day.

For the rest of the meal I was happy to be largely ignored. Though every now and again I would feel Peeta's hard stare on me when he thought I wasn't looking.

I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Obviously nothing particularly pretty. He was probably hoping that he wouldn't have to bear the burden of having a part of me inside him. Maybe I disgusted him.

The next time I felt his eyes on me I matched his hard stare with one of my own. Fine. If he was disgusted with me then I could be disgusted with him too.

For a moment he searched my eyes, as though looking for an answer, but then he frowned and looked away.

I tried not to feel hurt.

–-–

That night, in the broad expanse of my bed, I felt numb.

Each movement exposed a new, cool expanse of sheet and I couldn't do anything but curl into a ball to try and contain my warmth.

I looked out into the darkness. I felt it seep into my skin. Blackness curled at the edges of my thoughts.

I'd allow myself one night of wallowing.

The next day I'd be starting work, nothing strenuous – "We wouldn't want you injuring yourself, what a waste! Just enough to earn your weekly keep." – but I didn't want to be tired, didn't want to give them an excuse to send me back to Prim empty handed.

She needed this chance.

–-–

I woke early.

Sunlight crept in through cracks between the curtains – pale orange shards of morning piercing my restless sleep. I was used to waking early, hunting for food and making trades, but that morning all I wanted to do was curl back under the covers and find a dreamless sleep.

Instead I showered and slipped into the grey dress, knotting my wet hair into its standard braid.

With the initial pleasantries over, I'd lost that absurd desire to impress this family. They already owned me.

Making my way down the halls on hunter's feet I followed the route I hoped lead to the kitchen. I could hear a clattering of pots and pans and figured it was the cooking staff preparing breakfast.

Surprisingly, it was Peeta Mellark standing at the kitchen counter, forearms coated in flour. He looked up at my tentative knock on the door and seemed just as surprised to see me here.

"Mornin'."

His voice was still thick with sleep.

"Good morning, Mr Mellark."

He frowned at that, "Please call me Peeta."

Bowing my head at the clipped tone I finally caught sight of what he was making. Sheets of dough cut into triangles, some already rolled into crescent like shapes, a light sheen of what I guessed was melted butter painted across the top.

"What are they?"

Peeta frowned again, it seemed that was all I was capable of with this man.

"You've never seen a croissant before?"

I raised my eyebrow at this, when would a girl from the seam, one desperate enough to become a donor, have seen a… cwa-thingy?

At my expression, he pursed his lips contritely, "Well, we'll be having them for breakfast. They're basically an edible form of butter and some dough to round it off."

The idea of eating another meal with this family had my stomach churning.

"Maybe I should just eat now, and then I can get on with the work I'm supposed to be doing."

Peeta looked me in the eye then, expression blank. He looked over my grey dress, the wet braid; I clenched my fists at my sides at his bland appraisal.

"These will take a few more hours, I expect the rest of the family will be awake by then. If you really want to do something you can go and pick some oranges out in the garden to have with breakfast. But you'll be having breakfast with us."

Okay then.

I met his gaze and felt fire curling beneath my skin, how dare he treat me like an inconvenience for trying to do my job.

As if sensing the rage threatening to burst out of me, Peeta sighed and pushed a hand through the messy waves of his hair, flour puffing like a cloud around him.

"I really need to finish these soon if you want to have food at breakfast, sorry… I just…"

Without letting him give some meaningless apology I turned and headed for the garden.

–-–

When my father was alive, he would take me out to the woods every weekend he had off from work. Sometimes, when I'd been especially good or my father especially sad, he'd take me early before school.

Those hours in the woods were my most precious memories with him.

He taught me how to hunt, how to survive.

But he also taught me about the flowers and the trees and the creatures that lived off them, in them.

The Mellark garden was nothing like those woods, but it was beautiful acre of land. And as I ran my palm down the sturdy bark of a willow tree, I felt some semblance of my old life in this strange place.

It didn't take long to a find an orange tree; the ripe fruits almost seemed to beg to be plucked.

But I didn't want to go back yet, not if Peeta was still there.

At the back of the garden there was a small gazebo, glass ceilinged but partially hidden behind some solid oak trees. There was still a sheen of dew on the glass, frosted slightly with the still cool nights.

A wooden bench seemed to be overwraught with ivy but closer inspection showed that it had merely been painted that way. I wondered who would have the time to do such a thing.

But I sat in the chair and cradled my oranges. From this spot I could pretend I was anywhere. No house, no perfectly manicured lawn, just some towering oak trees and a cloudless sky above me.

–-–

I went back inside when I couldn't feel my fingers anymore.

When I returned, Peeta was talking with Rafferty (or was it Rye?) in hushed tones and they both shut up as soon as I entered.

"Is this enough oranges?" The question stumbled stupidly from my lips.

Rafferty stifled a laugh while Peeta merely nodded his head in confirmation. Before I could embarrass myself further he pointed at what I guessed was a high-tech juicer on the other side of the kitchen.

As I sliced the skins off the oranges I could hear the brothers continue their hushed conversation. Despite having a keen sense of hearing, one that served me very well in the woods, I could only pick up a few words.

I'd have bet my weekly wage they were talking about me.

"Peet, man… this one's a beauty…"

"I… not interested… Lav – "

"Forget her!" Rafferty exclaimed a little too loudly. The hair at my neck prickled as I'm sure they looked over to see if I was paying attention before returning to their conversation.

Honestly I didn't want to hear anymore. Peeta's blatant dislike of me had my stomach twisting in unfamiliar knots. So I turned on the juicer and their irritating whisperings were drowned out by the sounds of orange flesh being ripped apart.

–-–

Breakfast with the Mellark's, I hated to admit, was a much more enjoyable affair. If only for the fact that everyone seemed to be too involved in the newspaper, or too wrapped in that lingering blanket of sleep to actually talk to each other.

The joy of silence could only last so long though, and soon Mrs Mellark was clearing her throat and directing her attention – surprise, surprise – to me.

"Well Katniss, as I'm sure your aware, donor law requires for you to be a valid employee in the household leading up to the time of your donation."

She sounded as though she wished she could cut the organs out of me right now and store them in a box instead of having me linger around the house.

"But due to your particular…" a thin, dark eyebrow raised and creased the skin of her long forehead, it was the first indication I'd seen that was she was likely the same age as my mother, "Quality, I suppose, I'd much rather the work be as… facile… as possible."

She looked as me as though expecting an answer, but I merely met her stare blankly.

With pursed lips, she continued, "Do have any particular interests, dear?"

The affectionate term sounded hateful on her lips, as though it had taken all her energy to refer to me as something other than an object.

But the answer came to me easily.

"I'm pretty good with plants," spending days out in that plot of land I imagined would be the closest I could feel to home and my father for the remainder of my measly life, "So, if you need help in the garden, I can do it."

Mrs Mellark's whole face tightened, but with a curt nod she said she'd organise another work uniform and I could meet the head gardener that morning.

Fixing my gaze back across the table I found Peeta already looking at me above his paper.

This time instead of clear resentment, I sensed a kind of curiosity in his gaze. But I refused to think anything more of it.

–-–

Haymitch Abernathy was a surly, drunk, old bastard and I'd most certainly have hated him if it weren't for the fact that he seemed to take every chance he could to piss off Mrs Mellark.

It became clear pretty quickly why she'd seemed reluctant to take me into the garden. This man seemed like the only one in the entire household willing to stand up to her.

"Mrs M, you're looking like you've got an especially long stick up your arse this morning, do you need help getting it out?"

For a second I thought she was going to sprout fangs and tear his head off.

But she merely pursed those thin, loveless lips and proceeded to introduce me as his new 'assistant'.

"Assistant? What the fuck am I going to do with her? Teach her how to knit?"

I frowned at him. I may be small but I could probably gut and dissect this man in my sleep.

"She'll be helping you in the garden, from there I don't care what you do, Haymitch. Just keep her working."

With a snarl and flash of blonde she was gone, trotting away to go and unleash her special brand of cruelty on someone other poor, unsuspecting victim.

I looked back to find Haymitch studying me.

"You're the new donor, are ya?"

I didn't bother to reply to this. What else could I have been? It was almost impossible to get a non-government job these days that wasn't a donor position.

And those government jobs went almost exclusively to people from the wealthy districts, or wealthy parts of districts; those who could afford higher educations, who could bribe the officials.

"And what are you? Liver donor gone wrong?"

He merely laughed and took a swig from the flask I gathered was permanently attached to his hip.

"Already did the donor thing, Grand papa Mellark took a kidney but demanded I stay on. Mrs M has been regretting it ever since but the Mister refuses to let me go."

Haymitch had the same olive skin and seam grey eyes as everyone from my part of town. No 'Seam Brat' would stick around in a place like this longer than they really had to. Especially not with that foul woman marching around the place.

"Why'd you really stay?"

He looked at me then without the humour or the crassness that had been shrouding him that whole conversation.

"No one to return to," he said before looking back at the great white house behind him, "and someone had to protect those boys."

But my reply to his cryptic words was lost as Haymitch shoved a fork and a bucket it my direction – "This garden needs weedin'."

–-–

By the time I returned to my room late that afternoon I was covered in layers of sweat and dirt.

Mrs Mellark took one look at me and bade me to shower before joining them for dinner.

I mourned the loss of fresh earth as I scrubbed at my skin in the steaming shower. In defiance I left the soil caked underneath my scruffy fingernails. The witch could clean them herself if she was that upset about a little dirt at the dinner table.

–-–

I arrived last.

Rafferty stifled a chuckle in his napkin while Mr Mellark smiled warmly and gestured at my seat, "Just in time, Katniss."

Peeta stared at his placemat as I took my seat across from him.

The food was as luxurious as the night before: goat's cheese with fresh rolls, lamb stew on wild rice, and apple pie for dessert.

I'd spent so much of my life thinking about food – how to kill it, how to trade for it, if Prim was getting enough. So during those first meals with the Mellarks, I found almost all my attention was still on the food.

Except now it could be about the tang of the cheese, the texture of the bread, the seductive scent of lamb or the way the apple pie melted on my tongue. In a way it was overwhelming.

There were so many things I didn't notice.

I guess every hunter needs to be a little starved, a little desperate, to be truly aware of everything going on around them.

–-–

The first week or two carried on like this.

Wake. Oranges. Peeta Mellark frowning. Eat. Garden. Haymitch, grumpy. Haymitch, drunk. Shower. Eat. Sleep.

I didn't think of home.

I just wanted to prove to them that I could do it, that they'd made a good investment.

Mrs Mellark watched me with those snake eyes and I felt my self settling in to a routine.

I should have known it was too easy.

–-–

At home, we had one house phone in the kitchen. Every home was required to have one, but I'd never really understood why.

Ours had only ever been called when someone wanted my mother's help and couldn't send someone in person, as she was the local healer. But it was expensive to place phone calls, and everyone suspected they were government monitored so I'd never bothered.

Two weeks after leaving Prim crying into Gale's shirt I could barely stand the thought of not talking to her a moment more so I'd asked Mrs Mellark after dinner if I'd be allowed to make a call.

She'd scoffed as though the answer was obvious, or maybe because I was sentimental enough to want to call my sister.

I didn't quite know if that was a yes or a no but as she walked away she pointed a talon at the device in the kitchen.

Rafferty and Rye had already disappeared citing some mindless Capitol programme they'd wanted to watch, Peeta still practically ran from my presence and Mr Mellark had retired to his office.

I figured now was as good a time as any to try calling.

I realised that I couldn't remember the number so it took a while to scroll through the index for District Twelve that was in a little screen attached to the phone, but eventually I found the Everdeen residence.

It was only as I heard the unfamiliar trill of the connecting call that I felt my stomach roiling in anticipation.

I missed Prim so much.

But it wasn't her voice answering the phone.

"Mrs Everdeen's not in, who's calling?"

I had to stifle a laugh, Gale sounded exactly as annoyed as I'd expect him to be. He hated using any kind of Capitol-mandated device.

"Gale? It's Katniss." My voice sounded timid even to my own ears.

"Katniss? Oh uh, hi."

"Hi."

The awkwardness felt like a sack of bricks to the face. My heart beat somewhere around my throat, trapping the words I'd been planning all day.

"So, you called?"

It was only now that I realised how much I relied on actually seeing Gale to communicate with him. So much of our time spent together was in silence, tracking deer in the forest, enjoying the quiet of the woods.

"Um, yeah, I was um, wondering if I could speak to Prim?"

Gale coughed at the other end and I suddenly found myself wondering if dinner would taste as good coming up.

"Well um, Katniss, I don't really think she wants to talk to you."

It felt like my ears were filling with cotton, my pulse raced and, stupidly, tears pooled in the corners of my eyes.

Gritting my teeth I said a curt farewell and slammed the phone back into the receiver.

Two steps later and I felt like I couldn't get air into my lungs, like someone was shoving their fist down my throat and asking me to breathe.

Of course it was at that moment that Peeta Mellark walked into the room.

One look at him and that giant weight on my chest splintered.

A wretched sob tore its way out of me and in seconds I found myself crying at the kitchen counter.

If I hadn't been there myself, I wouldn't have believed how he walked up to me in a few long strides and wrapped me in his arms.

My fists clenched his shirt and the only words that managed to escape my blubbering lips were "Sorry… I'm so sorry." Over and over.

But he just held me and made soothing noises and slowly I felt myself coming back to earth.

With a hiccup I pulled away from him, the last thing I needed was for Peeta to feel sorry for me.

"I'm sorry… I –"

But he cut me off – "Katniss, it's fine, don't be sorry."

I tried, but I couldn't make myself meet his eyes.

He raised a hand to my shoulder and ducked, managing to meet my eyes briefly before I flicked my gaze away.

"If you need someone to talk to, I'll be here."

It was hard to reconcile this gentle man with the one who'd been so cold towards me these last few weeks.

So I merely nodded and headed for the door to go to bed.

I felt so tired.

"Katniss?"

I paused at the doorway without turning back.

But all he said was "Sleep well."

–-–

I woke early the next morning and had to stifle my groans into a pillow.

A hot seed of embarrassment sprouted inside of me. I pinched the skin of my wrists to distract from the memories of me clinging to Peeta's shirt like a child. How was I going to face him? Or, I admitted, thank him?

"Fuck."

I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, hoping that if I rubbed hard enough maybe I'd wash the memory of the night before from my mind.

The scene played over and over in my head and I hated myself more every time.

I knew this feeling would stay with me until I found a way to repay him. I'd grown up in a world where 'owing' was the greatest sin you could commit.

My father had taught me the importance of a fair trade and after his death that had been how I'd kept the respect of my peers.

He'd found me at my weakest, and I'd been too desperate for comfort to know better.

Dawn was only just beginning to creep through my window but I made my way down to the garden.

That would take my mind off it.

–-–

Haymitch stumbled from whatever hole he lived in just before the Mellarks would be coming down for breakfast.

He looked down at me with a raised eyebrow. I was already covered in dirt.

"It's not even eight in the mornin' and you already look pissed off," I flicked a slug from a leaf of the plant I was tending and then crushed it under my boot.

He only laughed, "And you've got about as much charm as that dead slug, what's got your panties in a twist?"

I pursed my lips, determined to ignore the old grouch as long as possible.

A sound came from the kitchen and I glanced over at the doors, breath hitched. I'd forgotten that Peeta would probably be up baking some regretfully delicious pastry.

But Haymitch was too clever, already knew me too well.

"Ah, something happened with the boy, did it?"

Wrinkling my nose I looked back at the neat rows of flowers, colour-coordinated to form intricate patterns in the dirt.

I hated the perceptiveness in his tone, the hard stare.

"Listen, sweetheart, you don't know anything about that boy, he deserves so much more than the lot he's been given."

Again with all the cloak and dagger stuff. I only hoped the Mellark family had me terminated before I ended up terminating this bastard myself.

"So, what? You think I deserve this?"

"You volunteered, sweetheart."

–-–

I couldn't work up the courage to look over at Peeta during breakfast.

He'd either have reverted to his cool gaze, pretending it never happened, or have some sort of pitying expression as though that would fix things for me.

I didn't know which would be worse.

His gaze seemed to be fixed on me the entire meal but I just stared at the food on my plate, not entirely aware of what I was eating, concentrating only on not looking up.

–-–

Slogging away in the garden all morning had me tired and hungry. Normally I waited until lunch but at around eleven I snuck away from Haymitch's not-quite-sober ramblings to the kitchen.

I grabbed a few oranges on my way. Juice was something I'd never really had at home but with it now freely available and fresh in a cool glass, I didn't think I'd ever find water quite as refreshing.

If only the juicer weren't so damn loud I might have heard someone coming in, but as I turned with the filled pitcher in my hand I ran straight into Peeta.

Orange juice spilled all over his white t-shirt and on to the floor. My first thought was about the regretful loss of all that juice. My second was disbelief that I could embarrass myself even more in front of Peeta.

I looked up into his clear blue eyes. The corners were crinkled slightly in amusement.

That was certainly not the expression I was expecting.

To my ever-growing mortification, he merely whipped off his shirt, clutching it in his hand before turning to the sink to grab a cloth.

I snatched it from him with a hurried 'thanks' before kneeling down to clean up the mess.

His footsteps moved away and I let out a quiet string of curses as he left.

It didn't take long; most of the juice had ended up on Peeta. So it was a just a few moments later that I was wringing the cloth out under the sink when I heard that already familiar gait re-entering.

I turned to face him, he was clean as a whistle in a new shirt, "I'm so sor – "

"Katniss, if you say sorry one more time, I think I'll be forced to tape your mouth shut."

I felt my cheeks heat at the reference to the night before, so I turned back to the sink.

"I just mean, I should have watched where I was going…" the apology sounded stiff even to my own ears.

"Nothing a washing machine can't fix."

I looked over my shoulder at him. Even though his tone was light I could see the tightness of his lips, the furrow of his brow.

His eyes caught mine and the amusement from before was gone. In its place was some kind of sadness, or frustration. I had never been very good at reading people.

One big hand ran through his rugged hair, messing up the curls even further, while the other gripped the kitchen counter.

"Katniss, can I ask you a question?"

With a nod I turned fully to face him.

He crossed his arms across the broad expanse of his chest. My eyes were drawn to his bottom lip caught between his teeth, as he seemed to be debating his next words.

"Why were you crying last night?"

I crossed my own arms at the bluntness of his question, frowning down at my feet.

"My sister didn't want to talk to me."

I looked back at him then, hoping the intensity of my gaze would get him to back off. But he only seemed more intent.

"Why?"

I don't know what compelled me to keep answering. Maybe it was the desperate edge in his tone. But it was probably because I felt like I owed him this piece of information.

"I broke a promise," my voice caught a bit, "I became a donor when she'd made me promise not to."

He frowned and I couldn't bare the judgement that clouded his eyes. I had to turn away.

"Why'd you break that promise?"

His voice sounded almost meek, as though he knew he was crossing a line.

My fists clenched at my sides and I whipped back around. Heat flared out from my chest and I could feel it simmering in my cheeks and pooling as tears in the corners of my eyes.

Through gritted teeth I responded, "Why do you think?"

I had been expecting him to cower at my anger, most people did. But I saw the tell-tale narrowing of eyes, the clench of his jaw.

"Don't you think your sister would have benefitted more if you stayed?" his pupils were dilated, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

"And how would that have helped? Now she has money, she has food, she can buy clothes! I was useless to her alive!"

The words stung as they left my lips and Peeta recoiled as they struck him.

A walking dead woman.

That's all I was.

"I don't think – "

Raising my hand, I cut him off. I didn't need his pity. I knew why I was there, what I'd gotten myself into.

His shoulders slumped, the tension that had been building puddled around our feet.

The words that left his mouth next were so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined him saying them.

"I think you've underestimated how painful it is to lose someone you love."

Like an arrow to the chest those words pierced me.

I practically hissed back, "What would you know about loss, Merchant Boy?"

Before he could reply I stormed out the kitchen.

–-–

That night I told Mrs Mellark I wasn't feeling well.

She awkwardly fluffed up my pillows and ordered a bowl of soup and some vitamins to my room.

I guess the health of her family's future organs was enough to make her at least pretend to be nice.

In my room there was a small shelf sparsely decorated with a dozen odd books.

Back at home I'd never had the time or the money for reading. It'd only ever been things I was required to read. The only exception was my father's plant book. In my mind's eye I could turn each page, read every handwritten word of it.

It had been one of my most precious possessions, but I knew Prim would treasure it just as much as I always had.

Knowing that sleep was not going to come easily I picked one randomly off the shelf. It felt nice to fall into the words of someone else. To have my thoughts decided by the sentences that lay before me.

It wasn't even a particularly interesting book: The History and Evolution of Bird Species in the Mountains of District Twelve. I knew most of these birds, had eaten many, more bones than flesh but enough to stay the hunger of a desperate Seam family.

But one caught my attention:

"The mockingjay is a unique species. It is so named for its likeness to both the cunning jabberjay and the sweet mocking bird.

It is capable of repeating melodies it overhears and is often noted as having a particularly pleasing song voice. This rather delightful aspect of its character perhaps belies its incredible fortitude. The mockingjay is capable of thriving in almost any environment.

It is truly a marvellous and inspiring creature…"

Before my father had died he would take me hunting with him in the woods.

One morning, we'd been struggling to find anything. It was late in a very harsh winter. Most of the animals were either hibernating or starved.

We'd just stumbled across a skeletal-looking squirrel when a fat bird perched on the branch beside it. I remember my father pulling away from the easy shot to cock his head at the creature.

After a moment he sang a short lullaby from my childhood. The bird seemed to stare at him; it tilted its head towards us as if to listen. My father sang the line once more.

On the third repetition the bird joined in, not with the words, but with the melody, so perfectly matched.

My father and the bird kept singing together, occasionally slipping into cannon. They playfully fiddled with harmonies and melody. He looked down, a grin on his face, and I couldn't help but join in.

It was both my strangest and fondest memory from my time in the woods with dad.

After, he'd told me that it was the first time he'd seen a mockingjay in real life, but that it didn't surprise him at all that it was the only thing to survive the winter.

If I could be like the mockingjay, I wouldn't necessarily survive the winter, but I felt I could thrive, even in this cold house and with Peeta's harsh words.

–-–

The next morning I was up bright and early, feeling refreshed and well rested for the first time since I'd arrived.

The household was still slumbering as I crept down the stairs and through the kitchen.

I picked oranges from the seemingly endless supply and this time I made sure to keep an eye on the door as I pushed them through the juicer.

No Peeta.

Usually he would be up at this time preparing bread and pastries for the day. Unlike his brothers, Peeta was still studying. Education beyond high school was a kind of luxury in district twelve. Only those who had it were able to get the high-powered jobs and therefore the money to pay for their children's higher education. An endless cycle that kept us in the Seam desperate enough to become donors and the Merchant's able to afford us.

Boring dinner conversation suggested Peeta was being groomed to take over the family bakery. It mightn't seem like a career that would lead to riches but Mellark Bakery was sort of an institution in this part of the world. Even people from the Capitol ordered their cakes.

I didn't have much to compare it with, but I could at least vouch for the quality of Peeta's baked goods. Not that I'd ever tell him.

Pouring a glass for myself I wandered out into the dew-covered garden. The mist of early morning clung to the flower bushes and seemed to caress my calves as I tread lightly across the grass to the gazebo in the back.

But upon arrival, I noticed I wasn't the only person to have had this idea.

Peeta sat there with a steaming mug of what smelled like tea. The black liquid sloshed a little over the side as he startled upon seeing me.

"Uh, sorry, I'll leave…"

I started to turn away but his voice called me to wait, "You can join me, Katniss."

Okay. I guessed now was as good as anytime to start 'thriving'.

The gazebo wasn't overly large, maybe six people could fit comfortably, but I made sure to go to the furthest spot from Peeta as possible.

I tried not to feel guilty for the way he winced as he noticed.

Sipping at my orange juice I stared out at the freshly-dawned sky, still slightly peachy in its wakefulness.

This was always my favourite time of day. Whether I was out in the woods or staring through the grimy window of our bedroom, I always tried to see the sunrise.

The contentment must have shown on my face because I looked over to see an easy smile flickering across Peeta's.

"Who's Lav?"

The words were out of my mouth before I even knew I was thinking them.

But I felt so exposed and vulnerable in front of this man who'd already been witness to some of my weakest moments.

The deep sigh that heaved his chest suggested he knew this as well. This was me trying, in some twisted way.

He took a long sip of his tea before turning to face the view.

Golden eyelashes shone in the morning light. I could see the way the brushed across the lines of his cheekbones. Everything about Peeta seemed soft: the wave of his hair, the plump bottom lip, the sag of his shoulders.

"Lavinia…" he said, "She was a donor we had a long time ago."

My gut twisted with the implication of was. I wanted to ask but my lips were stuck tight.

"My brothers and I were much younger, she was our nanny."

A hurried hand pushed the hair back from his forehead, but he still wasn't looking at me.

"She was a match for our mother though. In more ways than one… She became more of a mother to me than my own ever could."

Haymitch's words floated through my mind, Someone had to protect those boys.

"I think ultimately my mother was jealous of her, of our closeness, because she ended up taking Lavinia's eyes."

My loud gasp seemed to remind Peeta of my presence because he looked over at me then, red-rimmed blue irises bright and glossy.

"So my mother finally got to have blue eyes and Lavinia, blind but alive, took the money and left, she didn't even say goodbye."

His voice crackled a little, "So I'll try, but Katniss, I can't promise that I'll understand or accept why you left your sister."

My own voice was thick as I replied, "I don't need you to understand or accept it, Peeta, just respect that it was my decision to make. But even then, you technically own me, so you don't owe me anything."

Shaking his head, he stood to leave, "It's not about owing. You're just as much a human as I am."

–-–

Somehow, that became our routine.

As the earliest risers in the household, we would share tea or juice in the gazebo and watch the sunrise. I would heap teaspoons of sugar and fat dashes of milk into the tea; unlike Peeta who's was so black and tasted far too bitter on my tongue.

We didn't talk all that much. Just little things. Favourite colour, plans for the day. Mostly we stayed silent and listened to the sounds of the garden.

It was… nice.

–-–

Almost two months after arriving, the Mellarks were invited to a gala dinner at the Mayor's house. Peeta had been asked to create a cake for the guests and I barely saw him in the lead up to the event as he worked on it.

Mrs Mellark had decided I should attend as one of their guests. It wasn't hard to guess that she was excited to show off her perfectly matched twelve. We were rare, especially in District 12 where malnutrition and coalmines tended to mar the quality of the 'product'.

The old witch with her cruel stolen eyes looked at me critically in my new dress. I was sure the thing was more expensive than my family's entire wardrobe.

Looking in the mirror I saw a stranger. Her dark hair was pinned back in an intricate set of braids, her skin was flawless and glowing, eyes shrouded in dark makeup and lips stained the same luscious red as the dress that hugged her body.

I hated her.

Apparently so did Mrs Mellark.

"I want you smiling and proud, dear. You work for one of the wealthiest families in this district. Any donor would kill to be in your place."

I managed a half smile. She scoffed but it was obviously enough because she turned and left, calling behind her as she went, "Downstairs in five minutes!"

"Any donor would kill to be in your place." I mimicked. Yeah, right.

Walking down the stairs I felt the eyes of the Mellark men on me.

I'd barely spoken to Rafferty and Rye in the past two months. They were either working or out at night. I often heard them stumbling home in the early hours of

the morning. I suppose with the assurance of a good quality liver or a set of lungs, they didn't really need to worry about moderation.

But now they were looking at me like I was one of the girls I would hear moaning in the night.

I shifted my gaze to Peeta, who offered me a small smile. The heart that had been racing anxiously in my chest eased off a bit.

We piled into the limo they'd hired for the evening and I wound up next to Mrs Mellark.

She kept a tight grip on my shoulder the entire ride, explaining what was expected of me and the guests she hoped I would meet.

I had almost expected them to just place me on viewing box somewhere so everyone could watch me like some animal in a zoo.

It turned out that might have been my preferred option.

Every conversation I had was with greasy, fat old men who tapped out their cigars as I approached ("Wouldn't want to cause any damage…"). Their beady eyes and salacious words would linger over me as we went from guest to guest.

I found myself wishing Peeta were near, if only for some sense of familiarity rather than expecting he would stop them. Instead it was Mrs Mellark parading me around like a prized trophy.

Towards the end of the night I managed to slip away for a minute or two claiming I needed to use the restroom. It was easy enough to get lost in the Mayor's mansion, so I let two minutes fall into five as I followed the halls and corridors to anywhere that wasn't the ballroom.

Turning a corner I almost screamed as I ran into the strong body of Rafferty Mellark.

"My mother sent me to find you, I think she's worried you'll be kidnapped and sold on the black market."

Despite his joking tone the look on Rafferty's face had goose pimples tearing across my flesh. He raised a hand to push a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"You look very beautiful tonight, Katniss."

The same hand brushed down the side of my cheek, along the line of my neck, played with the flimsy strap of my dress.

"When my mother said our new donor was female, I'd never have hoped she'd be as stunning as you are."

I tried to quell the anxiety in my stomach. As much as I wanted to push him away and scream, I knew it would be a violation of my contract. He was permitted to do with me as he pleased.

He groaned as his hand moved further south, tracing the line of my minimal cleavage, cupping the sides.

"You really are one of the finest specimens I've seen."

As he moved in to kiss me, I only hoped I wouldn't throw up in his mouth.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Raff?"

Fuck I'd never been more grateful to hear Peeta's voice. We both turned to face him, a look of pure anger plastered on his face. I took the chance to take a few solid steps away from Rafferty, relief fluttering in my chest.

"I'm exercising my right as Owner, Peety, what do you care?

Peeta looked over at me then and I tried to hide the fear I'm sure was obvious. His frown deepened.

"Well, I'm afraid I've already claimed her."

Rafferty let out a loud laugh, "Peety, you're going to have to try a little harder."

The younger brother almost growled in response, "Ask her yourself."

Both brothers turned to face me then, Rafferty with a raised brow and an arrogant smirk planted on his face, Peeta with wide, imploring eyes. I could still feel the cool touch of the eldest Mellark brother on my skin, could feel the erratic pulse of blood in my neck.

"Yes. H-he claimed me."

I walked towards him with my head held high as I tried to feel okay with what was happening.

When I was only a few inches in front of him I mouthed the words 'thank you' and his expression hardened. I swear this man was harder to understand than Prim's bleating goat.

Peeta wound an arm around my waist, tucking me neatly into his side. I let a mask of indifference cover my face as I looked at Rafferty. He seemed more amused than pissed off.

"Well, well, I didn't know you had it in you, little brother."

I felt thick fingers clenching my side, a tensing back under my palm.

"Just stay away from…" he paused and I could sense the weight of his gaze on me but I refused to look.

"Stay away from what's mine."

With that, Peeta leaned down to press his lips to my forehead. It was an intimate gesture and one I could remember my father often giving my mother. The smile on her face would always be so wide and bright. I felt like I could live off the love they had for each other when I was young.

But in that moment, if felt more possessive than loving.

Rafferty scoffed, "Well mother requires our presence in the ball room. I'd suggest you save any show of affection," his tone was utterly disbelieving, "until you get home tonight, alright, lovebirds?"

He marched off, leaving the two of us alone in the hallway.

"Why'd you do that?" My voice was a cool, quiet, but inside I was screaming.

Peeta pulled away and tugged a hand through his gelled hair. But he remained tight-lipped and kept his gaze fixed on the wall behind me.

"You don't owe me anything, Peeta."

"It's not about owing!"

I pressed my hand to my chest. Because it was about owing. At least it was for me. Now I owed Peeta for saving me from Rafferty.

I moved towards him, backing him into the wall and curling my fists around the lapels of his black suit jacket.

Standing on my tiptoes I watched the widening pupils of his eyes, the flare of his nostrils.

Before he could say anything more, I was pressing my lips against his. Tentatively at first and then with more pressure as he remained unresponsive. I almost sighed when I finally felt his lips moving under mine but before it could continue his hands were on my shoulders pushing me away.

"No stop, Katniss." His voice was raw, "I don't want…"

He didn't want me. Just didn't want Rafferty taking advantage of me because he'd seen how frightened I was.

If anything, I was surprised at how much the implication hurt me.

I took one look at the expression on his face, and seeing only disgust, turned and ran to the ballroom before I could do something stupid like cry.

–-–

Avoiding Peeta was harder than anticipated.

I stopped going to the gazebo before breakfast but still found a cup of tea the way I liked it sitting on the kitchen counter when I came down in the morning. I spent meals staring at my plate, ignoring Rafferty's knowing smirk and Peeta's gaze.

It felt like when I first arrived, but somehow worse.

During the day I'd slave away in the garden, listening to Haymitch's snores and drunken ramblings. He seemed to sense my mood the first few days after the gala because he let me be angry in peace.

But somehow, despite this, I kept running into Peeta multiple times a day.

He'd always be just around the corner, or coming up the stairs as I was going down. We'd do a half dance around each other and he'd be about to say something or about to reach for me but I'd dart off. It was those moments I was more than thankful for my hunter's grace.

At night I would lie in bed and read and read and forget and barely sleep. Because in sleep I replayed that kiss over and over and then I'd see that final look on Peeta's face. The one that said he couldn't believe I'd thought he'd want me. That he was disgusted that I'd tried.

But I still owed him. For Rafferty. For the damn cups of tea. I hated it.

–-–

After a week it seemed Haymitch had finally had enough of my attitude.

"Who died and left you Queen of Pissy?"

It was the middle of the day, I was covered in dirt and sweat and my arms ached with overuse. I had dark circles under my eyes from what little sleep I'd been having and honestly, I almost hoped one of the Mellark organs would give out soon so I'd stop having to feel all of this.

"What do you care, Old Man?"

He knelt down next to me, eyes searching and as clear as could be expected from a stubborn alcoholic.

"I get it, kid. I left you for a few days because I'm a stubborn prick myself, but this has gone on too long. If you don't stop whatever it is you're doing, you'll wind up killing yourself."

I scoffed.

"No, sweetheart, listen to me."

Something about his tone shut me up.

"Now firstly, I know you don't want that to happen because you'll lose the payout and what good'll that do your sister, hm?"

It was true, and I felt the hot grip of guilt squeezing my insides.

"But most importantly, and I know you won't believe me on this one, but you've got that boy worried sick. I don't know what's happened between you two, but you should know that your friendship meant something to him."

He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"And from what I can tell, it meant something to you too. And if I can give you a bit more unsolicited advice kid, it's that you'll need a friend," his lips quirked into an awkward half smile, "That and, stay alive."

–-–

That evening I waited for the house to go quiet before creeping out of my room with all the stealth I could manage.

I was eighty-five per cent certain which room was Peeta's but I really didn't need the embarrassment of walking in on the wrong brother.

Soft light shone under the crack of the door and I was thankful I wouldn't be waking him. Hopping back and forth between my feet I eventually worked up the nerve to knock lightly on the door.

It was quiet for a moment… maybe he hadn't heard me? I was about to knock again when I heard a voice that was unmistakeably Peeta's call out "Come in!"

Pushing the door open slightly I found him sitting in his bed under the covers, knees bent with a sketchbook strewn across his lap. If he was surprised to see me, he hid it well.

"Katniss," his voice was breathy as I walked into the room and shut the door behind me.

But then I was standing awkwardly in the middle of the plush carpet with all the words I'd planned lost somewhere on the walk over. I wanted so desperately to leave and find them.

"I didn't know you liked to draw."

Ugh. Good one, Katniss.

"It helps take my mind off things."

I nodded and pursed my lips, looking anywhere but at his face.

"Can I, um, see?"

Tugging at the hem of my sleep shirt I didn't have to wait long for his response.

"Yeah sure, I'll scoot over."

Oh. I hadn't realised this would involve being in his bed. I took small steps towards him, pausing and looking up at the sound of his low chuckle.

"I promise I won't bite, Katniss."

There was something about the way he said my name, like I was a frightened animal he was trying to soothe, or a small child begging to lick the batter off a spoon. Whatever it was it convinced me to slide on the bed next to him, albeit steadfastly above the covers.

He passed me his sketchbook and I mirrored his pose from earlier: back against the cushions, knees bent to cradle the drawings.

The one he was working on was of the view from his window. The sun was setting in the background, casting pale oranges and pinks and purples. The trees glowed in the light and down below I could make out a figure crouching in the dirt. Her long braid was slung over one shoulder as her hands worked to trim the rose bushes.

"So this is what you meant by orange?"

Peeta looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"When you said orange is your favourite colour… I thought you meant like my orange juice?"

Another chuckle, "No, I meant like this, soft and shifting into every other colour. That's my favourite."

"Oh."

I turned back a page. Rows of life-like pastries. So detailed my mouth started watering, I could almost smell the butter drifting off the page. I turned back quickly, "That's making me hungry."

It was easy enough to admit that I liked making Peeta laugh. I didn't think I was a particularly funny person. Prim often griped about how I was way too serious for a teenager. But Peeta… he made me feel like I could be funny.

The next drawing was of Haymitch asleep on the chair outside his cottage. I could make out the creases in his shirt, the liquor stains and could almost hear his snores.

"These are really amazing, Peeta."

Looking over at him, I could see a blush spreading across his cheeks, his hand moving to scratch the back of his neck.

"Thanks."

I smiled.

The next few were all scenes from around the house: the chef laughing and wiping at his eyes over a board of chopped onions, his brothers getting ready for the work day, his mother pursing her lips at a vase of browning flowers.

Something about it seemed familiar and I remembered the portrait in the dining room, how perfectly it captured the cruelty of Mrs Mellark.

"You painted that portrait, didn't you?"

With one finger he traced the lines of his mothers face. A frown settled on his forehead and I almost regretted asking. He nodded in confirmation.

I turned back a page hoping to ease the sudden tension between us.

My breath caught in my throat at the image on the page. It was of a crowd of people gathered at the gala last week, but all the faces except one were kind of hazy and out of focus. I stood in the middle, an expression on my face that clearly begged to be anywhere but where I was in that moment.

But I looked beautiful and radiant and fiery in contrast to all those around me.

Looking up at Peeta he met my gaze head on.

"Is that really how you see me?" I could hear the disbelief in my own voice. The look on his face after I kissed him flashed again in my mind.

"Katniss," he raised his hands and cradled my cheeks between them, "It kills me how beautiful and strong and loving you are."

Blue eyes that reminded me of clear skies and trips to the lake with my father flicked between my own, desperately searching for something.

"You probably never noticed, but every morning we sat out in that garden you'd just mention your sister and your whole face would light up and my gut twists every time because I remember holding you when you were crying because she refused to talk to you."

That felt so long ago.

Peeta's voice was cracking under the weight of the words he seemed so desperate to get out.

"And it killed me. It fucking killed me to know you place such little value on your own life."

His thumbs swiped across my cheeks and I felt the weight of tears on my eyelashes.

"When you kissed me I was so ashamed of myself for making you feel like you owed that to me."

With a tilt of his head, his forehead was against mine. I had to close my eyes against his closeness, a little terrified of what was coming.

"I already owe you so much, Peeta."

His head shook against mine, "No, no you really don't."

I felt a light puff of laughter fall across my lips.

"Katniss, I'm going to kiss you now, if that's alright with you."

"I'll allow it."

At first it was just a light brush of lips. Soft but quick. Pulling away before I could return.

My face was still cradled in the gentle clasp of hands. They pulled my face even closer to his and then his lips were pressed against mine. No force, just the even pressure of pink flesh against pink flesh.

I tilted my head a little and my bottom lip was captured between his. A light nip of his teeth drew a mewl from me. With he groan he let go of my face and shoved the sketchbook aside before pulling me into his lap.

Winding my hands in his hair I brought our lips back together, missing the feeling after only a moment.

I teased the seam of his lips with my tongue and he willingly obliged, parting his lips and allowing me access. I didn't have a whole lot of experience with kissing, having only lost my virginity to Gale the week before I came to this house in some desperate attempt to feel something before heading into my inevitable death.

But with Peeta's hands grasping at my waist and the playful nip at my tongue in his mouth, none of that seemed to matter.

I pulled away to press hurried, fluttering kisses to his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose and the corners of his crinkled eyes.

Then he was twisting us, lowering me into the pillows and tracing the line of my jaw with sweet whispers. I almost cried out as he tugged at my earlobe and Peeta reared back with a laugh, forearms framing my face.

His eyes were bright even in the minimal light of his room. Waves of his hair hung down and I laughed a little as he leant in and they tickled my cheeks.

"I like this."

If I hadn't already been flushed from his kisses, the silly shy grin that was plastered on his face would have had a fiery blush blooming across my cheeks.

It was true, though. I liked it too.

Wrapping my arms, which suddenly felt so small in comparison to the broad expanse of his back, around his shoulders I tugged him towards me. His head fell into the crook of my neck and I loved the feel of his breath skittering across my sensitive skin.

I liked him there, above me, cradled by me.

With a quick peck to the hollow of my throat he rolled off of me. Turning to face each other, I tucked my hand under my ear, content to trace the lines of Peeta's face with my eyes.

"I should probably get back to bed."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

I didn't move.

Peeta traced patterns in the quilt with his fingers.

"Or you could stay."

I was already in pyjamas, according to Rafferty I was already claimed. And to be perfectly honest, if I slept in alone I'd wake up thinking this was a dream.

"Okay."

With that, I was pulled under the covers and tucked into Peeta's side, a kiss already resting on my forehead.

–-–

Curling my fingers in the soft cotton of Peeta's shirt, I pushed and pulled against the warm body beneath me, stretching my stiff morning muscles.

An arm circled my waist and drew me even closer.

I looked up from my spot on his chest to see a sleepy smile lazing on his lips and crinkled blue eyes.

"Mornin,'" his voice was croaky.

"G'mornin'."

He tugged me a little further up his body to place a quick good morning kiss to my lips but I wound up with my leg strewn across his groin. I gasped at the feel of his hardness – only his thin sleep pants separated our skin.

Peeta blushed as red as the roses in his garden and tried to pull himself away.

"No, stay."

The moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew it's what I wanted. They lingered between us, weighty with promise. I shifted my thigh over his erection and the sound of his groan had pleasure pooling at my core.

I did it again and one of his hands flew to grip me, fingers teasing the delicate flesh.

"Katniss," his voice hinted at a question, an 'are you sure?' buried deep in the words.

But already, terrifyingly, some part of me knew that all it wanted was Peeta Mellark.

With one, steady hand I teased a line down his chest, across his taut abs, the trail of hair that led to the bulge beneath my thigh.

He kept his eyes on mine and I was transfixed by the pupils, the widening black, my own determined reflection staring back at me. I felt his increasing heart rate under my own, pulse racing against pulse.

My fingertips dipped under the edge of his sleep pants and met coarse hairs. They moved further and I shifted my thigh downwards to allow my hand access to the base of his cock.

The skin was like velvet but, as I wrapped my hand around the shaft, I could feel the underlying strength. His breath became increasingly faster and I felt it puff against my cheeks as I began to move my fist up and down the length.

"Is this alright?"

Despite said loss of virginity, I was pretty inexperienced. And that suddenly made me feel shy. In that moment all I wanted was to please Peeta.

He nodded but gruffly added, "You can grip it tighter."

I did as suggested and the resulting groan rocketed through me, searing in my memory.

With my thumb I traced the ridge of the bulbous head, trying to imagine what it looked like.

His breath became rougher, uneven as I continued my firm strokes. I tried to maintain a rhythm, remember from my one night with Gale how much he liked that.

I shook my head trying to rid myself of those thoughts. This was about Peeta.

My wrist and forearm began to ache a little as I picked up the movements, going faster, gripping tighter. But with the way Peeta's face was straining I could tell he was close.

Leaning in, I pressed my lips to his, to the line of his jaw and the soft skin of his neck. I shifted my thigh to rest between his and I felt the solid muscle squeeze at my legs.

With a grunt, he clasped my hand in his over the head of his cock and I felt the semen spill into it. His eyes were clenched shut, face contorted in pleasure.

After a few moments he turned to look at me, smile so wide I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. He pressed a kissed to them both before rolling over a grabbing a few tissues from his bedside table.

"Sorry about that," his words were quiet as he wiped the come from my fingers, careful to remove every drop.

"S'ok," I mumbled, half preening at the evidence of his pleasure on my hands.

Intent blue eyes turned to face me.

"Now let me return the favour."

Two hands pressed against my shoulders, pushing me onto my back on the bed.

Tilting my head to the side I saw the clock face on his bedside table and sighed, "Peeta?"

He mumbled something into the skin of my neck.

"Peeta, we can't."

A nip at my earlobe had me stifling a moan.

"I'll be late for work," I tried to sound stern. His dextrous, artistic fingers were weakening my resolve as they teased my sensitive thighs, the curve of my hip.

After a prolonged moment he pulled back and looked me in the eye, taking in what I hoped was a firm expression.

"Okay, we'll stop," he nuzzled my cheek, pressed lips to my ear, "But I hope you know that tonight, I will be returning the favour ten fold."

One long finger traced a line over the outside of my panties and I shuddered.

It would be a long day.

–-–

Despite Peeta's promise lingering in my thoughts and under my skin, we managed to maintain some semblance of normalcy in our morning ritual.

After returning to my room to change I met Peeta out in the garden, a steaming mug of tea and a wide, golden grin waiting for me.

Okay so maybe we sat closer than normal, fingers brushing, thighs touching with sweet kisses pressed to my cheeks. My heart beat wildly somewhere in my throat, trying to climb its way out and into Peeta's gentle, waiting hands.

And for just a moment, with the morning mists still curling at our skin and the gentle sway of sunlight through the leaves of the trees, I imagined letting it escape into his grasp; my heart.

Maybe one day it would be his.

(He would cradle its thump thump in his chest and think of that morning, of the two of us sharing secrets over wide brimmed mugs, and he'd hold his hand to my heart and smile.)

–-–

As we left to the house to join the rest of the family for breakfast, he took both my cheeks in his hands and kissed me sweet in the shade of a willow tree.

Out of the corner of my I saw the door to Haymitch's cottage open, felt the weight of his gaze on the place where our lips touched, on our linked fingers as we tread through the grass.

But for just that morning I wanted to pretend it could be real. So I ignored the old man's stare and grinned up at a giddy Peeta, who's eyes were only for me.

–-–

"Oi, Sweetheart?"

I grumbled, wiped the sweat from my brow and continued working, determined to ignore Haymitch as I plucked weeds from between the rose bushes.

"Don't think ignoring me will make me go away, kid."

Sitting back on the grass I sighed and looked up, eyes squinting in the sunlight.

"What?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, glancing up at the house before staring at me with the full weight of his stare.

"What do you think you're doing with that boy?"

My mouth opened to give him an answer, but honestly, I didn't know. So I turned back to the rose bushes and continued my work.

"Kid, you don't understand the hell that boy has been through in his life."

I thought of Lavinia, "I know more than you think!"

I saw his boot kick at the soil.

"You're not thinking in the long-term, sweetheart, what happens when you have to fulfil your contract?"

I tugged at a particularly tough weed, grunting with the effort.

"I either live to donate another organ or I die! Why can't I enjoy myself in the mean time?"

Haymitch practically growled as he leant down on his haunches to meet me eye-to-eye.

"But what about the boy? When you leave or die or any of those things? How do you think he'll take it?"

I frowned, "He'll move on, just like everyone else does."

I was surprised to see his lips downturn a little, "You don't…"

He paused and searched my eyes, looking for something inside of me and seemingly coming up disappointed, "You could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve that boy."

Ouch. I steeled my expression to hide how much those words hurt, how they struck a truth I felt buried deep inside of me.

He opened his mouth as if to say something else but shook his head and stood, storming away to drink another bottle of white liquor, holed up in his cottage while I slaved the day away in the garden.

–-–

Haymitch's words churned in my mind for the rest of the day. So much so that I completely forgot about Peeta's promise until we were sitting across from each other at the dinner table.

With every sip of my stew, or bite of delicious cheese bun, I felt his eyes on me.

I tried to suppress the blush that kept threatening to rise in my cheeks, but every brief look I sent his way had a different kind of hunger stirring deep within me.

There was something about this kind, gentle man that had awoken a part of me I didn't know existed. And for however long I had left to live, I wanted to explore it.

With Peeta.

–-–

The moon was bright and full that night, watching as I crept down the halls of the Mellark Mansion and tapped on Peeta's door.

I found myself drawn to the flush of his pale skin, bare in the moonlight. Rising up on my tiptoes I held his smiling face between mine and pressed kisses to the warm flesh of his lips.

Thinking back I can't remember how we got from his doorway to the tangled sheets of his bed. My fingers were dancing across his skin. They traced the freckles of his arms, the thin trail of hair that snuck under his sleep pants, the smile that wouldn't leave his face.

Even as he kissed me so thoroughly I forgot how to breathe I felt that smile etched into his cheeks.

It was surreal.

Reverently, he tugged at the hem of my night shirt, exposing every inch of olive skin with a sigh that betrayed how much he wanted me. He wanted me. The thought rolled around in my mind, wound its way through my body, tingled in the tips of my fingers and warmed my core.

I remember the look in his eyes; they were the kind of blue that filled the sky on a clear summer's day. He felt like summer on my skin, golden hair knotted between my desperate fingers and that too-warm, sun-kissed feel in all the places we touched. But the way he looked at me as he kissed my breasts, tugged my nipple between his teeth and drew moans from my throat I hadn't known I was capable of producing… It was a look that had my pulse racing and my insides clenching in anticipation of some kind of promised miracle. And something else, I wasn't sure at the time.

He moved his way down my body, fingers skimming my sides to rest on my thighs. They pulled them apart so he could rest between my legs.

I was exposed, totally vulnerable, and yet I'd never felt more at ease. Warm breaths puffed over the sensitive flesh of my thighs and thick fingers tugged at one corner of my underpants. I nodded in response to the unspoken question.

Peeta reared back onto his knees, pulling my panties as he went.

In the darkness of the room I felt his eyes roving my body. I wanted to feel awkward, to feel like he was judging me, but the soft circling of his thumbs on my ankles and the rise and fall of his shoulders stopped that. He wanted me. He was seeing all of me, drinking it all in and he still wanted me.

With a whine I nudged my knees against his. The chuckle that sounded had a smile stitching itself across my face. But he complied, leaning back down between my thighs, breath skittering across the apex of my thighs.

One finger traced the line of my slit and it surprised me how wet I already was. The liquid proof of the way this man made me feel glistened on his fingertips. With a squeeze of his other hand around my hip, he leant in to taste me. The first swipe of his tongue against my clit had pleasure swooping low within me. Moans fell from my lips with each firm pass of his tongue on that swollen nub.

The hand between my thighs further parted my folds and two fingers dipped into my entrance. I gasped as they sunk to the first knuckle, then the next and the next. All the while his tongue and mouth stayed firm on my clit, pushing and pulling and driving my mind on a tailspin of pleasure.

"Peeta!"

In the otherwise quiet of the night I felt like my voice echoed off the stark white walls of his room. Over the mound of hair below I could see the corner of his lips lift in a satisfied smirk as the pleasure mounted to an almost agonising pulse, tearing through me and tensing my limbs in anticipation of a terrifying, wonderful release.

With intent fingers and lips he worked me harder, driving me to the edge and fixing me with a gaze of complete devotion.

Turning I screamed my ultimate high into a pillow. My legs quivered over his shoulders, lungs ached in their search for breath and my mind splintered into a thousand fragments. I grasped for those pieces of myself as I came down from the orgasm but all I could cling onto was the sickening realisation that this boy was already in too deep, and I was going to shatter his precious heart.

–-–

Selfish.

In the aftermath I decided my tombstone should read:

Here Lies Katniss Everdeen

Eighteen Years Old

Selfish

Do not mourn, she did nothing for you.

–-–

Despite the truth of Haymitch's words and the awareness of Peeta's future, I couldn't stop what was happening between us. I kept going back to him. I was addicted to the swoop of my stomach as he showered my cheeks with kisses over steaming mugs of tea, the feel of our sweat slicked skin in the night as we tangled our bodies in the sheets, the golden smile that anointed his face whenever he saw me.

We didn't have sex, I said I wasn't ready, but really that was me selfishly trying to hold something back from him, like I was protecting him from giving me everything. But we did most everything else and I found a secret part of me wishing I could live in a world where we had the chance to explore our bodies and desires without the lingering cloud of my role in this family hanging over us.

Two weeks after I first went to his room, two weeks of secret touches and night-time visits I found myself wanting something I never had before.

"Peeta?" I walked my fingers across his naked chest, swirling one over the rose pink of his nipple.

He groaned a yes, his arm slung around my shoulders as I curled into his side. I could still feel my arousal leaking out of me from where he had just given me a second orgasm for the night.

My fingers walked further down his abdomen to the fine trail of blond hair that snuck under the line of his sheet. I flirted with the idea of just grasping his cock between my hands and sinking down on top of him.

But no, I couldn't.

Instead I asked "Can I suck you?"

His laughter was loud and bright and had a blush spreading across my face in no time.

He must have sensed my embarrassment because he tilted my chin to his and searched my eyes, a smile lilting his lips.

"You can do anything to me that you want," his voice was low, serious despite the laughter still dancing in his eyes, "I'm yours."

I looked away, worried to show that I wished he wouldn't say things like that.

"Okay."

Moving to straddle him I leant in and kissed his lips, pushing my tongue against the seam, begging him to let me in. He obliged and I slid my tongue along the perfect line of his teeth, nibbled on his plump bottom lip. I could feel his erection pressing against my backside and I reached one hand behind me to touch it. Just lightly, just a little promise of what was to come.

After releasing his lips with a long moan I moved down his body and dragged the sheet with me, exposing all of him to my eyes.

Peeta was beautiful.

Kneeling between his parted thighs I pulled my hair to one side, but the long strands tickled the inside of one of his thighs. I looked up to see wide eyes, his lip caught between his teeth in anticipation.

With a tentative touch I held his cock between my hands and looked at it: the bulbous head, the veins protruding from the skin. I licked over the tip and was rewarded with a groan.

I felt a bit like my sister's stupid cat, lapping at the tight skin in short strokes. I was sure I looked silly but the sounds coming from Peeta's mouth elicited a warm feeling across my body.

Feeling surer of myself I stroked the length of him with my tongue, from the tip to the base and back again in long, even licks. Oh god his moans were like music to my eyes.

Taking him between my hands I tucked my teeth behind my lips – a trick I'd overhead some Seam girl whisper about as she detailed her adventures at the slag heap – and wrapped my lips around the head of him.

"Fuck, Katniss," my name ended on a hiss and, peeking through my eyelashes, I could see the clench of his jaw, the fat black of his eyes memorising my every move.

He was too long to take all into my mouth so I used my hands at the base as I bobbed my head, swirling my tongue to add some wetness and make it easier to move.

His hands clenched and unclenched by his thighs and I found one of my hands wandering to the sac that hung below, taking it lightly in my palm and tentatively squeezing.

A string of unintelligible words spewed forth from his mouth and if I weren't otherwise preoccupied I would have smiled. He was enjoying this.

I pulled away for a moment, desperate for breath, but kept one fist pumping his shaft, going faster as I watched the clench of his thigh muscles, his abdomen, the strain on his face.

Through the fog of pleasure I could still see that look of awe in eyes, the one that made my insides twist in joy and fear.

Closing my mouth over him once again I tried to take him further into my mouth, stopping only when I felt him hit the back of my throat. One of his hands moved to the back of my head and wound its way through the black strands. I hummed over the velvet skin of his cock as he tugged lightly at the strands, the mixture of pain and pleasure shooting to my core.

The sounds he was making grew frantic, more desperate, a plea of "Katniss – I'm almost – I'm about to – Katniss, oh fuck, Katniss!"

I felt his semen shoot into the back of my throat, warm and salty and not entirely pleasant. But I swallowed it all, a part of him inside me. Wiping a hand over my mouth after he sagged into the bed, cock becoming limp between my hands, I looked up at the contended smile on his face.

"C'mere," his voice was sleepy as he curled a finger at me.

I fell down beside him feeling proud and satisfied. I'd never done that before.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush against his naked skin. I reached down as much as I could and pulled the sheets over us.

"That was amazing."

I nodded, already drifting into sleep with the feel of his fingers drawing patterns in my skin.

"Katniss?"

I mumbled a response, the haze of dreamland clouding my mind.

"Nevermind."

If I hadn't felt like I was going to fall asleep in the next second, I would have asked him to go on, but I mumbled a sleepy "Okay," and was sound asleep only moments later.

–-–

One morning – these weeks all blur together in my mind, a string of blissful, wonderful moments with Peeta in his bed or in the garden – I was sneaking out of his room to head back to mine, having forgotten to bring my work uniform the night before.

We'd showered together and my hair was dripping wet, the flush of orgasm still fresh on my face and I was wrapped only in a large fluffy towel.

No one was ever awake in this household as early as we were but that particular morning Mrs Mellark had gotten up early for some work call and happened to be stalking down the corridor just as I was closing Peeta's door behind me.

I paused, frozen under her stolen gaze.

Blue eyes shifted from my wet hair to the peak of my cleavage and down to my bare feet.

I felt my stomach roll as the smirk drifted onto her lips, cruel in its assumption of her fulfilled prediction.

"I'd suspected you were sleeping with one of my boys," her voice was icy, "But Peeta? Now there's a surprise."

I couldn't respond – 'It isn't like that!' I wanted to say, or 'We haven't even had sex.' But I was silent, lips shut tight.

"I'll tell them to add a pregnancy shot to your check up this week at the hospital."

A blush spread all the way to the tips of my ears.

"We wouldn't want any 'tomfoolery' between you to jeopardise your role in this household, now would we?"

I could only nod my agreement. She was right. I would lose my contract; have to pay back my salary thus far. That would be the worst outcome imaginable.

But we weren't having sex, so I pushed down the rising guilt with that one piece of knowledge Mrs Mellark didn't have.

She nodded curtly and continued storming down to her room.

I looked back at Peeta's door, hoping that he hadn't heard any of that exchange, and then I scurried off to my room to get ready for the day.

–-–

Another night we were sitting around the dining room table as Rafferty regaled us with some story from work. I couldn't tell you a word he was saying – Peeta was dragging the tip of his boot across my ankle and sending me promising, heated looks over the glass of dark wine in his hand.

My thoughts were so filled with images of his tongue on my clit, his fingers inside me that I was worried they were going to spill onto the table.

"Hey, Peet?" Rye's voice startled me out of my dirty thoughts, "You coming out with us tonight?"

The elder brothers had matching smirks on their faces as their gazes flickered between Peeta and me.

In all the time I'd lived with the Mellarks, not once had I seen Peeta go out with his brothers, even before most of his nights were spent delivering me countless orgasms in his bed.

He seemed to be just as confused as he sputtered over a bite of perfectly braised rabbit meat.

"Um, probably not?" His words skewed up into a question, eyebrows furrowed.

"Aw damn little brother," Rafferty put on some exaggerated pout, eyes cutting across to Rye.

The latter snickered and I narrowed my eyes at both.

"It's a shame your night-time calendar is so," Rye looked straight at me, "Full."

Across the table I heard Peeta slam his cutlery, but before he could get a word out Mrs Mellark was coughing politely and shaking her head, lips pursed in amusement.

"Now, now boys, no need to be jealous," she arched an eyebrow at me, "Maybe you can have the next one."

It took all the willpower I could muster not to let my expression break in that moment. I somehow felt like it would be a loss to let her know that her words affected me. It shouldn't have mattered. I was just Peeta's property and despite how much I enjoyed our time together I couldn't think of it as anything but. One day I was going to die for this family.

I looked over at Peeta. The firm set of his lips contrasted the desperation of his gaze, the apology in those blue wells as though I deserved better, as though he hoped, pleaded I knew I was something more than just his fuck-toy.

If anything, that look broke me more than anything Mrs Mellark could ever say.

–-–

Peeta's breath was hot on my skin.

"Katniss," the hiss of it curled in the curve of my ear; a pleasure soaked pant in time with my fist over his cock. We were pressed against each other, my leg thrown over his waist as I pumped him. The bulbous head of his cock would hit my clit every now and again sending a glorious spark galloping through me.

My sweat-slicked breasts pushed against his chest. Just one slip and he'd be inside me. He mouthed at my ear, teeth nipping at my earlobe, tongue tracing the shell and I moaned loud into the night.

–-–

I was pushed against the wall of the shower, the cool, white tiles against my back and Peeta's warm chest at my front. My legs were wrapped around his waist, three of his fingers thrust inside me, his cock trapped between us.

The water sprayed over his blond waves, his forehead, clumped his eyelashes. He grunted as his fingers filled me over and over. His thighs tensed under me in the effort to hold me up.

I watched him as my body tightened in anticipation. My hands gripped his shoulders, my heels dug into his ass.

The sounds of my screams as I came were lost to the pounding of the water on the glass.

I sagged against the wall, legs trembling, and watched as Peeta fisted himself, as white jets spurted over his fingers and washed down the drain.

–-–

I gripped the windowsill and watched the first fingers of sunrise crawl over the edge of the sky.

Peeta's arms wound around my stomach and he kissed along the line of my neck, behind my eye.

Naked, we watched the dawn come. One palm rose to cup my breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I felt his sigh across my cheek, his growing erection against my ass.

But we stayed that way, my fingers teasing the skin of his forearm, curled in his embrace, watching as the day tried to tempt us away from all that the night before had brought us.

It became harder every day.

–-–

It's when everything started to go wrong that all my memories become clear.

Mrs Mellark had invited the Undersee's over for dinner and talked about it almost every night for a week. Peeta would roll his eyes at me across the table and I'd try not to giggle.

Later in bed he'd tell me his mother had been trying to get in with the Mayor for years but the conversation would be lost somewhere between his lips on my neck and my fingers digging into his shoulders as I came.

The day of the anticipated dinner I didn't see Peeta until Mrs Mellark was calling us down to the entrance room. He had a shaky smile on his lips and I sent a questioning look his way, but he didn't get a chance to respond.

Mrs Mellark turned to me as I entered the room and raised an eyebrow, "Oh, Katniss. I forgot to tell you that you'll be eating with the kitchen staff tonight."

It was the first time since I'd arrived that I had been told to do so and I struggled to keep the confusion off my face.

She reached out and placed one perfectly manicured claw on Peeta's shoulder, "We don't want any distractions" she raised an eyebrow at me, "tonight."

I looked over at Peeta but he couldn't meet my eyes so instead I simply nodded and walked off, head held high like it didn't bother me at all.

I didn't really know the kitchen staff – a group of actual employees rather than donors. If the eye roll as I walked in was any indication, they weren't all that keen to get to know me. Likely most of them were people who had tried to be donors and either didn't have a match or failed a test. They only accepted you if you scored over a seven and some families wouldn't take less than a ten.

Scowling, I grabbed a cheese bun and fell into the seat closest to the dining room. Part of me wanted to know exactly what was going on in that room, why I wasn't allowed to be there. Though a sinking feeling in my gut told me I already knew. One of the very first conversations I had with this family was about the Mayor's daughter, Madge.

Before I ended up in this mess, I'd stayed alive by hunting, gathering and trading. Gale and I used to trade strawberries with Madge. They were her favourite and she'd always smile kindly every time I knocked on her door, even with Gale's surly frown.

In another life I feel like we could have been friends. She was so unlike all the other Merchant girls I'd met who would send dirty looks my way as I made my way through town.

But Madge looked at me as though she couldn't have wanted anyone else to be knocking on her door in the early morning.

A loud, booming laugh – unmistakeably Mr Mellark's – sounded from the dining room and I strained my ears to catch the pieces of conversation that floated through.

The food on my plate went cold as I listened, the kitchen staff left to go do their duties and with my ear pressed against the door I could make out almost every word.

All throughout the conversation Mrs Mellark dropped hints about how lovely Madge was looking, how she hadn't noticed her attached to anyone, how Peeta was also single.

"Well, he's having a bit of fun with our current donor," she laughed, "But she won't be around forever!"

A clattering of forks, a cry of "Peeta!" a loud, rather unfunny joke told by Mr Mellark. Silence. Chatter. Mrs Undersee commenting on how lovely the food was, the service, the home. Rye and Rafferty describing in detail their jobs to the Mayor as though he would be impressed by their mundane lives. Not a word from Peeta. Silence.

–-–

I left before the end, not being able to take any more of it. Peeta should date a girl like Madge. A girl with a life ahead of her. I don't know what he was doing with me and maybe some small part believed Mrs Mellark. I didn't know what was real anymore.

Cradling my pillow to my chest, I didn't respond to the knock on my door or the poor effort at quiet footsteps across the carpet. I felt the bed dip behind me, the familiar weight of Peeta's warm body curled around me and his breath puffed across my neck.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," his voice was quiet.

Of course he knew I stayed to listen.

I wanted to reply and tell him it was fine, that it didn't matter, that I didn't matter.

He kissed my shoulder and my traitorous body warmed at the touch even as I huddled further into myself. But he moved in closer, wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed a path up my neck. His words dripped into the shell of my ear, pooled in my core and ignited my hunger.

"Let me please you."

I didn't say anything but I let myself relax a little further into his touch, too desperate and too selfish to know better. I wanted him to make it up to me, to soothe the pain that had sliced my chest at his mother's words.

A rough palm fell to my hip, slithered under the hem of my cotton nightshirt, drawing it up my body as it moved. As that palm cupped my breast, massaged it gently, the other wove it's fingers in my hair, tugging my head and pulling me back so Peeta could press his lips to mine. I succumbed so easily to his subtle commands. His tongue traced the seam of my lips and I let him in, let him taste the cavity of my mouth and map the shape of my teeth, let him draw moans from deep within me.

His hands encouraged me to roll onto my back, limbs spread wide and willing. Peeta moved on top of me and I couldn't resist curling one leg around his hip to draw his pelvis against mine. He nipped at my lip in punishment but then I was groaning as he rolled his hips, the length of his erection hitting right there.

"Oh, Peeta!"

My other leg joined the first, drawing his cock as close to me as I could – only our underpants standing in the way of where I felt we both really wanted to be.

Though it seemed Peeta had other plans.

Pulling us into a seated position he tugged the nightshirt the rest of the way off my body. My eyes closed as his lips brushed against my cheek, forehead, the corner of my jaw, the hollow of my throat. His legs were thrown out wide while mine still curled around his waist as we sat in the centre of my bed.

Peeta dipped his head to take one dusky nipple in his mouth. My teeth sunk into my bottom lip, chest pushed closer to his face as his tongue laved at the pert bud. One had rested against the swell of my backside and the other traced swirls across my exposed breast.

My whole body felt loose, exhausted and excited in a single breath. I wanted to ravish him, to tear his clothes off and hold his hips like a vice between my thighs as he fucked me. But I was too tired, too sad. So I sat like a rag doll in his lap, eyes barely able to focus, moans slipping by unmonitored as he worshipped my body.

Hands coming to my waist, he lifted me off him. I sat confused as he moved back to sit against the pillows, legs still out in a 'V' until he patted the spot between them. On my knees I moved towards him, thinking perhaps it was his turn now, I could see the bulge of his erection through his sleep pants. Instead once I was positioned between his legs, he grabbed my hips and turned me around so my back was against his chest.

My head rolled back against his shoulder and I looked up to see him blinking down at me, a smile resting quietly on his lips. Feeling a blush spreading across my face, I looked away and curled my fingers over the width of his thighs. I felt a laugh puff across my cheek but then his hands were gripping my shoulders, rolling the muscles beneath his strong fingers. Tension melted off me as he moved down my arms, to the back of my neck and across my scalp.

"You're too good to me."

I felt him stiffen at the words, just slightly, but enough to make me regret opening my mouth and breaking the sweet silence that had fallen between us.

An arm circled my waist, hand coming up to continue working on my breast. The other fell to my thigh, tickling the skin with touches as light as a brush stroke. They pulled at the corner of my panties and I bent my legs, shaking them off and sinking back into Peeta's embrace.

"Oh, Katniss," his thumb caressed the line of my jaw and pressed a kiss over the spot behind my ear that made my insides clench, "You deserve so much more than what this life has given you."

Before I could respond his right hand was tracing the line of my slit. I moaned as he parted my wet folds, fingers working over the hard nub of my clit.

From this position I didn't know where to put my hands. One sunk into the firm flesh of his thigh, the other twined its fingers with his over my breast and together we massaged the heated mound.

I was exposed and cocooned, vulnerable and protected in this gentle man's arms.

The ridge of his cock was trapped between our bodies and I moved the hand on his thigh to behind my back so I could grasp it through his pants. I didn't have the energy within me to do anything more but the groan that slipped from his mouth against my skin made me feel as though that was all needed.

With a final squeeze, Peeta's hand left my breast to join the other at my sopping entrance. He leant over slightly and joined our lips as his fingers thrust into me, drinking in my pleasure-soaked cries.

I rocked into his fingers, urging them as deep as they could go. Mewls escaped through the gaps between our lips as my body rocketed towards ecstasy and I found myself desperate for something to tether me to the ground.

Peeta's tongue pushed against mine, our lips and teeth clashing and messy as our minds spiralled. I reached behind me to grip the hair at the back his head, pulling his mouth against mine, not so much kissing as just open, wide, moans turning into screams as he curled a leg over mine, fingers manic as they thrust and circled and drove me – oh, Oh!

Breath caught in my throat. The feeling like a tightly wound coil suddenly cut, exploding, sparking, my whole body alight with a kind of tired, satisfied energy .

It was magnificent.

I collapsed to the side with a laugh, body strewn across Peeta's legs.

His hand brushed the sweaty hair from my forehead and I looked up to see that smile, shy and kind and loving.

My heart skipped a beat and the smile dropped from my face.

That was not an expression I wanted to see on his face.

"Katniss," he began, "Whatever you heard tonight…"

He sighed, blinking down at me as though I would suddenly be the one with the words.

But I remained tight-lipped, terrified of what he was going to say but selfishly wanting to hear it.

He cupped my cheek and I pulled away a little, trying not to let the small frown that flitted across his face get to me.

"I want you to know that you mean more to me than that," his voice was low, eyes holding my own, "What we have here is important to me and I…"

Don't say it. Don't say it.

Seemingly reading my mind he shook his head of the stupid words that seemed to be manifesting inside it.

"If I met you outside of this, I would have asked you to have drinks with me at some bar. I would have taken you out to dinner and wooed you and brought you home and introduced you to my family and apologised after because mother probably still would have been a bitch."

I laughed in spite of myself. I could picture it, too. The life we could have had if the divide between Merchant and Seam, rich and poor, weren't so set in stone. I could imagine taking him to the meadow, teaching him to swim in the lake and having picnics with Prim's homemade goat's cheese.

But, I reminded myself, I wasn't in a position to be afforded the luxury of imagination, the luxury of 'If'.

With a smile that drooped at the corners I reached up to trace my thumb across his lips and felt my chest cave in a little at the expression on his face the moment he realised what I already knew.

"You can still have that life, Peeta."

He shook his head, closing his eyes, but not before I saw the first hint of tears.

"You should be with a girl like Madge…" I bit back a laugh, "Or, at least a girl who can give you more than a limited number of days, a girl you can have a life with."

I sunk my teeth into my lip and then forced a smile to my cheeks. Peeta looked at me and I knew he didn't buy it.

His hand moved to cover mine and brought it to his chest, I could feel the thump thump of his heart. To this day I swear I could feel it break a little under my touch.

Steeling my resolve, I pulled my hand away and spoke.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this anymore," but fuck, it wasn't what I wanted.

So it hurt when he nodded, adam's apple bobbing as he gulped back his retort.

Instead he said: "One more night?"

"One more night."

I sat up, kissing the corner of lips, lingering as if to plant a secret in that shadowed spot. Every smile, every kiss he ever granted another woman, would still hold that part of me. I pulled away and he looked at me, knowing heavy in his darkening gaze.

Cupping my cheeks he pressed his lips to that same secret corner of my own lips, and I felt it stitch itself into the skin.

I would hold the memory of him in every inch of me but for one last night it didn't have to just be a memory.

–-–

Waking to an empty bed with Peeta's warmth still lingering in the empty sheets was an early blow to my resolve to stay away.

He was too close, too attached, and Haymitch was right. I didn't deserve him. On the day that I die at the request of one of his family members, he can't love me. In no universe does he deserve that sort of pain. Especially not at my hands. He would get nothing in return.

A debt that could never be repaid.

So I woke. I washed the scent of him from my skin. I tried to smile as I passed him in the kitchen. We made small talk at breakfast. Mr Mellark gave us odd looks from the head of the table, a frown settling amongst the lines of his face.

I worked. I ignored Haymitch and made friends with the flowers and sang to the birds when no one else was around.

And at night I touched my fingers to my lips and wondered if he did the same.

–-–

It didn't take long for that plan to fall apart completely. And looking back, knowing what is to come, I wish I had been stronger even with what happened next.

But… knowing what is to come, I know I never could have been.

–-–

I was coming in from the garden mid-afternoon. The sun had been particularly hot and Haymitch was even more irritable than usual. He was sick of having me around and told me to go take the afternoon off.

I suspect that really he was trying to be nice, in the odd way that Haymitch can be. I thought I'd been masking the sadness well, but the old bastard could see right through me.

Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to deny that an afternoon lazing in my bedroom, reading books and writing ever unanswered letters to Prim was exactly what I wanted.

It was as I was pouring myself a cup of tea to take back to my room that I heard it – a loud clap of noise, a cry of pain, Mrs Mellark's shrill voice clawing at the walls.

Worried that someone had been hurt I put my cup down and followed her ceaseless cries. The closer I got, the more I felt nausea roiling in my stomach.

"You ungrateful bastard!"

No response, a whimper?

Bang – the sound of something hitting the wall – glass shattering.

"You live in my house! You are my son! Don't think that sleeping with that – thatseam slut will remove your obligation to this family!"

The voice was coming from her office. I tread to the door, open just enough for me to see through. The sight was horrifying.

Peeta stood in the centre of the room, head hung low, hands loose at his sides, palms facing outwards, shoulders slumped.

"You look at me when I'm talking to you, you little shit!"

I couldn't see Mrs Mellark from this position but as Peeta looked up, his eyes flittered in my direction. He pursed his lips and shook his head in a subtle 'no'. But I couldn't look away. I couldn't leave him to face this alone.

So I stood straight, shoulders back and held his gaze for a beat before he turned to face his mother.

Her voice dropped to a growl, "The Mayor and I both agree that you and Madge would make a wonderful match and it would be in your best interests to court the girl."

"When will you understand that she's not interested in men!"

Slap!

The skin of Peeta's cheek flamed bright, the stone of one of Mrs Mellark's rings having left a scratch, already blossoming red with blood.

"You'll teach her to be interested."

Squaring his shoulders he spoke again, "I don't wish to teach her anything."

Another slap, another streak of blood across his cheek. He looked up, eyes pleading me to leave, but I shook my head 'no' and held a hand to my heart.

The corners of his lips drooped.

"When that little slut of yours is dead, you'll be begging me for this opportunity."

"Get out my sight. We'll deal with this later."

Without another word he left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He paused at the threshold, face crumpling, breaths coming in deep. I reached for his hand and tugged, pulling him after me, speeding towards the privacy of his room.

As soon as the door shut behind me I turned and held his head between my hands, soft as I could manage. The skin of his left cheek was bright red, the two lines of blood on his cheeks seemed shallow enough, only bleeding a little.

I directed him towards the bed and sat him down before heading to the bathroom and grabbing a few things to clean him up. My hands shook as the filed through the contents of his cupboards. I tried to take deep, steadying breaths before I walked back in the room.

Peeta sat still on the bed, eyes on the floor, hands folded between his legs. I knelt between his knees and with the gentlest touch I could muster, tilted his chin up and to the side so I could examine the damage.

In that moment I wished I could take this boy home to my mother and sister. They were the ones with the healing touch. I was clumsy as I cleaned the blood from his cheeks, swabbed the scratches with antiseptic, punched the ice pack to activate it and hold it against the side of his face as it already began to purple.

He wouldn't look me in the eye as I worked, didn't even wince. His silence was unnerving. I wanted him to scream or cry out or something.

Standing, I leant in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He had the icepack in his hands, I didn't think he'd want me to stay any longer.

But as I turned and reached for the door a quiet, broken voice called out to me, "Katniss."

I looked back to see his eyes shimmering, pleading.

"Please stay."

My heart thud at his words. My brain screamed no! But I could never deny him, not really. This beautiful boy who gave so much and received so little. Haymitch's words floated in my mind and I realised this is what they had been referring to – Someone had to protect those boys.

If I left that room, Peeta would break. Not because I meant so much to him, but because it would mean that he was alone in a world that delivered only cruelty. I had always thought that the pretence of life I had lead in the Seam was the ultimate horror, the greatest suffering. But I was learning that pain and suffering took many forms and wealth and prestige did not free you from that burden.

I wouldn't be coming out of this alive, but if I had to die I would give him everything I had to protect him, to show him that people were capable of more than just harm. He would survive me. I would pour into him every ounce of life and love. It would course through his veins and protect him forever.

So when the pleading "Stay…" fell from his lips, crawled across the floor towards me, I picked it up, cradled it in my arms and returned to Peeta's lips with a whispered promise:

"Always."

Our lips slanted together, desperate in their return. I felt his body return to life underneath my touch, as though our distance had been sapping him of his ability to move. In a way I suppose that was true. But as his hands moved, one to grip my hips and the other to wind through my hair, all thought except of that very moment left me.

The air was charged between us, pulsing in anticipation.

We fumbled with our clothes, too driven in our desire to consider taking this slow.

Peeta fell back on the bed, pulling my body on top of him. We kissed and kissed as though we never had before and never would again. His thumb caressed my cheekbone, the lines of my ribs – once so prominent, but now rounded out by flesh. My fingers swirled through his hair, across his pecs and to the trail of blond hair that led south.

We rolled over so I was beneath him, his cock in my hand, my legs wrapped around his waist.

I kept pumping, my breath coming in pants as I looked up in the well of his irises. His face was red, breathing harsh as he looked at me. We'd been skirting around the concept of sex, treading some invisible line to protect ourselves or protect what we had or I don't even know.

One of his hands dipped to find me wet and waiting, dripping in desire for him as I had been from the moment our lips first touched.

Peeta bit his lip, "I haven't done this before."

My eyes flickered from his for just a moment, "I have, only once, when I thought I'd never get the opportunity…"

I thought he'd be disappointed, but strangely sadness and perhaps a hint of relief crossed his features.

A nervous chuckle escaped him as he shifted above me.

"Okay, that's good because I might um," he brushed the hair from his forehead, cheeks flooding with a different kind of redness, "Need a little help."

I laughed too, suddenly grateful to have this moment slow down.

"Okay," I say, my hand still on his cock.

Peeta's eyes widened as I brought it close to my entrance, the feel of him against me already had my breath catching.

"Do I need a um – "

I cut him off with a shake of my head, "The doctors give me anti-pregnancy shots, so we're covered."

A breathless 'okay' and we both looked down to the spot where the head of his cock began to press inside me.

I still winced a little at the feeling of being stretched, not quite pain but the feeling of something foreign. He slipped further with a deep groan.

His pupils were impossibly wide and my gaze flickered between them as he sunk to the hilt.

"This feels unreal."

The words were tight and gravelly as they left him.

I somehow found the strength to smile, all the rest of my brain function focused on the splendid feeling of him inside me.

He smiled back and pressed a quick kiss to my lips before pulling part of the way out and thrusting back in.

At first there wasn't any real rhythm. Our hips bumped against each other in some awkward dance, he slipped out more than once and we fumbled, laughter bubbling between us as we both reached for his cock to pull him back inside.

But eventually we settled into the feeling, my legs wound around his waist, heels helping drive him deeper with each thrust. His fingers snaked between us to circle my clit. My hands wound into his hair, my moans pierced the heat of the air around us.

Unlike the first time I did this, I found pleasure pooling in my core. We couldn't look away from each other.

I cried out "Harder, faster!"

The sound of our slapping skin bounced off the walls, the slick feel of him on me, in me, had me hurtling towards the edge. I clenched my eyes shut at the feeling, as though all my insides were shrinking, coiling tight. And then they were released in a scream of his name, waves of pleasure rolling through me.

Peeta cried out and collapsed on top me, both of us throbbing at the place we connected.

For a moment we were frozen, simply catching our breath in the aftermath. But after, we rolled over to our sides. Matching grins plastered our faces, both from the satisfaction of release and the disbelief of knowing what we'd just done.

As we watched each other, the giddiness faded into something softer.

"Katniss?"

I hummed in response.

"I think I love you."

The sleepiness that had been settling over me vanished and I began to pull away, eyes wide. But he gripped my shoulders and kept his gaze on me, voice hurried in explanation, "No, no! It's fine, it's okay."

He sounded as though he were soothing a wild animal.

"You don't have to run, Katniss."

I let myself settle, but my mind still raced.

"I think I get it now, the way you won't give your heart to just anyone, and you're scared and all those things that make you who you are. But I'm okay with that, I just wanted you to know how I feel, that this is important to me, that whatever my mother says or does, I love you and I'm not expecting you to say it back, and it doesn't have to change things between us."

He was silent for a moment, watching to see if I was still on the verge of running, but the natural instinct had left me.

"I just want you to let me love you, for as long as I have the opportunity, because it's been killing me to be apart."

I leant in, kissed his lips, "Okay," and echoing the first time he kissed me, "I'll allow it."

The resulting smile on his face was shy and sweet and I don't think I'll ever again see one so beautiful.

"But…" I began, watching the confusion settle on his features, "Can we shower first?"

He laughed, hands driving to my sides to tickle me until I screeched.

"You little tease!"

I'd never felt happiness like I did in that moment.

–-–

It turned out that Peeta Mellark was a fast learner.

That afternoon stretched into the evening and well into the night. A stream of touches and gasps and yes, yes, yes!

In the morning we simply lay on the bed facing each other, sleepy smiles and fingers tangled in the space between us.

"I love you," he said.

And the words didn't scare me. They grew between us, blanketed my naked skin. I smiled, brought his fingers to my lips, kissed them.

"I'm yours," I whispered.

–-–

The house was empty save for the kitchen staff and Peeta convinced me to try having a bath with him in his parents' master bathroom.

"C'mon Katniss," he had pleaded, "I'll bake anything you want."

I'd been resistant at first, but once I saw the bubbles and the candles I'd run out of reasons to say no.

So there we were, dozing in the cooling water, bodies slippery, fingers creased.

Peeta placed kisses behind my ear and I traced patterns through the disappearing bubbles.

"Katniss," he whispered, careful not to break the calm of the room, "What would happen if you broke your contract?"

I frowned, thinking it over.

"I'd have to pay back all the salary I've earned so far and a buy-out fee on top of that…" I trailed off. To be honest I'd never thought about it, it wasn't an option for me.

Peeta stayed quiet behind me, but I could feel the questions brimming on his lips.

It wasn't a conversation I wanted to have. So I turned my head to face him, water sloshing in the bathtub, and kissed those questions from his lips. Our skin slipped, my hands moved across the light smattering of blond hair on his chest, his tensing abs. I twisted my body so that I could see his cock as it hardened in the water, the red head of it just breaking the surface as I brought it to life in my palm.

"Katniss," he moaned, the sound heavy and dripping. I loved the sounds that escaped his throat as I brought him closer to the edge, little gasps and pants and whimpers that told me he was losing control, losing the perfect front I had realised he spent most of his days perfecting.

These sounds were only for my ears, just for me.

I licked along the skin of his neck, brought his earlobe between my teeth and smirked at Peeta's resulting whimper as I flicked my wrist along the length of him.

My thumb teased the slit at the head of his cock where droplets of precum leaked in anticipation of release. The water slapped against my breasts as our bodies began to rock in the tub. It was sort of awkward but the feeling of being wrapped in warmth, Peeta's cock sliding slick through my palm was almost unreal.

He sat up, crying out "I'm close, I'm close!"

Leaning down I took the head of him in my mouth and sucked hard as the first spurts of his come fell on my tongue.

"Fuck!"

I loved making Peeta swear. The more we explored each other the dirtier his mouth became.

I sat up on the other side of bath, chuckling as I swiped my hand across my mouth to rid it of the last remnants of his release.

He reached for my ankle, pulling it towards him and cradling it between his hands. I moaned at the feel of his thumbs running across the tense lines of it, the pressure enough to turn the touch from ticklish to soothing.

Just as his fingers were moving further up my leg to massage the calf we heard the bedroom door slam. Wide eyed and giggling we stumbled out of the tub, grasping for towels to cover our naked, wet bodies.

The bathroom door opened to reveal a very amused Mr Mellark and I think I probably blushed from the tips of my ears down to my pinky toes.

"Perhaps, Peeta, you might think to lock the door next time?"

I looked over to see Peeta as red as a beetroot as he nodded his agreement.

"Your mother will be home within the hour, and I think, perhaps I can convince her to go out for dinner this evening if a certain son of mine agrees to ask next time he plans on using our bath."

It was the first time I'd really seen Peeta and his father interact. The elder Mellark's teasing tone was more in jest than any sort of irritation. I could see Peeta struggling to suppress his laughter while his father basically granted us a night of freedom. Even as we stood naked in his bathroom.

Mortification faded into some strange kind of camaraderie as Mr Mellark chuckled and turned to leave the bathroom.

With his handle on the door and voice lilting in its sincerity, he said, "It's wonderful to see you so happy, Peeta."

–-–

Peeta started to bring up my contract more and more. I thought I was getting pretty good at not being so oblivious, so blind, but every time he brought it up I'd just smile and shrug. Try and tell him that was just the way things were, I needed a way to provide for Prim. He'd frown and I'd kiss the lines away.

After that day in his mother's office, I was striving to give him happiness, only ever happiness. And talk of my contract, of who I was, what I was, didn't seem all that happy to me.

–-–

I undulated my hips over him. My clit pressed against his groin, a slowly building wave of pleasure building with each pass.

His hands loosely fit around my hips, content to let me control the moment.

Through hooded lids, I took in the lazy smirk resting on his lips, the eyes that roved my body, the way his chest expanded with every breath. I liked to pretend I could see the thud of his heart as it reached for me.

I'd never imagined intimacy could be like this, however you wanted. Some days, like that one, it was lazy and slow and we explored every inch of each other until we had no energy left. But it could also be quick, hurried, desperate, or somewhere in between.

I loved it all.

But it was more than just the physical intimacy with Peeta. It was the whispered words as we drifted to sleep, the look in his eyes as we woke, tangled, in the pale light of morning.

I placed a hand to my chest and felt my own heart reaching for him. Thump thump thump. Counting the days.

After, as we lay spent, I took his hand and with it, covered that same spot on my chest. His brow furrowed.

"This is yours," I whispered.

The corners of his lips drooped.

"No one deserves this heart more than you."

My heart beat loud, crying out at the nearness of him.

"Whatever happens," I murmured, "Just know that it's yours. In whosever chest it beats. It's yours."

–-–

I was in the garden, bantering with Haymitch over the best way to deal with the powdery mildew popping up on the roses when Peeta came bursting through the back doors.

"It's dad!"

His voice was frantic and as he strode towards me I could see the red of his eyes, the dilated pupils.

"It's dad, he's in the hospital!"

When he was finally in front of me he gripped my shoulders, eyes wild as they scanned my face.

"Let me buy out your contract, right now! I'll do it and we'll go!"

I tried to reason with him:

"Peeta, I'm under obligation to go and fulfil this contract if that is what is needed."

"I could never pay you back."

"I just can't!"

Peeta was practically yelling obscenities at me before Haymitch grabbed his arms and delivered that grave look I'd only ever seen sent my way.

"Let her go, boy."

I saw the fight in him whither under that stare, the realisation that there was nothing he could do that I was willing to accept.

He didn't touch me as we made our way to the hospital. Wouldn't look at me as Mrs Mellark greeted us in the emergency waiting room with a cool smirk that suggested she was glad to finally be getting rid of me.

I thought about calling Prim. Gale.

But I just wanted Peeta to look at me, to understand.

–-–

A false alarm.

Mr Mellark had eaten something nasty at work and the result was something that looked similar to a heart attack.

I was granted more time but Peeta had revealed his hand.

If I died, he would have nothing, nobody that he cared about.

And he was determined to make me live.

–-–

We sat on the floor of his bedroom. An unfamiliar distance settled between us. I didn't know what to say.

Peeta picked at imaginary threads on the hem of his shirt.

"Why won't you let me free you?"

I looked up to meet an expression I hadn't seen on his face in a long time: anger, disappointment, confusion.

How could I explain this to someone whose sufferings in life had never been to do with hunger, desperation, and the mere notion of survival?

We came from two very different worlds.

"I'd never stop owing you."

He pursed his lips.

"But what if I'm doing it for me? Because I want you to live?"

I shook my head and stood up from the ground, curling my arms around me as some kind of shield against the anger I could sense growing inside him.

"Then I'd tell you that I gave up my life the day I agreed to be an organ donor, that all I want in the world is to give my sister the opportunity to live, to learn, to get out of the Seam and out of this cycle and the only way I can offer that to her is by donating, and if you buy me out of my contract I won't be able to do that."

"Dammit Katniss!"

He stood, stalked towards me. I took a few hesitant steps backwards as he neared, something about the look in eyes told me this was bigger than our previous fights.

"I love you! Doesn't that count for anything?"

I winced at the sob the choked his words, the tears that glistened in his eyes. But I had to shake my head 'no'.

I felt my own tears clogging my throat as I pleaded, "Peeta, don't please."

"No! You don't get to make me feel bad for loving you! For believing your life is valuable – "

I cut him off with a scream, "I don't have a life, Peeta!"

He moved two steps closer but I was backed against the wall, nowhere to move.

"I don't have a life, you own me, and you have to accept it."

With the distance between our bodies now almost non-existent, I had to look up to meet the storm that raged on his face.

"Is that what you think? Is that what this has been?"

The insolent brat within me found herself gritting out a definitive 'yes'.

Within seconds of the word leaving my mouth, Peeta picked me up from the wall and tossed me on the bed like a rag doll. I scrambled backwards on the bed but he was over me before I could move. His lips pushed against mine and I resisted tight-lipped.

"You're mine," he growled the words and I felt wet heat pounding at my core.

As his tongue traced the seam of my lips I finally relented to a kiss so thorough and demanding I felt my insides quivering. I wanted this, wanted him to realise what I really was.

Peeta pulled away from the kiss and I looked up into his eyes, inky black in the dark of his room. They flittered wildly across my face. I reached up but he was too fast, pinning my wrists to the bed above me.

With the other hand he reached down and tugged at the button of my pants, sliding them along with my under pants down just far enough to expose me. Thick fingers that had made me come so many times dove between my folds and I blushed at the knowledge of what they'd find.

"Fuck you're so fucking wet," he pushed a finger inside me and I cried out.

"So fucking wet for your owner."

He flipped me over and pushed my hips up, exposing my ass. The pants still around my thighs prevent me from being able to widen my legs.

"Keep your hands where they are," he bit out.

I obeyed as he loosened his grip, the hand tracing along my arms in some semblance of his usual self. But then it was fisting in my braid and tugging backwards as I cried out. In pain or pleasure I wasn't sure, the pull of hair on my scalp shooting almost directly to my clit.

I felt him move on the bed behind me, heard the tell-tale sound of a belt buckle and a zipper.

His other hand moved back between my legs and teased my swollen nub.

"I wonder if you'd be this wet for any owner."

He pinched my clit and I cried out. He shoved my head against the bed spread, silencing me.

"Maybe I should let my brothers test you out…"

A sharp slap across my ass and I half screamed half moaned into the bed.

"Maybe my father."

I tried not to gag at the image.

His cock slid between my folds, not entering me, just teasing me with the feel of him.

"But no, you're mine."

The final word was punctuated by the feel of him entering me in one swift stroke. I gasped out, searching for air with my face pressed against the mattress.

"You're mine and no one else can touch you."

After that the talking stopped and he thrust into me with powerful strokes that had his groin slapping my ass, the headboard slapping the wall.

Even in his anger he sought out my clit, circled it in the way that was certain to make me come. My whole body was alight, fury and lust scorching my skin. I could breathe, but only just and the feeling made my body weightless, heightened every other sense. Every inch of his cock inside me felt like bliss, even with the punishing rhythm.

All too soon I was crying out, body sinking under the weight of orgasm. But Peeta kept his hands on my hips, kept thrusting and I found myself coming again to the feel of him releasing inside me.

As we collapsed on the bed I felt him roll away from me.

I couldn't speak through the haze of two orgasms, the shock of what had occurred in the lead up to them.

"I'm sorry."

I heard the croaked whisper and turned to face Peeta.

Oh my precious boy.

Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"It's okay," I whispered.

I curled around him. Pressed kisses to his chest. Cried at the hopelessness of it all.

Because Peeta gave me life. And I couldn't take it.

–-–

We sat huddled in the gazebo at the back of the garden. Steaming mugs of tea and a tray of flaky croissants had me thinking of when I first arrived. Oh how things had changed.

But as we shared kisses under the rising sun, I couldn't find it in me to regret this.

I was Peeta's. Peeta was mine.

–-–

In the days after the Mr Mellark's incident it seemed Peeta was intent on making me come in as many ways, and in as many places as possible.

He sat me on the kitchen counter and knelt between my legs, tongue and lips and teeth working together to make me scream loud enough to wake the kitchen staff.

We explored every room of the house, kissed or touched or came together on every available surface. I returned the favour as often, and as enthusiastically as humanly possible.

–-–

We woke one morning, his hardness pressed against my back. He pulled my leg up, slipped it over his thigh and pushed into me, slowly, savouring every inch.

Stale morning breath puffed across my cheek and I wrinkled my nose at the smell. But turning my head I found him smiling down at me, still dazed, mind half trapped in dreamland.

–-–

Haymitch started letting me off early every afternoon with a tilt of his flask and a look in eyes that warned of expiration dates and young men in love.

–-–

The phone rang and it was for me. It was Prim.

She cried and begged me to forgive her. Told me that she was sorry, that she loves me, and that she understands but it hurts.

I wanted to ask her what changed her mind, to tell her about Peeta, but I didn't. I just cried back and forgave and forgave because fuck she was my little sister and that black spot in my heart finally felt full again.

She told me about Rory Hawthorne and school and how helpful Gale had been. I thought of my old friend and smiled, asked her to tell him I said hello.

And when we hung up, I tried to suppress the feeling of finality that settled over me, like some higher up was telling everyone to get their affairs in order because it was almost time.

–-–

I woke up one night to find the other side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch.

Pulling on a t-shirt of Peeta's, I padded through the house; only moonlight there to guide me.

I found him in the kitchen stirring a pot of hot chocolate over the stove, shoulders slumped, head down.

Winding my arms around his waist, I pressed my lips into his back and murmured, "Hey, you."

He startled a little, but squeezed my hands between his, already familiar with how silently I moved.

"Sorry I didn't wake you."

"S'ok."

I brought my hands to his forearms, tickled the hairs there.

"Katniss," he sighed.

Humming into his back, I thought of the first song I could and pressed forward. I couldn't remember the words, some ancient lullaby I remembered from dreams, my father singing to me as he rocked me to sleep.

Peeta turned in my arms. In the darkness I could just make out the fringe of his eyelashes, the deep crease on his forehead, the way his smiled trembled.

"Madge told me you have the most beautiful singing voice," he said, voice thick.

My face crinkled in confusion, "How does she know?"

His mouth tilted into a half smile, a sparkle of amusement glinted in his blue eyes. My breath caught in my throat: Peeta was truly beautiful.

"She said that every once in a while you'd sing on your way to the back door when you used to deliver strawberries, she'd always wait at the window when you were due, hoping to catch just a second of it, because the sound was so magical."

I tried to imagine them sitting around, talking about me, but it was too strange. Madge and Peeta existed in two different chapters of my memories.

"One day, I'll sing for you," I said, reaching my hands up to smooth away his frown lines.

"But for now…"

I stood on my tiptoes, wound my arms around his shoulders and kissed him. A gentle brush of lips on lips. With one hand he reached behind him to turn off the stove, but then was back to me, placing kiss after kiss on my waiting lips.

Pushing more insistently against him, I slipped my tongue into his mouth, traced the line of his teeth, met his own tongue and tasted. He sucked my bottom lip in between his and I moaned as his teeth nipped at it.

The sound of my pleasure seemed to spur him into action and he hoisted me onto the kitchen counter. I hissed at the feel of the cool marble countertop against my bare arse. Peeta's hands fell to my thighs. His lips worshipped the skin of my neck.

One of the hands slid up to my slit, traced the wetness that was only for him. I spread my legs a little wider and he reached around to tug me a little closer to the edge.

I gasped into his kisses as two of his fingers slid inside me. It amazed me that no matter how many times we did this, it was still exciting, still made my heart race, my breath catch.

Peeta pumped his fingers slowly, easing my body into the feeling of fullness, heat seeping out from the place where he touched me.

With one hand he pushed my back against the counter and I propped myself up on my elbows so I could keep watching him. His thumb circled over my clit, increasing the pressure but moving so slow I almost felt I was being lulled into a pleasure-induced coma.

My legs wrapped around his hips, tugged at the sleep pants still covering him. He chuckled and gripped my ankles, "Not yet."

Falling back on the counter I huffed in annoyance. But his hands were too damn distracting, too good at clearing my mind of anything but the awareness of his touch.

The fingers circling over my clit moved faster, harder. The fingers inside me curled and hit a spot that had me crying out into the darkened kitchen. I felt the heat of his body as he leant over me, mouth latching onto my nipple through the worn cotton of his t-shirt.

My hands dove into his hair, weaving the wavy blond strands between my fingers, urging him to keep going. I could feel the heat of his tongue as it passed over the hardened bud, gasped as he suckled on it. And still his hands worked, guiding me towards the summit.

My toes curled, eyes clenched, hands fisted at my sides. The feeling of it all so utterly overwhelming, terrifying as I found myself at the precipice, ready to fall but still tethered to earth.

"Let go, Katniss."

The words were all I needed, my mind cutting loose to let wave after wave of ecstasy crash through me.

I felt cold as Peeta pulled away, but too tired to draw him back. My sweat soaked skin prickled in the cool draft of the room.

Just as I was finding the energy to open my eyes and sit up off the bench, Peeta was back between my legs, leaning over, kissing me as he pushed his cock into me.

My body was still trapped in that post-orgasmic limbo: loose and pliable, sparking with the rush of hormones, sleepy and sated and so alive.

Peeta pulled back and I watched through sleepy eyes as he looked down at the place where his cock slipped into me. Slow, steady thrusts. His hands gripped my hips, pulled me down onto him. The look on his face was one of awe, so entranced by the feeling of being inside me, of seeing that it was real.

I tightened my groin to grip the length of him and he groaned my name.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you," he repeated.

Again and again until the words were branded on my skin, on my soul.

–-–

The day it finally happened began like any other. I woke in Peeta's arms. We sipped tea in the gazebo. Haymitch grumbled about something, squeezed my shoulder as he passed where I was crouched in front of the roses.

A phone call at lunchtime. Prim again?

I answered.

"Katniss," said the cool voice of Mrs Mellark, tainted with something akin to fear, "Your presence is required at the hospital. My husband has had a heart attack."

–-–

Peeta gripped my hand the entire ride over, his knuckles turning white.

He totally shut down, those white knuckles the only indication of how scared he was. He knew what my answer would be, and I was desperate to enjoy those final moments.

A heart attack. That meant my heart in Mr Mellark. Beating for how many more years?

I thought of my contract, a heart meant over six hundred thousand dollars to Prim. She'd be able to study. Move out of the Seam. I could picture it, her bright blue eyes, golden hair. She'd fit right in with the Merchant crowd. She'd get a job and fall in love and have beautiful babies.

Would she name one of them Katniss? Would she think of me as she held the child against her breast?

I didn't even get to call her before I left the house.

Tears threatened to spill as I stared resolutely out the window. I wouldn't cry. I refused to cry. Peeta couldn't see me scared. It was fine. In twelve odd hours I'd be buried in the ground, the memory of him still lingering on my cold, dead body.

In four hours I'd be where I am right now, waiting on the surgical table for the nurse to administer the anaesthetic so they could extract my still beating heart. Would they see that it was tainted? Tattooed with Peeta's 'I love you' until there was nothing else left inside it but those words?

–-–

We arrived at the hospital and after checking in and doing all the necessary tests I was granted one last hour to do whatever I wanted.

Mr Mellark, I was told, was on life support, slipping in and out of consciousness, waiting for me to die.

The only person I wanted to be with in that final hour was Peeta.

We slipped through the hospital, me in my threadbare gown, to find a space of our own.

Crashing through a door at the top of a set of stairs we found ourselves on the roof of the hospital. It was late afternoon, the sun was beginning to set, slung low on the horizon.

The sky was filled with dusky oranges and pinks, bruised on the far edges as it purpled into the blue of a night I'd never see the other side of.

I turned to Peeta to see his eyes reddening, glistening in the last light of day.

"Katniss," he croaked.

He tugged me into his arms, "I don't think I can do this."

His voice was so laden with pain, rough and ragged as he breathed me the truth he'd been bottling until that moment.

I hushed him, running my hands across his back, through his hair, as he sobbed into my neck.

I led him to a spot where we could sit and curled up in his lap.

The blue of his eyes stood out so starkly it took my breath away and I struggled to keep my voice as steady as I could.

"You have to go on Peeta," I said.

He shook his head, "I can't, I can't, I love you!"

I gripped his cheeks in my hands, stared him in the eyes.

"Listen to me, dammit!"

I swallowed the fat lump in my throat, the one that just wanted to cry into his arms.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you with all that I have and I always will."

Tears leaked out the corners of his eyes and I swiped them away.

"But you have to let yourself move on," I whispered, pressed kisses to his cheeks.

My forehead fell against his and the weight of his sorrow seemed to dissipate with the closeness.

"Down in the valley," I began to sing, my voice trembled a little, but I could never forget the words.

"The valley so low

Hang your head over, hear the wind blow…"

Peeta seemed to ease with every note, his breaths becoming longer, mingling with my own in the precious space between us.

"Angels in Heaven know I love you,"

My father taught me the Valley song as a young girl. We'd sing it as we head into the woods and he'd twirl me around with a grin on his face.

I hadn't sung it with anyone else, and I wouldn't ever again. This song was just for Peeta.

"Know I love you dear, know I love you."

When I finished we were both breathing deep, golden light spread over us.

Peeta shifted me, wrapped me in his arms so we could both watch the sunset.

As the sun finally disappeared from view I said, "This is it."

He hummed in questioning.

"This is the moment I'll live in forever. Every sunset you see, I'll be there. Okay?"

He kissed that wretched spot behind my ear.

"Okay."

–-–

The room was ice cold, the stainless steel table beneath me sapped me of warmth.

Nurses and doctors bustled around me.

I told Peeta to leave, didn't want him watching as I took my last breath.

And there I was. Ready to die.

As the anaesthetic mask was fitted to my face I was told to count backwards from hundred. A violet haze clouded my mind. My brain scattered through near two decades of memories, picking out its favourites, desperate to ease the terror building in my chest.

My father cheering as I landed my first kill.

My mother breast-feeding my new, red-skinned, still-blind to the world, baby sister.

"This is your sister, Primrose," she says.

"It's your job to look after her."

Mother and father twirl in the kitchen, he pulls her to him and kisses her smack on the lips, a grin so bright it feels like the coal dust and the empty fridge didn't matter.

I sit with Gale at our special place, sharing bread and Prim's fresh goat's cheese and slices of apple of which I'll never ask the origin.

Madge smiles at me as I hand over strawberries, asks me about my day.

Peeta. Peeta is everywhere in my mind. Tucked into corners, folded in to the creases. His smile, laugh. The glint in his eyes that lets me know exactly what he is thinking. His kisses. All of him. Us, together.

I'd never expected love, never felt I deserved it.

But Peeta taught me that even in the darkest places, love could glow bright and strong and true.

And then nothing.

–-–

I find myself waking to whiteness. The sterile lights of the hospital come into view. I blink in confusion.

I did not expect this.

I turn my head to see Peeta sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed, chin tucked into his palm.

When he sees me awake his face breaks out into a grin, tears brimming. He stands up over me laughter leaking out as he presses his fingers into my face, across my body, checking to see I'm really alive.

What is going on?

"Katniss, Katniss! We weren't sure you were going to wake up – the anaesthetic was meant to – but we got to you in time oh thank fuck – I love you I love you."

His words string together in one long sentence and through the fog of my mind I struggle to make sense of what's happened.

"What do you mean?" My voice is groggy, I barely recognise it.

Peeta shakes his head and kisses me.

"My father," his face twists, lips dropping the giddy smile, "I went to see him just before they put you under and he said to me, um…"

With weak limbs I reach a hand up to grip his.

"He said that he couldn't go through with this…" A frown creases the skin of his forehead, voice catching, "He took one look at me and I couldn't hide I –"

I squeeze his fingers between mine and he takes a deep breath, pushes through the lump in his throat, "He said that he'd let me down all my life."

I think of Mrs Mellark's hand across her son's face, how it likely wasn't the first time, of Mr Mellark's silence at the dinner table, of her claws digging into his arms.

"He said he wanted to leave his sons with a different sort of legacy."

Peeta falls silent as he lets me take this in.

My mind swims.

"He broke your contract Katniss," the smile ghosts across his face, "It means you still get the payout because it was him and not you."

"It means you're free."

I taste the word.

Free to return to my family, to kiss Prim's rosy cheeks, to live.

I look at Peeta and smile, know that freedom means him by my side, hearts beating in time with the continuous pulse of life moving forward.