Disclaimer: I do not own anything but original content. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. Originally written for promptsinpanem, will be continued here.

His hands slide up against my dress, "I got your letter," he says with that patented mischievous grin. His mouth hits my neck before I have the chance to protest, subtle kisses pressed urgently against the side of my throat.

I lose myself in the lust for a moment, in the feeling I know I shouldn't be indulging in. After all, I know all too well what this quaking need could do to a person.

"Stop," I cut him off, pushing his hands off of my thigh and fixing my skirts, "I didn't come here for that."

He withdraws from me immediately, his eyes narrowing in concern as he takes me in.

"I have something to say, I just - don't be angry,"

"Are you taking up with that Hawthorne boy?" he looks up briefly, cursing lightly under his breath. "I knew he a had a thing for you."

I shake my head and take one last breath. "No, it's not that, it's not Gale. I guess I'll just say it, I'm pregnant, Peeta."

Three Months Prior

The square of our little town is lined with streamers. Every street is swept clean, and there is a whole group gathered by the station with warm bread and tokens of appreciation.

It is a rare day off, a sanction from the mining company that had got even Gale to gather in the heart of our little town. The recent head of the train company had come into town, and as a result every man who worked on the rails or in the mines had the day off.

That's the way things work around these parts. Everything here is about the trains. From the coal mines that filled the earth with a dusty black color, to the name of the town, life revolved around the rail system. Twelve, they called it, after the last train stop on one of the main lines that shipped cargo up to the North.

Most people live and breathe it, honor the train company, Panem Eastern, with the devotion they'd have towards their country. But not me, not Gale. We'd lost everything because of them. My own father had died on the rails, unsafe working conditions patched up with a month's salary to his widow. Since I was eleven I'd had to support my family to make up for what they had taken from me, and things like that weren't easily forgotten.

And now I was being forced by my mother to stand in this square and honor the guy who, indirectly or not, had caused my father's death. Peter Mellark, the recent majority owner, was visiting Twelve on the so called "victory tour." Rumor was he'd just bought out the remaining shares from a partner, some pompous politician called Crane, and had taken to the notion of checking out every one of his stations. We were last, of course.

Here in Twelve we don't get many visitors, much less wealthy men like Mr. Mellark. And so every girl in town, by their own volition or their mama's, had dressed in their Sunday best in a desperate attempt to attract the likes of Mellark as a husband. Why they wanted to marry some fat old man, I don't know. I had worn my everyday dress, an old blue thing in a simple, unflattering style that didn't match up with the tiny waists and bustles that were in style these days. Not that it mattered, of course. There isn't enough money in the world to make me bed, much less marry, some creepy old rich guy.

My thoughts are broken as I hear the crowd tingle with delight, dust rising from the ground as boots shift forward. Murmurs go through the crowd as the train doors finally open, and Peter Mellark emerges. I don't see him, mostly due to the fact that I'm not trying, but as he passes through the crowd to the stage I finally catch a good look.

My eyes widen at the sight of him. Creepy, probably. Rich, certainly. But old? Not exactly. He doesn't look to be more than thirty, maybe even a few years younger. And he's handsome too, as much as it pained me to admit it. With a strong jawline and bright blue eyes, he is more attractive than most of the boys I know, aside from perhaps Gale. But he is probably a dandy, has to be with hair more fixed than any of the merchant boys and not a thread out of place in his suit.

I laugh at that, the thought of all these townspeople gathering for some prissy little yankee boy. Giving Gale a sharp shove, I grab my friend's hand and yank at his arm.

"Come on," I urge him, rolling my eyes at the dirt in disgust, "we've seen him, let's go run some errands while the crowds are gone."

Gale shakes his head with resolve, "Can't," he tells me, his voiced laced thick with resentment, "the foreman said he'd dock any man he saw outside of the square."

"Fine, I guess I'll head out on my own," I shrug, releasing his hand and giving him a sad smile before fighting my way through the crowd.

Gale has to follow the rules now. He has a family he is responsible for, and since Hazelle had fallen ill any lost wages meant no food on the table.

I decide, upon further thought, to head to the woods before running my errands. It is a good day for game, perfect weather, and besides, with all the newcomers and excitement, there would be a lot of need for meat. I could probably make a tidy little sum, something to put away towards paying back the medicine for Hazelle.

I don't get much done, though. In fact, it's only a couple of squirrels before he stumbled upon me. I hear the crunching long before I know who it is. My first thought at the distant bumbling noise is 'bear,' so before I can get turned into prey I draw my body up and make sure not to move.

But then I hear the voice, unmistakably human.

"You know," it says, "hunting on this land is illegal."

I tense up at that word, illegal. I know immediately it must be one of the newcomers, everybody else knows I hunt in these parts. I don't think it will be him, though, because who would expect that?

When I turn around, I gape openly in shock. Peter Mellark, blue eyed and all. He's still wearing that suit, charming grin practically sewed to his face.

But then the fear hits me, because I know what he could do to me for hunting on his land.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammer.

He takes me in, his eyes sifting through my appearance, "It's alright, do as you wish. It's my land now."

I squint a little at him. "You shouldn't be wearing clothes like that out here, nor should you be out in these parts without protection. You'll get yourself killed." I intruct matter of factly.

He laughs, hands jollily placed in his pockets, "I guess it's good I have you to protect me."

I scowl at the jump in his voice, "Who says I'll protect you?"

The broad shouldered, blond haired man snorts, "It's nice to meet you. I'm Peeta," he says, "Peeta Mellark."

Present

He doesn't speak for a long time. Just slumps downward for a minute before speaking.

"It will have to be a fall wedding," he says suddenly. "You are going to have to talk to your mother, I suppose. In these parts, even with my influence, they aren't going to wed me in the church unless she gives me to you. If she doesn't allow it, I guess I will have to take you out of twelve and that will -"

"What are you talking about, Peeta," I flush, my mind swarming with the thought of what he is saying, "We're not going to marry."

His mouth rounds into an 'oh,' and he reaches out apologetically. "I'm sorry, I guess I just assumed...If you don't want it, if you're going to do that, at least let me take you to New York. I know a doctor that can do the procedure. There will still be risks but it's better than whatever potions your mother gives her patients."

Heat rushes through me. I hadn't even thought of that. Well I had, but only for a moment. When I had started this with Peeta I had always assumed that if it ever came down to it, if I ever got myself in this position, I would go to my mother…but now, I just couldn't. Even if I lost everything because of it.

"I'm not -" I say, "I'm going to keep it."

He backs up slightly. "We'll marry then," he asserts. "My child is not going to be a bastard."

I laugh at him. "You say that so concretely, Peeta. As if I'm just going to marry you because you say so. And you're acting like a loon, think about it for a moment. Do you know who you are? You can't wed me, we both know it."

"Oh, really?" he narrows his eyes at me. "And what are you going to do, Katniss? Raise my child in this place? Be an unmarried mother, have my kid listed as "misbegotten" in the parish registers? But you're right, I am not going to force you to wed me. And as for me, I can do whatever I damn well please," his voice sharpens as he moves to stand.

He's right. I don't have much of an option, not if he wanted me. I know the way the people in Twelve looked down on unwed mothers, and I didn't need my child growing up as the "reputed" spawn of Peeta Mellark.

But I don't tell him this, instead I just sigh. "I don't want to fight, Peeta."

"Then don't fight with me," he sits down again, his hand reaching out for mine. "I can't give you my family ring, not now, but I can get something made. We can buy a dress off of one of the women in town, go to the church."

"Everyone will know," I say, gathering my skirts and pulling my knees against my chest.

"Everyone will know either way, but if we do this it won't really matter. They'll forget, nobody in Twelve will care much as long as we marry. I will have the papers fixed if it really matters to you, and we can always go to the Capitol as soon as everything is arranged. How about that?"

"What if I don't want to marry you, Peeta," the tears I have been holding back since I found out roll down my cheek. "What if I want to have a shot at another life?"

He sighs. "I think we both fucked up that one, Katniss. Besides, I didn't think you wanted to marry anyway."

I never wanted to marry, he is right about that. I never wanted to fall in love just to watch my husband die, not like my mother had. I didn't want to watch my children grow up in poverty or work in the mines. But it would be different with Peeta, wouldn't it? Our child would have everything, and I didn't love him, so I couldn't really get hurt, not really.

"But what i-if I wanted it sometime down the road?" I can't look at him, so I drop my head into my skirts and let the tears fall freely.

His arms wrap around the side of my body and he pulls me effortlessly against me. I forget sometimes, when he's gentle, how strong he really is.

"Hey," he says with a little laugh, "marrying me won't be that bad."

I snort a little, looking up at the man I didn't even know three months prior. "I didn't mean that, you know. You're not bad to look at, nor are you cruel."

"Well that's a ringing endorsement if I've ever heard one," he chuckles.

I can see the sting his eyes even if he brushes it off with wit. I've bothered him with my comment, so I try to feed his ego a bit in an attempt to repair him. "You're good," I lower my voice, even though we're alone, "sexually. I would hate to spend the rest of my life with a man who I don't get along with in that way."

"Oh you don't even know that," he laughs at me. "I'm the only man you have ever been with."

My hand migrates to his leg and I run my fingers against his knee. "I know," I say with a lowered voice.

"Oh, really?" he asks, a glint in his eye.

"Don't start," I instruct. "Isn't that what got us into this mess in the first place?"

He thinks about it for a moment and then sighs. "I guess you're right. We should at least wait until the wedding, since we didn't do it proper the first round."

It hits me then, that this isn't another silly romp, a stupid decision I was making with a man I barely knew. This had consequences, this was forever. And if I really married him? Then what?

"Up north we'd never have a wedding past noon, but I know they like them later down here.

I look at him, angered by his tone, "How can you discuss this so casually? As if we haven't soiled our lives. We don't even know each other, how are we supposed to stay married?"

He shifts his body backwards, "Because," he says, "I don't mind the thought of you being forever."

Peeta tries to take my hand as we walk through the square, but I brush him off. Just walking through the town together garners a few looks. I've gotten a lot of those recently, looks. Ever since Peeta had danced with me at the Harvest Festival there had been quiet gossip from passing ladies and snickers from girls my age. I had ignored them before, but now? If they thought it scandalous that he danced with me, imagine what they would think when we abruptly married?

It's not that I care what they thought of me, not really. But I have Prim, and she would surely suffer from whatever resulted of this affair.

My heart grows tighter at the thought of my sister, of all the people I know in Twelve. Peeta is a yankee, a city yankee at that. If I become his wife, I will have to leave, spend the rest of my life with his people, in his world, eating his food, and living in his city.

I laugh at the thoughts swirling in my head. Years ago when I was worried about my sister starving to death I would have loved the 'problem' of being attached to a man like Peeta. Even if I die in childbirth or end up despising the man I married, Prim and my mother will be taken care of for life. Besides, it was my foolish involvement with Peeta that had got me here in the first place. I had made my bed, and now I have to face the consequences.

It's Peeta who suggests telling my mother. I beg him to postpone it for just one day, but he insists on telling her this afternoon. "After all," he says, "we don't exactly have days to waste."

I eventually concede, but as we stand in front of the door to my family's little two room cabin, I feel my resolve crumbling. The relationship I have with my mother is far from perfect, and she's hardly in a position to judge me, but I know this conversation will be more than uncomfortable for both of us.

My mother's face floods with shock when she sees me standing there with Peeta. One hand on the doorframe, the other on her hip, she gives me a look of bewilderment before pulling herself together.

"Why Mr. Mellark," she says, plastering that false smile on her face, the one she usually reserves for the sheriff. "It's a pleasure to see you, come on in."

Peeta removes his hat and allows me to go through first, shutting the door behind him. I give him a little smile as my mother sits us all down for tea.

"Thank you, Ms. Everdeen," Peeta says as my mother sets his cup down. "Without much ceremony, I believe it is pertinent that I ask you this. Your daughter, Katniss, and I wish to marry. As such, it is with all due respect that I ask for your permission and approval of the match."

My mother just looks at him for a second, her brow furrowing as she stares past me. "You want to marry my daughter...?" her voice becomes shaky. "Oh, Katniss, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"Mama," I say, using a term of endearment I haven't used for years, "I'm pregnant."

Let me know what you thought! Special thanks to dandelionlass for the beta!