His fingers closed over the elegantly curved doorknob, cold and smooth against his skin; when it turned easily in his hand, he breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't that he didn't believe his brother, exactly, but from the rust that had almost obscured the brass lock from his eyes and the cobwebs that had danced through his hair as he'd crept through the dark, it was obvious that it had been a long time since someone had ventured down the tunnel. And he'd wondered if he'd come this far for nothing.

But the middle Mellark brother - dictated at birth to be a troublemaker, deemed by the Scrolls to be an envoy instead of King - had proven his words true this time. Pushing open the door with only a slight creak to mar the quiet night, Peeta stepped out into the cool evening air. Freedom a balm on his tongue, the moonlight a glimmer of excitement in his eyes, he wished for a moment that the brothers' roles were reversed.

But wishes were never granted, and his role in Panem had been determined a long time ago.

Wrapping the long black coat he wore tighter around him, and yanking the black knit cap down over his blond waves, he crept into the shadows and melted into the dark. Tonight, he wasn't Peeta Mellark. Tonight, he didn't even have a name.

By all accounts, the evening was still young. People danced and ate and drank in the streets, a whirlwind of colour and action that he never saw in the mansion. It was normally all pomp and circumstance and obligations there, dished out genially by his father, or more threateningly by his mother. His brothers - so rarely at home with the roles they had been pre-destined to fill - were the ones travelling to the ends of the country, and protecting the borders from those outside. His own days were spent studying, and learning, and preparing for the role he had been born for.

But he yearned for the excitement that his brothers had experienced, yearned for a life outside the mansion.

A burst of laughter from an alleyway startled him, and he turned, blue eyes wide and bright in the streetlights. A curvy blonde caught his eye as she sashayed past, turning slightly on her heel to wink lasciviously at him. He swallowed heavily, but allowed his lips to turn up in a small smile in return. She giggled, then continued on her way - he couldn't help but watch her hips sway as she walked. No one in the mansion walked like that. His older brother's wife didn't walk like that, but then again he'd never really looked at her that way.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, Peeta wished he'd had the foresight to bring some coin with him, the smells from the restaurants tantalising, the bright lights of stores and entertainment venues beckoning him in. He'd never been in a District this late at night and was amazed at how alive it felt. He'd only been out at night in the Capitol itself a half dozen times and even then it had been short, accompanied by 3 security officers and his father, with very little time to explore of his own will.

But tonight, even if he couldn't buy anything, eat anything or enter into any of the entertainment venues, it didn't matter. He was free - even if for just a short while - and he would enjoy it as much as he could. The feeling of anticipation and excitement coursing through his veins was enough for him.

Her stomach grumbled, but that was nothing new. Katniss Everdeen couldn't remember the last time it hadn't ached with emptiness, the last day she hadn't felt at least a little hungry. Most days they were able to get by, making the most of the wild animals that crept into their district, harvesting the edible plants that grew in the small meadow that ran along part of one of their borders. With little rain, though, and an entire district on the edge of starvation, the animals had already been eaten or had disappeared into neighbouring districts, and the meagre meadow picked clean.

The sight of her sister's collarbone almost protruding right through her pale flesh that morning had spurred her into action. She knew it was dangerous, but it was either this, or death. And she would rather risk it than leave any of them to that eventuality if it could be prevented.

Wrapping her worn, threadbare coat around her, she slid close to the brick wall, thankful the moon was hidden for the moment behind thick, dark, clouds. She'd traveled as far north in Twelve as she was willing to go before crossing the boundary, and now was less than 500 meters into District One; but she could already smell, see, practically feel the difference. The air was cleaner, and the grass she'd crossed had been fresh, and full of dandelions. She could smell the smoke that meant fires burning in hearths, and the fragrant aroma of meat simmering in rich sauces. This was the reason she'd chosen to sneak through to One rather than Eleven - the bounty at her fingertips was much more plentiful than the fields of Eleven which - she'd heard - were as dry and fruitless as their own land. It was a far more beneficial choice to slip through the fence into One - so long as she didn't get caught.

She'd never ventured this far into a neighbouring district before.

Peering around a corner before stepping out, she was pleased to see a small bakery across the street, its windows shuttered and the lights off. If she could sneak out behind the back, there could very well be ruined or out of date loaves of bread dumped in the trash cans - and bread was easily concealable in the pockets of her pants and jacket.

Her tread was light, her feet barely touching the ground as she darted across the cobbled walkway. She ignored a burst of laughter from streets away, and breathed a sigh of relief as she she made it to the alley that lined the side of the bakery without being seen. The trash cans were exactly where she expected them to be - the same place that they were kept beside the aging bakery in her own district - and she mentally crossed her fingers as she gently lifted the lid. The first smile to cross her lips in days appeared as she saw the two abandoned loaves resting on the top, a little burned, but otherwise completely edible. She and mother and Prim could feast on this for days if they rationed it right.

Quickly stuffing one into the inside of her jacket, she held the other tightly in her hand - it was far too big to fit in the other pocket, but she'd risk it. A full belly for all three of them made it worth it. She began to replace the lid when what sounded like a gunshot echoed through the streets; her head flew up, and the lid slipped from her fingers with a clash and a clatter to the ground.

The lights in the bakery flicked on instantaneously.

With a curse, she shot out of the alley, getting caught up in a group of people throwing firecrackers onto the ground, dancing around the coloured snaps and sparks. She pushed her way through, but still heard the shouts, the accusations of "Seam rat!" and "Thief!". But she ignored them, and kept running through the streets, around the people oblivious to her plight, with the pounding of feet on the pavement behind her. They were gaining, and gaining and gaining-

With a thud, she slammed into a strong chest, firm arms clasping at her shoulders. She tried to shake them off, her heart pounding in terror, but all she succeeded in doing was dropping the bread to the ground at her feet. Shit.

"Let me go," she hissed, staring up into a face that was shrouded by the dark of night except for the bright blue eyes that stared back at her. She half twisted in his arms, to see two men still forcing their way through the crowd, which had suddenly multiplied with the pulsing sounds of music from a trio of men with instruments. "Let me go!"

He shook his head, before sliding a hand down her arm and interlacing his fingers with hers, drawing her back into the crowd. They slipped and pivoted around people, and though everything inside her screamed to get away, to shake off this guy who had a firm and warm grip on her hand, she found she couldn't. She only hoped she could trust him, that he was actually helping her, and not leading her into a trap.

Whirling them around a corner, her breath caught in her throat as she was pressed up against a wall; without missing a beat, he cupped his hands around her cheeks and kissed her. Kissed her as though his life depended on it, kissed her as though it was the last kiss he would ever have.

His lips were warm and soft on hers, his breath gentle against her cheek. His thumbs stroked along her cheekbone, down to her jaw, to the small pressure point below her ear. Her hands reached involuntarily for the back of his neck, and the tufts of golden curls that poked out under the wool cap; soon she couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She could barely stand.

She vaguely thought that maybe making out at the slag heap had some merit.

She pressed herself closer to him, the warmth of his body as appealing as the way he made her heart pound. His tongue slid along the bow peak of her upper lip, and she couldn't help the moan that echoed from her mouth. He swallowed it, quieting the night, and in the stillness she heard feet thunder past, then dim and echo down the street. With it, he pulled away, his mouth leaving hers with a final soft, gentle pull on her bottom lip.

"Sorry about that," he murmured, his fingers drifting down her neck, and she could feel her pulse hammer under his touch. "But I figured it would be the only way they wouldn't spot us."

"I, uh…." she trailed off, unsure what to say to the stranger in front of her. He was saying sorry for kissing her like that? "Thank you?"

"Is that a question?" he replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"N-no, if course not," she stammered. Then she took a deep breath, and slid her hands from his neck to his chest, pushing him away. It was as if it had suddenly hit her, how close they were in proximity to each other. "Thank you. But I could have gotten away very well on my own."

"I don't doubt it," he said, tucking his tongue firmly in cheek. "Probably better than if I hadn't gotten in your way."

"Probably," she retorted. She felt the tension in her shoulders begin to rise - she couldn't help it. It happened every time anyone made fun of her, and she had the distinct feeling this stranger was doing just that.

"But at least you're safe now," he told her gently, as if sensing her shift in mood. "What were they after you for?"

Shrugging, and figuring she had nothing to lose, held open the side of her jacket to show him the bread. "I was a little hungry."

"You stole it?" His mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Yes," she snapped. "I can't afford to buy food, so I do what I gotta do."

"But everyone in One is well fed and can afford food," he said in confusion.

"Yeah, well I'm not from One either." The moment the words slipped from her mouth, she regretted them. Not only had she admitted to this guy - a complete and utter stranger - that she'd stolen bread, but that she'd broken the cardinal rule of crossing over into another district. There was no way he wouldn't feel obligated to turn her in now.

Instead, she was surprised when he reached for her hand again, drawing her deeper into the alleyway until they reached a small gate. Pushing the wrought iron open, she realised they were in a small courtyard, surrounded by lush plants and a fountain in the centre, a man wielding a trident and only a net to cover his modesty atop the marble base. He gestured for her to take a seat, dropping beside her the moment she did.

Leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, he turned to her. "So what's your name?"

Her eyes had been silver, and they'd cut through him like a knife. They'd stared up at him, full of terror and fear and, in complete contrast to the other two, hope. Everything in his heart had bloomed and shattered and tugged all at once and he couldn't think of doing anything but helping her. From what, he didn't know. It didn't matter.

He'd never kissed anyone before, had simply gone on instinct. He hadn't really set out to kiss her senseless, her lips dry and faintly tasting of mint, and his heart pounding out of his chest, his stomach curling in anticipation. But he had, until the footsteps that had been bearing down on them had receded into the distance.

Now he sat beside her in an empty courtyard he'd spied as he'd walked through the alleys, waiting patiently as her hands twisted in her lap, as she glanced around warily.

"Katniss," She finally sighed. "My name is Katniss."

"And where are you from, if you're not from One?"

"What does it matter?"

"Because I want to know a little about the woman I helped tonight." Because I want to know about the woman who slayed me with nothing but her eyes.

"I'm from Twelve," she murmured.

Peeta closed his eyes, remembered the lessons his Governess had taken him through all through his schooling so far. The map of Panem - each District shaped almost exactly like a wedge in a pie, the gleaming Capitol a perfect circle in the centre - came to mind and his heart sank as he remembered Ms Trinket's off-the-cuff description of the final district. "Coal mining, right? That's your district's primary labour?" She nodded, and it made sense. Of course she was starving. That district was the most downtrodden of all, and for many years, the Capitol had simply stopped paying them attention. His mother had often commented they were barely good enough to provide the coal they produced, and little was done to make their lives any easier. "Isn't it dangerous for you to be here?"

Katniss rolled her eyes, resting her palms on the cool marble bench and leaning back slightly. "Absolutely. But faced with dying of starvation or taking a risk? I don't have much of an option." She eyed him warily. "What's it to you, anyway? You're from here, it shouldn't matter a thing."

"I…" Peeta trailed off, unsure of what to say. How could he explain to her that he was from the most well off family in the entirety of Panem, the worry of hunger and dying from it the furthest thing from his mind? "I'm not from this part of town," he finally said vaguely. "And I guess I just don't like to see or hear about inequality."

She rose, securely tugging her jacket around her. "Well, unless you're the King, buddy, there isn't much you can do about it. Now I gotta get going, before-" His hand shot out before he could stop it, his fingers looping around her wrist.

"Don't go," he murmured.

"Why?"

"Because…" We only just met? "I want to know more about you." I want to know everything about you.

"I have nothing to tell you," she mumbled, though he could see the pink beginning to stain her cheeks, the pink that had risen and bloomed when he'd first kissed her.

"Everyone always has something to tell. Even if it's something simple."

"Like what?" She challenged.

"Favourite colour," he retorted.

"Green."

"Favourite activity?"

"Shooting an arrow out of a bow. At annoying boys," she snapped.

He laughed. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Peeta smiled, bright and big, one he was ashamed to admit that he used on Ms Trinket when he wanted his own way. Katniss blinked, two torturously slow blinks, while her eyes widened.

She took a step or two back. "I...I need to go. My family will worry if I don't return home."

Katniss turned to the gate a half second before it was flung open.

She didn't know what was making her heart pound more; the way the blue eyed man's smile had practically seared into her soul, or the two imposing Peacekeepers in front of her, their white uniforms almost blinding in the dim courtyard.

"Thief!" One of them accused gruffly, grasping her arm tightly. She gasped, tried to yank her arm free, to no avail. His grip was tight, his fingers digging into her flesh through the thin fabric of her clothes. But she didn't say a word, refused to.

She didn't want to give them the benefit of her begging.

"You know what happens to thieves," the other said forcefully, pulling her jacket open and yanking out the bread from the inner pocket. "Straight to the stocks!"

Katniss swallowed heavily, eyes staring straight ahead towards the man who had already saved her once. She couldn't expect him to do it again. She felt them tug her backwards towards the gate, her gaze dropping to the ground before she stumbled over her own feet in the darkness.

"Stop!" His voice was loud and as clear as a bell, and she raised her eyes; she watched in surprise as he yanked the black cap off his head, blonde hair spilling out. "Let her go!"

The arms around her loosened immediately, and she fell to the ground, her knees weak and limp. But she heard the response clear as a bell, despite the roaring in her head and the pounding of her blood through her veins.

"Our apologies, Your Highness."

Your Highness?

Her eyes locked with the young man's, and they glittered in the night, the blonde waves about his head glowing like a halo. His jaw was set firm, his lips pressed in a commanding line.

Oh no.

How could she have been so stupid not to see, not to know? It was so obviously Peeta Mellark.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but we have orders to follow. You're aware of the laws, I'm sure," one of the men said bluntly. He was middle aged, with salt and pepper hair and a hard look in his eye.

"I am aware of the laws. But I am also the future King. And therefore I request that you release this woman. She has done nothing wrong but wish to fill her belly."

The Peacekeeper scowled. "Which leads me to my second point - she is obviously not from here, and therefore is trespassing in another district. And that, Your Highness, is something we can't overlook."

Peeta waved a hand. "Stop calling me Your Highness, please." But he sighed, his eyes darting down and locking with Katniss'. "But you're right. Something needs to be done. Organise...organise for her to be escorted back to her district."

"But Your-"

"That's what I want," Peeta said abruptly. "Send her back to her district. With an escort. And the bread."

"Master Advisor Snow won't be happy with this," the gruff Peacekeeper warned.

"That's my burden to bear and my issue to deal with," Peeta replied warily. "Now call for the District Twelve Escort and have them meet us here. Immediately."

Katniss knew the Peacekeepers didn't agree with Peeta's demands, could feel the frustration emanating off them like heat. But the younger of the two dutifully reached into a discreet pocket of his hard-shelled jacket, pulled out a slim communicator. She heard him mumbling, the words he spoke obscured from her by his back, while the older man stalked over to Peeta, hissing in his ear angrily. She didn't tempt herself to stand, or move, or run. Right now, she was being given free passage back to Twelve, with little punishment.

And she had the future king of Panem to thank for it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you," Peeta said quietly moments later, kneeling down so that he was at her level. Katniss raised her eyes, scanning over to the two Peacekeepers who now guarded the gate, before biting her lip.

"You've done more than enough," she told him. "I…I…thank you." The words trailed off in a whisper, and he felt his heart turn over in his chest. He hadn't done enough. Not nearly enough. And here she was, thanking him for a simple loaf of bread and a trip back to Twelve.

"Will you be ok?"

"I'll be fine," she replied. They both sat there in silence, and he wished he knew what to say. What he wanted to say - he wanted to tell her that her eyes were beautiful, that her determination was amazing, that he wanted to get to know her better - wasn't suitable right now, wasn't something he felt right in saying.

But it didn't stop him thinking about it.

He watched as the District Twelve escort finally appeared - a man unsteady on his feet, with a face shadowed by a three day growth and a jacket that smelled like it had seen better days - and discussed the task at hand with the two Peacekeepers. The man gave him a tip of the head that managed to be both honouring and insolent, and had to hold back a snort. If Deliah Mellark - the current reigning monarch with her husband - had encountered this man, he would have been sent back to Twelve with his tail between his legs and no job to speak of.

They left, one final glance from Katniss over her shoulder shaking him to the core.

He hoped and wished with everything inside him that he would see her again one day.

It took her less than 10 minutes to figure it out, but she knew it like she knew what time the sun would rise, knew it like she knew how her arrow would hit the bullseye she'd painted on trees with berry juice.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but you're not an escort," she snapped, whirling on him and pointing a finger in his face. "I've seen Twelve's escort, and it isn't you. Who the hell are you, and where are you taking me?"

He laughed, a throaty, scratchy sound that really didn't sound like a laugh at all. "Well aren't you observant. Of course I'm not a damned escort. Do you think I'd do something as weak-piss as that?"

"I don't know, because I don't know you." They'd left the cobbled streets of One behind, and were now beginning the trek through the woods that would lead her back to Twelve. "But if you're here to kill me, do it now and get it over with."

The man - apparently named Haymitch, from what she'd overheard the Peacekeepers say - snorted. "If I wanted to kill you, sweetheart, I just would have done away with the lot of you back in that courtyard." He brushed his hair out of his eyes, and shrugged. "I got no secrets, and I've gotta tell you sooner or later. So, if you must know...I'm a genie."

Katniss laughed; she couldn't help it. It fell from her lips, almost choked the breath out of her. "How drunk are you? You've got to be kidding me."

He scowled. "Does this look like the face of a man who likes to make jokes?"

Katniss studied the man from the top of his bedraggled, chin length hair the colour of soot, to the tip of the well-worn boots that ensconced his feet. His demeanor was hostile, his eyes narrowed. No, he definitely didn't. Maybe….maybe he was telling the truth. Stranger things had happened in Panem over the years.

"Well?" He snapped, folding his arms across his chest. "Done looking?"

Katniss shrugged. "You're just...not exactly what I imagined you'd look like."

He barked out a laugh, and the stale smell of liquor bottled for years wafted around him. "You spend a lot of time thinking about what genies look like, sweetheart?"

"No, but….genie's don't really exist," she insisted. Then her brow furrowed in consternation. "Do they?"

He sighed in frustration. "Quit arguing and just believe me. I'm a genie, and that's all there is to it. Do you want the spiel? We're made up of every star ever wished on and...oh, blah blah blah, who cares. For some reason, I've been assigned to you."

"Assigned...assigned to me?"

"To possibly my everlasting regret. Yes, assigned to you til I've done my job. Someone out there thinks you deserve three wishes, and I'm here to grant them." He reached into the pocket of his jacket, unscrewed the top off of a small flask, and raised it to his lips, swallowing deeply. "But, if you're gonna get all caught up on semantics, you can call me your Mentor instead. Sound better?"

She nodded dumbly. She didn't know what else to do.

She had a genie?

A/N - Thank you for reading! This PiP submission will be continued with a few more chapters in the near future :)