A/N: This is my first Hunger Games fan fiction... I'll only continue posting this based on interest so let me know what you think! :) And the rating might change depending on how graphic things get later on.

"No suds," mom snaps as she shoves the pot back into me.

She does this so quickly and suddenly that the pot I just dried off nearly falls to the hard floor. The only thing that keeps me from allowing that to happen was knowing she would probably pick it up and somewhat ironically whack me over the head with it and proceed to yell at me for denting it. So, rolling my eyes, I rub it clean with the cloth again before passing it off to her.

It isn't my fault I wasn't doing very well helping out with the household chores. Dad had promised me that I could come out and work with him today, but I woke up late and found a note that said Not today. Your mom needs you. Sorry. They were scheduled to brand the calves today; even the men admit they could use someone as quick and strong as me. I've managed to rope and tie down a calf in five seconds flat, and I've only been doing it for barely seven years. Even the men that've been working on the farm since they could walk can't beat me.

So now, stuck inside, I've already spent far too many hours sweeping, sewing, cooking lunch, and now washing dishes so we can begin the preparations for dinner.

When I pass off the pot to mom this time, she takes it and puts it away, making her satisfaction at my job clear.

So, when there was a knocking upon the door, I nearly trip over the hand-woven rug in attempts to get to it. My mom, however, reaches it first and, after brushing down the wrinkles of her apron, pulls it open. I stayed a few steps behind her, my curiosity keeping me rooted to the floor.

And thankfully so, because Devlin stands on the other side, holding half a loaf of bread in his hand. He passes it over to my mother, who stares at it in wonderment as she takes it.

"What's this for?" she asks, holding it up and taking a whiff. We rarely see fresh bread around here, and to see a whole loaf... it honestly makes me wonder if he stole it. But where would he find the time? He was supposed to be working.

"The Buckleys had a loaf of bread they say are 'too stale' for them. This is one of them," Devlin responds.

My mom breaks it in half. It did crumble, but it was a hard crusted loaf of bread; the inside looks just fine. Torrin gave me a piece of fresh bread a few weeks ago; based on what I remember of its appearance before inhaling it, this isn't quite as fluffy-looking on the inside at the most.

"You know how they are," Devlin adds, shrugging. "Didn't question it. Figured you could use it."

"Well thank you," she says, looking up from the bread to him.

"I'm also here for..." he looks past my mom and catches my eyes, a grin beginning to form. It makes my mom turn around.

"You have chores to finish!" she snaps, trying to shoo me away. "Go."

I back up and away from the hands that attempt to bat me away, but don't depart just yet. "There're only three things left to dry, they won't..."

"You finish them before I even consider letting you go anywhere," she cuts in. "Only three, right?"

I scowl and storm off. It's at times like this I wish Kelton had been born a girl; then at least I wouldn't be subjected to this torture almost daily. He's had the opportunity to spend every weekend out with my dad and had since he was eight years old, whereas I only started going out when I was ten and was allowed to return whenever they needed an extra hand roping or herding. Sometimes, if there was an argument about who would do it, I got to muck out the stalls. Even then, while Kelton sometimes was taken from school to help out, I had to at least be out of class to help. Homework completed preferred.

But this? I can't stand this. At least, not with mom around perching on my shoulder like a Capitol jabberjay, analyzing and criticizing everything I do.

So I scrub everything clean quickly and efficiently, my only focus at this point being getting out of the house. I move so efficiently that I'm all done cleaning every dish and piling the now-dried and clean plates and pots on the counter space next to the sink.

"Done," I say, untying the apron she insisted I wear this morning and toss it towards the chair in the corner.

"Bedroom," she snaps, pointing to my apron.

"Really?"

When I look at her, though, I can see she isn't joking. So, scowling, I grab it and run to my room. Throwing it across the room, I let it flutter into a heap upon the floor at the foot of my bed. I don't even watch it hit the floor before I turn around, slam the door behind me, and hurry back down the hall. Mom calls something after me, but I don't even hear her.

Once I open the front door and step out, I see Devlin still standing there, waiting. He grins when I slam the door behind me.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" he presses, his grin turning into a smirk.

I scowl and begin to walk away, heading in the direction of the hill we always spend time together on. "I could've gotten out myself."

"Right," he drawls sarcastically, following me. He doesn't speak again until we begin to climb the hill that would bring us to our destination. "And I didn't steal the bread you just got for dinner."

I stop dead in my tracks at that, my chest constricting upon realizing the implication of his words. Devlin keeps walking, though, only stopping three steps later when he realizes I'm not following.

"Oh come on, Pip; when have you known anyone around here to waste their food?"

"You stole from the family that gives yours work and pay?" I respond, still trying to understand. They aren't even bad people; of all the stories I've heard of rude and borderline-abusive landowners, Mr. Buckley is virtually unheard of on any list of wrongdoings. Maybe he overworks the men during certain times of the season and didn't pay the best, but that isn't totally unheard of. Any misdoings against the men that work for him, our parents among many others that live in the workers' village on his land, are not enough to qualify stealing from him.

"Okay, 'steal' is a bit of a stretch. Gina slipped them to me. She stole from her own family."

My eyebrow cocks at that; at this point I'm not even sure what to believe. It takes me a moment longer to decide I don't really care. As great as Torrin is, and while his family is pretty good to the men that work for them, they aren't always as understanding as him. So long as he isn't affected too adversely by it, or his little sister doesn't call Devlin out on it and get him in trouble, I don't truly care.

So, shaking it off, I follow Devlin up the hill, finally reaching the top. The barbed wire fences are visible further in the distance, guard towers posted every few hundred feet between. They're occupied only half the time, just as the electric fence is only electrified for some sections of the day, but we've never wanted to risk it. Not even 'Daredevil Devlin' himself.

Once at the top of the hill, Devlin plunks down on the green mound of fresh, shining grass at the base of the big tree. As I always had, I leap right over top of him and onto the lowest branch.

"One of these days you'll kick my head," he complains as I climbed up to the next branch, where two thick branches separated and created a perfect spot to nestle in.

"It's been six years, I think you're safe," I drawl, rolling my eyes. He could be such a drama queen sometimes. "So why aren't you working?"

"Why aren't you? Today's branding day. Peacekeepers couldn't stop you if they tried," Devlin retorts, looking up from the ground up to me.

I scowl. "You saw me not five minutes ago; didn't the apron answer your question?"

He shrugs. "I just never thought you'd cave so easily. What happened to the 'you think you know how to rope? Watch and learn' girl we all love to hate yet somehow hate to love?"

I grab an acorn off the tree and whip it down at him. He laughs and shields his head, the hard nut bouncing off his thick forearms and beginning to roll down the hill.

For as far back as I can remember, Devlin has been in my life. We used to run in different circles once school started for us, but when I started helping out on the farm with roping, branding, and milking, he slithered his way into my life, befriending me in a way I never had anyone else. We have an understanding that not even his best of friends have, let alone any of the girls that would attempt to flirt with him could ever dream of. Since we were ten, we've had a comfortable friendship. We wander away from the quarters together to escape the craziness that follows our communal dinners so we can mutter treasonous things about the Capitol, we converse about the state of the horses, the cows, the chickens... we talk about anything and everything.

But in the last two years, when the relationship of respectful chitchat between Torrin Buckley and myself grew to a true friendship, the friendship I've nurtured and cherished with Devlin quickly became tenser. He always complained about how Torrin can't be trusted, that he'd sooner use our 'friendship' to get someone fired or maybe even publically flogged. Or worse. He went on to claim he'd sooner confide in a peacekeeper than he would a boss's child. While Gina, Torrin's younger sister, seems to have a thing for Devlin, he makes a point of keeping her at arm's length.

"If I'd been woken like I should've been, I wouldn't have been cooped up all day. You're so lucky."

Devlin laughs, the pleasant noise picked up by and echoing through the tones of nearby mockingjays. "Yeah, I get my kicks out of having a quota of cattle to brand before lunch," he drawls. "We really could've used you, you know. Kelton doesn't have the speed and aim you do."

I shrug. "What can I say, mom nagged enough."

He sighs. "Nagging women."

"I know." I grin. "They're a terrible species."

"Just you wait; you'll join them. It's inevitable," he teased. "It's a mother's curse."

"Well lucky for you..." I start to climb down the tree; it was getting too sticky for me. Once I'm on the plush floor of the hill, I sit down next to Devlin. "That's not in my plan."

"Oh really? You have a plan now? Does the Capitol approve?"

I rub my hand down the stickiest part of my leg before whacking him. "Only one more Reaping to survive. Given all the tesserae I've had to take, too, that says something. I think the odds are in my favour."

Devlin burst out laughing at that. "Well don't jinx yourself."

"I'm not. I'm stating fact," I respond, shrugging.

And then it was quiet. Too quiet. I could practically hear the peacekeepers I just took note of pacing about in the watchtowers. With the Reaping coming, they must be ramping up security. Wouldn't want a runner after all.

"Then just be careful."

Devlin took me by surprise when he takes my hand and squeezes it. He didn't let go, and for a second I wonder if it's out of fear. Fear of what's to come... fear of loss.

Fear of what may come to be.