Author's Note: So, this is my first attempt at another character's POV outtake. Honestly, it was a lot harder than I thought it'd be. It often felt redundant, but at least this should give you some insight into what Peeta thinks and how he feels. And hopefully it tides you over until I can pen the next chapter of The Morning After. The Mr. is on vacation, so I've been very busy with family time and then people getting sick and all. And I'll just say it - Tumblr has ruined me! lol

Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games, its characters, concepts, or any quotes that may be contained in this work.

Chapter 4 | Mystery, Horror, and Romantic Comedy: Outtake

-Peeta's POV-

"Dad, they're tearing! What do I do?" I am in an uncharacteristic state of panic. I'm usually very composed in the kitchen, but this is my first time making my dad's famous baklava recipe and it just isn't coming out right. "I only have a little more than an hour left and it has to be perfect!"

"Calm down, son," my father's voice replies evenly on the other end of the line. "It will be fine. Just put a damp cloth over the phyllo so it doesn't dry out."

I frantically search the drawers for a clean dishtowel then run it under the faucet before wringing out the excess moisture. "How many sheets do I put in each layer again?"

"Two is fine," he says calmly. "Peeta, you're not usually this worked up in the kitchen. What's the matter?"

I pinch the phone between my ear and shoulder to free my hands so can butter the pan with the pastry brush. "Nothing's the matter, Dad. I just… I just want to learn how to make it as good as yours, that's all."

He chuckles. "Peet, I don't think you've ever made anything bad. You're my best student. Why is this so important to you?"

"No one… I mean, nothing. No reason. Look, Dad, I gotta go. I need to concentrate on what I'm doing," I tell him quickly to avoid any further probing.

"Alright, son. I'm sure it'll turn out great, as always," he says, humoring me. "Whoever she is will love it."

"Dad…" I whine, grateful that we're on the phone and not at the bakery back home where he and my brothers can see my flushed cheeks. "Thanks for your help. Tell… um, everyone I said 'hello.'"

I can't get myself to specifically ask to pass anything along to my mother, but I don't want to specifically exclude her either. It's been over two years since I've seen her and only once since leaving Detroit have I spoken to her. Even then it was just by accident.

I had meant to call my dad at the bakery to ask him about his French macaroon recipe, but I ended up dialing the house phone by mistake. My mother answered instead. I was quiet for a few seconds, taken aback by hearing her voice and completely unsure of what to say. What is there to say? "Hi Mom. This is your exiled son. Are my brothers still alive?" Not that I'm still really angry with her. Having spent two years and 2,000 miles apart has allowed me to put some separation between me and the painful memories as well. I just don't really know what I'm supposed to say to her and that's saying something since there are very few things that can render me speechless.

Our conversation ended up being brief and superficial. I asked how she was doing and she reciprocated. I told her that I had just gotten my driver's license. She didn't congratulate me, but I was just happy she didn't scoff or make some snide remark about me being irresponsible or careless or spoiled, so that was progress.

Once the baklava is in the oven, I go upstairs to my room to get ready for tonight's get-together at Katniss' house. Despite living three doors down from her and giving her rides for the past month and a half, I've actually never been in her house. It's the exact same floor plan as mine, so I don't expect to see anything out of the ordinary, but it's just the idea of being invited inside her house that has me all flustered.

I know I told her I wanted to try to just be friends and I do, but I can't just turn off all the feelings I've had for her for the past ten years. If I could, I would have done it already. Yet, here I am, obsessing over a dessert that I want to make just right as if it will have any effect on her. I've learned that the way to her heart is not through her eyes, ears, or head. I highly doubt the way is through her stomach.

I throw on a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. It still looks overcast outside, so I layer on a hoodie for good measure. This is warm compared to an October in Michigan, but in Southern California, this cloud cover is what passes for harsh weather.

The oven timer still has about 20 minutes left on it, so I gather a few other pastries I had baked yesterday and arrange them on a platter while I wait for the baklava to finish. I peek through the window on the oven and tap my foot impatiently. Despite the trouble Katniss and I have been having trying to be "normal", part of me still wants to arrive at her house a little bit early so we can have a few moments one-on-one before Delly and Madge arrive. I'm masochistic, I know.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. When I slide my thumb over the screen to check it, I find a text from Delly telling me that she's still waiting for Madge to pick her up, so I know I have at least fifteen minutes depending on when Madge actually gets there. She's notoriously slow to get ready and she lives in the Hills. My chances are good I might get a few minutes alone with Katniss, if only my baklava finishes on time.

I mentally coach myself on things I can say – rather, things I shouldn't say that could set off any possible argument. Personally, I think she fights with me because it's easier than fighting with herself and how she feels. But I'd never tell her about my psychoanalysis. I'm masochistic, not suicidal.

The timer beeps repeatedly and I'm so excited to plate the dessert and head to her house that I forget to put on oven mitts before extracting the pan.

"Owww! Mother… of pearl!" I yelp, pulling my hand reflexively and putting my fingers in my mouth to soothe them. Luckily, I had only grazed the tips of three fingers, but they would likely blister and add to the collection of faded burn scars decorating my hands and arms.

I quickly grab a nearby potholder and use it to remove the perfectly crusted pastry from the oven. Once I have it cut and arranged on the platter with the other delicacies, I do one more quick sweep of the kitchen for anything I need – my wallet, phone, keys, and DVD. Check.

I was on the fence about whether to bring The Ring or The Blind Side. Girls love inspirational tearjerker movies, but I decide that endearing Katniss to a poor, struggling football player probably wouldn't work in my favor, so ultimately went with the former. Scary movies could possibly send a certain skittish girl jumping into my arms. It better not be Delly.

I ring the doorbell and wait impatiently in the cold, wet weather, using my body to shield the tray of desserts. When Katniss opens the door, she is stunning. Even dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, she is beautiful. Her face lights up when she sees me – or maybe it's the food, I don't know – but it's been a while since I've seen her guard down and that rare, genuine, effortless smile is enough to melt my insides.

"Whoa, when did it start to rain?" she asks, her brows returning to their usual furrow before taking the dessert tray from me.

Delly and Madge haven't arrived yet and I'm ecstatic to have Katniss to myself for the time being.

"I probably should have wrapped the tray in plastic or something," I say to try to get the ball rolling. Weather. That's usually a safe topic. "Didn't realize it was drizzling already."

Her smile returns as she lets out a giggle. "You know, most guys would come to a casual movie night with a package of Oreos or Twinkies. Only Peeta Mellark would come bearing homemade baklava." I'm starting to feel kind of stupid for trying too hard. She probably suspects that I did it to try and impress her somehow. Heat begins rising to my cheeks and I'm ready to try and make some casual-sounding excuse as to why I went the fancy route when she picks one up and bites into it. Her eyes roll back in what I can only describe as ecstasy. "Mmm… but who's complaining?"

I'm about to lose it right here.

The purring of a car pulling into the driveway pulls me from my trance. Madge and Delly have just arrive and my moment alone with Katniss is gone. Prim steps out from the hallway closet, slipping her arms through a coat, and I come to the realization that I was never really alone with Katniss. I'm suddenly not so upset with our two other friends who have just arrived, but I've come to realize that her momentary ease was probably attributed to the fact that her sister was here with her.

Prim leaves to go to a birthday party down the street, leaving the four of us to our own festivities.

As Katniss escorts the other girls into the kitchen to arrange all the food, she turns back to me. "Peeta, would you mind getting a fire going? It's going to be a bit chilly tonight."

I nod my consent, feeling a little like the odd man out. I guess that's appropriate since I'm the only man here. At least, I thought I was until I hear another's voice engaged in conversation. I run my hand across the mantle in search of the metal key that ignites the fireplace while keeping my eyes on the look out for the source of the man's voice.

When I find the key, I stick it into the matching square hole in the wall next to the fireplace and give it a turn, then light a match to ignite the flames. I catch a glimpse of his tall frame passing the dark hallway from the kitchen towards the den. He appears to be talking to someone on the phone, oblivious to our presence, but clearly comfortable in the Everdeen home.

A wave of jealousy courses through me. But it's not because he has Katniss or that he's bigger than me or better looking. I'm jealous of the fact that he's here, in her home regularly, practically a part of her family, and no one questions it – not her mom, not her friends, not Katniss. Their relationship – whatever it may be – is easy.

With the gas-powered fire ablaze, I go to the kitchen to join the girls when I overhear Katniss coyly telling the other two, "He's just my best friend, Delly."

Delly's eyes bug out with excitement. "Dude, Katniss, I don't know how you lasted years of friendship with Gale without jumping his bones!"

I cringe at her crassness. I've dealt with Delly's unrefined choice of words for two years now, and I know she doesn't mean any malice, but I don't know how she doesn't realize that the topic of Katniss and Gale is a sensitive one for me.

"Wow, Delly, really?" I say, trying to sound flippant. "I'm right here."

"Oh, quit whining, she's already jumped your bones," she jokes.

I turn to Katniss to gauge her reaction. She's clearly mortified by the comment. Embarrassed to have had a certain level of intimacy with me or by the fact that other people know, I'm not sure. I just know, by the look on her face, that it's something she's wishing we'd all join in her effort to forget.

Katniss quickly changes the subject and, as always, I follow her lead. There's an impeccably timed knock on the door and I take that as my signal to leave the room to release some of the pressure she's feeling.

"Hi, pizza delivery for a Cat…nip? Everdeen?" the deliveryman asks, reading the label on the side of the boxes.

"Kat-NISS," I correct him. "Yeah, how much do I owe you?"

I reach into my back pocket for my wallet and hand him the appropriate amount of money.

"Thanks, man. Here you go." He extends the pizza boxes to me. "One large pepperoni pizza and one large mushroom pineapple."

Mushroom pineapple?

She remembered.

While we were training for the triathlon this past summer, I had once taken her on a bike route through Venice Beach. We got hungry and stopped at a little pizza shop right off the pier. I ordered a slice of mushroom pineapple pizza and I remember her eying it with disgust.

"Wanna try it? It's good," I offered, holding out the tip of the slice towards her.

"Eww, no thanks," she replied with a wince. "I never understood pineapple on pizza. Then all the juices get all over the cheese and it's pretty much unsalvageable at that point."

"You don't like pineapple?"

"No, I love pineapple. I also love M&M's but that doesn't mean it belongs on a pizza," she quips.

Later that week, I baked her a large, pizza-sized cookie covered in M&Ms just to prove her wrong.

I place the boxes of pizza on the coffee table as the girls come in bearing the rest of the snacks. I try not to let on that I'm moved by her gesture to order my favorite pizza toppings. Madge's parents are vegan, so she likes to indulge in as much meat and animal-byproduct as she can whenever she's out with friends. And while Delly will eat it with me if there are no other options, she doesn't prefer it. Katniss ordered it for my benefit.

I look at her, waiting to catch her glance, when Gale enters the room. Katniss introduces us to him and Delly turns into this giggly mess of a girl that I know she's not. It's all I can do not to scowl at her or Gale, for that matter. But I've promised Katniss I'd try to be okay with things, so I do.

It would help if my best friend would stop fawning all over my main competition. The words 'shut up' – with a few choice expletives that I don't use casually – come to the tip of my tongue, but I stifle them with large mouthfuls of pineapple mushroom pizza to remind myself that I haven't been completely forgotten and replaced by Gale.

"Hey, you guys gotta try Peeta's baklava. They're so good!" Katniss lauds in an obvious attempt to alleviate my alienation. "If you don't get one soon, I might eat them all."

I finally meet her gaze. My mouth is too full to say anything, but even if it weren't, all I can manage as a 'thank you' is a shared smile. Delly catches us and finally takes the hint to drop the fangirl routine, moving on to other things.

"How's that Drama Club going? Is it any fun?" Delly asks Katniss and me.

Katniss rolls her eyes and I shrug. "We aren't really doing much in class yet. I mean, we're still trying to recruit people so we can have enough members to do a play."

"That's it?"

"Well, unless you count pretending to be a shoe or a guitar," Katniss adds sarcastically.

I chuckle remembering Finnick lying on the stage demanding to have someone's fingers "grip his neck" or "touch his G-string" while he caressed himself, and hummed and moaned in melodic pleasure.

"I'd love to join Drama Club," Delly says surprisingly. "If I wasn't working after school everyday."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Madge teases. "No one does drama quite like Adelaide Cartwright."

I laugh. Even though Madge is joking, we all know it's true. Delly is certainly one for being overdramatic and she doesn't suffer from stage fright.

"And what I wouldn't do to have an excuse to stage kiss Finnick Odair," Delly adds.

Katniss scoffs quietly and mumbles, "Like you need any other excuse other than a pair of boobs."

The girls don't catch Katniss' remark. I'm surprised at her contempt towards Finnick, actually. I know he's flirtatious, often obnoxiously so, but he's not mean or forceful like Cato. Finnick's actually a really nice guy that lacks some social graces. If he was really trying to get into Katniss' pants, I would have punched his family jewels already and I definitely wouldn't be laughing at his advances. He's mostly harmless, but she doesn't trust him.

"Hey, do you guys know a girl at school named Annie Cresta?" I hear Katniss ask.

I had tuned out all the petty gossip in lieu of savoring my food. But five slices later, Katniss' voice yanks me from my distraction.

I do know Annie. At least I know of her. I've seen her with Finnick after school. A couple of times, before Drama Club started, I caught a glimpse of Finnick secretly embracing a pretty, unassuming brunette backstage. If I know Finnick like I think I do, he's all bark and no bite. Yes, girls are always throwing themselves at him, falling for his ridiculous pick up lines. Those girls mean very little to him except another statistic to publicly boast about. Don't get me wrong, it's certainly not my style. I don't condone the way he treats and disposes of women, but seeing Finnick hiding backstage with a simple girl solidified what I speculated all along – the Finnick Odair everyone sees in public with the machismo and bravado is all an act. But this Annie girl is the real thing, because he keeps her under wraps.

The reasons as to why he feels compelled to live a double life, I haven't quite figured out yet. But that is his tale to tell.

"Why did you want to know about her?" I wonder aloud.

"We just work together in a couple classes. I thought about inviting her tonight, but I didn't know if you guys knew her," she answers somewhat evasively.

Katniss collects all our trash and asks us what movies we brought to share. Delly is the first to share her contribution. Clueless. Not at all ironic. I could have called it before she even pulled the bright pink case out of her purse. I've only known her for a couple of years, but she's already forced me to watch it with her five times. I don't know how she hasn't gotten tired of it or why she even needs to keep the DVD around anymore since she has practically the entire script memorized.

Madge's offering is not much of an improvement. It's like they all conspired to lower my sperm count through our movie selection. This is what I get for hanging around girls. Pretty soon our periods will start to synchronize.

"Okay, did you chicks all forget that a guy was going to be here too?" I ask.

Katniss looks at me smugly and jokes, "This from the guy who keeps his own copy of Dirty Dancing?"

Wow. I'm afraid to get used to this relaxed repartee she's actually had with me tonight. But I don't want her to notice that I'm overanalyzing her friendly teasing, so I force down the corners of my mouth.

"I'll have you know that Patrick Swayze is very masculine."

I grab my DVD from the end table and show them the movie I chose for the night.

"No scary movies!" Katniss exclaims, a premature fright already written on her face. "I'm going to be home alone tonight. I don't want to be having nightmares."

I consider conceding because giving Katniss a feeling of insecurity isn't on my to-do list for the night, but before I can take back my submission, Madge suggests a vote. Katniss, instead, decides to draw a name from a bowl at random. I figure the odds are still in the girls' favor, so I just let her pick a name instead of me pitying her.

I'm certain I'll have to suck it up and watch a chick flick when Katniss reads, "Peeta Mellark! There, are you happy now?"

Well, no. Because now Katniss is irritated with me and has taken a seat between Madge and Delly for the duration of the movie.

The movie ended and we all went home a little after midnight. Madge had a one o'clock curfew and she still had to take Delly home. I had offered to stay and help Katniss clean up, but she insisted she could do it on her own, so I was sent home walking in the moderate rain.

I lie in my bed staring at the ceiling for a while. Thoughts of Katniss still inhabit my mind as much as they did this past summer. It's pathetic and I wish I could quit waiting and hoping for her to come to her senses. It's a perpetual battle between my heart and my head – one telling me that what we had was real and deep and worth fighting for, and the other telling me that you can't force anyone to want you and Katniss Everdeen is a lost cause.

These thoughts are nothing new to me. They have kept me up tossing and turning for many nights. But as I feel my eyelids becoming weighted and my brain a muddled fog, I know that tonight will not be one of those nights.

I barely hear the melody of her ringtone trickling into my subconscious. It's continuing for several seconds when I finally register that she's calling my cell phone and I force myself out of my slumber.

The light of my phone's screen is still lit and I dart my hand out to catch her before it goes to voicemail.

"Katniss?" I say, my voice cracking from lack of use. I briefly check the time on my phone then put it back up to my ear. "Is everything okay? It's almost three in the morning."

"I hate you," she says. She pauses for just a couple of seconds, but in those two seconds, my heart drops into my stomach and the back of my eyeballs feel like they're on fire. I begin to play back everything that happened that night like a microfiche scrolling in my head as I try to figure out what could have prompted her to feel such repugnance towards me. "Thanks to your stupid movie, I can't sleep. Every noise freaks me out!"

I literally feel the heat draining from my head when I realize she was, in fact, being glib with her opening remark. Instead, I begin to feel an overwhelming sense of guilt at having made her feel so insecure. It's not like the Katniss to be vulnerable. I'm surprised she's calling me to tell me this as she's usually masking anything resembling fear.

I tease her a little, playing along with the levity she's attempting to portray in hopes she'll find distraction in it. She teases me back and I can't help the twisting in my gut. When she pleads with me to stay on the phone with her, all I want to do is run to her house – to hell with the rain – and just see her face and know for sure that she means it.

This need tugs at me. I have to see her.

Before I can talk myself out of it, my feet are already on the floor feeling for my house slippers then I stumble my way out through the hallway and down the stairs. I'm not even worried about waking my uncle. He sleeps like he's dead and I'm too caught up in my mission to see Katniss now – while she wants my company – that my feet fall heavily on each step down.

As I'm making my way, fiddling for my keys and switching out my house slippers for a pair of sneakers, I do as she has asked and preoccupy her mind with a story from my childhood, never even skipping a beat. Despite the summer we spent bonding, there are still many things we've yet to learn about each other - my broken leg being one of them. It's not a particularly exciting story to someone who wasn't there, but Katniss seems genuinely riveted.

While I'm in the middle of telling her about my brothers' and my run in with a pack of wolves, I slip out of the house and walk purposefully in the direction of hers. My mind is so fixated on seeing her and telling this story to her that I'm already halfway there before I notice the heavy rain has begun to soak through my white t-shirt. In my rush, I didn't even bother to put on a jacket or bring an umbrella.

I'm shivering by the time I reach her front door, and I'm barely hiding the chatter of my teeth as I tell her how angry my mom was at my brothers and me. She asks me a question, so I know I haven't bored her to sleep yet. I reach up my frozen fist and rap on the wood surface of the door.

She doesn't answer the door and her end of the line has gone silent. "Katniss?"

A breeze picks up and chills me under my wet clothing. I'm beginning to think this was a pretty stupid idea.

"Shhh! I hear something downstairs," she whispers through the phone. I roll my eyes at my own stupidity. It probably would have been a good idea to warn the person you're talking to on the phone because she's scared and alone that you're going to show up on her doorstep at 3 AM in the middle of a thunderstorm.

"Katniss, it's me. Open your front door."

Seconds later, the door flies open, flooding the front porch with the bright lights that overwhelm the inside of the house. Surprise, relief, and concern each take a turn washing over her face as her warm fingers wrap around my forearm and drag me inside. She instructs me to wait in the living room while she runs up to retrieve a towel for me. When she returns, she reluctantly offers me my own Detroit Pistons sweater. I briefly recall the day I gave it to her, the day she saved my life. That was the first and last time I saw Katniss Everdeen truly vulnerable. Tonight pales in comparison.

I feel awkward taking it back from her, but it's not like she has a father at home to borrow from and it would absolutely kill me if she lends me something of Gale's he might have left behind. Ultimately, the threat of pneumonia wins out, and I replace my sodden shirt with the comfortably worn fleece.

We make ourselves comfortable on the couch, casually facing one another, sipping cups of sweet, warm milk. Her socked feet are mere inches from my bare, bluing toes. I brush against hers as I try to dig my cold feet into the crack between the cushions trying to thaw them out. She must have noticed because she grabs the blanket draped over sofa arm behind her and spreads it over our legs.

"You're a great storyteller, you know that?" she says to me behind her mug, steam wafting over her face.

"Thanks. It's probably because I have a really good memory," I reply, tracing my finger around the edge of my cup, catching the drops of milk that are dripping over the rim. "The jury's still out on whether or not that's actually a good thing."

"I like hearing about your childhood," Katniss tells me. "You watched me growing up. I feel like I should know who Peeta Mellark was all those years I wasn't paying attention."

I hang my head over the arm of the couch and stare at the vaulted ceiling, trying to conjure up a childhood memory pleasant enough to retell.

"Oh! How about when I was… eleven?" I pause to calculate the age difference between Cyd and me. "Yeah, eleven. My oldest brother had gotten his driver's license and my dad had given him an old car to drive around. One day, I went with him on a McDonald's run when he pulled into that empty parking lot over at that abandoned K-Mart. You know, the one on Jefferson?" Katniss nods lazily, covering her yawn with her cup. "We never told anyone this because we knew we'd get in really big trouble, but Cyd pulled over and told me to climb into the driver's seat so he could teach me how to drive…"

Her eyelids start to droop, so I grab the mug from her hands and place it on the coffee table as I continue to lull her with my storytelling. I'm not quite certain at what point I had fallen asleep too, but I'm stirred by the weight that has pressed itself against my body. My eyes flutter open to find a mess of dark hair splayed across my chest. I'm fairly certain I'm still asleep and dreaming this up as I usually am, so I drift back into my REM cycle.

It is not until I hear Katniss' name being beckoned by a voice other than my own that I finally allow my mind to return to consciousness. I immediately regret my movie choice when I think I see the horrifying image of Samara, the girl from The Ring, standing over Katniss and me. I have no qualms about letting out a shrill scream as Katniss flails her legs frantically to defend us.

The girl's cries of complaint sober us to reality. Prim. It was just Prim returning home. Returning home to find… Katniss lying curled up on top of me? The second the disorder subsides, Katniss and I sit up suddenly, unsure of how exactly we had gotten ourselves into that position.

I clumsily maneuver my way over and around her, methodically positioning myself so neither she nor Prim become privy to my typical morning arousal. I try in vain to pull down the front of the sweater, but I've had it since I was twelve, so it's not as baggy as it used to be. I keep my back to them as I head straight for the door, apologizing profusely for… I'm really not sure what. I just know she's going to regret letting her guard down and allowing herself to get close to me again. And I'm almost certain she must have felt it before we were woken up.

I've never been more grateful for the cold, biting air as I make my way back home. By the time I get into the house and run into my uncle sitting at the breakfast bar, the evidence of my stimulation has waned.

He peeks up from his open newspaper and smiles knowingly at me. "Exciting night?"

"It's not what you think," I say regretfully. His eyebrows perk up. "No, Uncle Haymitch. Don't even ask."

REVIEW! REVIEW! I want to know if I should bother with these outtakes or if you'd rather I channel all my time and energy into the original story. Specifics are also helpful. :) HAPPY NEW YEAR!