Hi everyone ! Alright, so Mercury is really late, writer's block, yada, yada. My apologies. We'll get there- don't know when, but we'll get there.

Anyway, this is my new fic. It's my first Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark fanfiction, based on the Hunger Games verse. Nothing exotic.

I don't usually input warnings before chapters, so off the top of my head, this is a general warning for : forced prostitution, character death, torture, lemons, and lots and lots of swearing. As usual, nothing belongs to me. If anything did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I'd be lounging next to my pool in my huge mansion while my butler, Alfred, brings me drinks.

The events in this fic take place four years after the 74th Hunger Games. In this fic, attractive Victors are prostituted for the Capitol's benefit (as is Finnick Odair in the books). The Quarter Quell didn't include the old Victors having to face off in the arena again. Instead, after the Victory Tour, Katniss and Peeta were sent to work in Snow's brothel where they've spent the past four years. The events during the first book/film are identic in this story, save for the part where, in the book, Peeta loses his leg in the arena- on that account it follows the film storyline. The events in Catching Fire and Mockingjay therefore never happened.

Hope you'll enjoy the first chapter !

RAR please.

DIL.

THE FIRE WITHIN

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A Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark Fanfiction

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Chapter 1.

…

The strange thing with the Capitol was that it always seemed to be shining, no matter what the time of day. After the sun fell in the distance, over the mountains protecting the sprawling megapolis, it was to be expected, with the sharp lights and the gigantic televised ads floating over the buildings, but it was true in daylight, as well- on sunny days, the natural light would glint off golden rooftops, and even when it rained, it was as though the lights were turned up extra strong.

There was never peace of eye, of ear, or of mind in the Capitol. And she hated it.

She always had. Even when, some four years ago, she'd first pulled into the city through the tunnels, onboard a train. She remembered Peeta's delight and surprise then- and her disgust.

She doubted Peeta was delighted and surprised to live here now. He couldn't be. Not that she would know, really. She hadn't spoken to him in almost four years, despite him living three doors down from hers. She'd see him, of course, every day, almost- but she didn't say a word.

She didn't speak to anyone, really. She'd never been a talker. But in four years, she'd almost stopped entirely. She didn't want to speak to anyone- and although they'd tried to engage her in the beginning, they'd quickly given up. Even Peeta's beautiful blue eyes had stopped following her as she left a room. Almost as though she didn't exist any longer, and although it was her fault and she couldn't blame him for shutting her out, she sometimes felt her heart pulse painfully in her chest, wishing for company.

She wanted Primrose. She wanted Gale. Hell, if it came down to that, she even wanted her mother. She didn't want these people, though- these people who were so similar to her, who went through everything she went through. These people who knew. She'd see them sometimes, sitting on the sofas in the District Room, quietly talking, sometimes shedding tears or patching up new, embarrassing wounds. They were her, they were like her shadow- and somehow she couldn't bring herself to speak to them, to interact with them beyond a few phrases per week. Looking at them reminded her of herself, and that was something she didn't want.

They reminded her of what she'd become.

She hadn't known, when she'd taken sweet Prim's place in the Reaping. She hadn't known, as they prepped her for the 74th Hunger Games. She hadn't known, as she'd been launched into the Arena to fight to the death. She hadn't known, when she and Peeta had become double Victors of that game- or else she would have swallowed that handful of berries straight away.

She'd learned since. There were no winners to the Games, only survivors, and even after they'd gone through every motion of hell, they still belonged to the Capitol at the end of the day. And the Capitol liked to remind their Victors that, no matter how many people they'd killed to ensure their own survival, no matter how many people they'd still be able to kill, they couldn't. Because the Capitol- or, rather, President Snow- liked to keep a strong grip on the Victors. Needed to keep them someplace they wouldn't cause any trouble, as outraged, deadly Victors might. And what better way to do that than to keep them right here, stranded within the Capitol walls, in a beautiful building named Victory Hall?

That, she could cope with. After all, if it meant keeping those she loved safe, she'd do anything, as would most of the Victors- and President Snow knew that. She could stand wasting her life away here, playing pretty for the cameras, attending stupid parties for the stupid inhabitants of the Capitol. That, she could do. But she wasn't prepared for the truth.

The Capitol loved their Victors. In fact, their obsession with them bordered on folly. The Hunger Games were a small part of it, but when a winner had been crowned, if he or she was attractive, or particularly interesting, they'd be the subjects of half of the conversations in the city all year, every year. The Victors were the elite among the elite. But President Snow was a resourceful man. And an ambitious one, too. And once you get to the height of ambition, where else is there to go, except down? The power was secured, but he still needed wealth. Money- it would keep the Capitolites going, keep their love and contentment of him intact. Panem...it was all in the name, wasn't it? As long as they had food and entertainment, they kept him in power. That, and a few poisonings, but those were semantics, in truth.

In order to keep the machine running, he needed money. And who better to provide for the upkeep than the Victors, all born in the Districts, who would have provided for the Capitol through their toil had they not been reaped? It kept them in their rightful place. President Snow played on the obsession the public held for the Victors. And the result was prostitution.

At first, when Effie Trinket had admitted, eyes downcast and lips pursed, that the most attractive and powerful Victors- those who had earned their place in Hunger Games history- were used as prostitutes, she hadn't believed it. The Games were pure evil, but this?

She had fought it, of course. She was so young- sixteen years old- and a virgin, and wholesome. The Capitol had stripped her of that notion, however, and a high-end prostitute had come in to educate her. Victory Hall was a brothel as well as her home now, and the earnings would go to the Capitol, although she was free to keep any gifts the clients deemed fit to offer, as it was considered good manners to leave something for the lady- or gentleman- when you requested her or his services- as if politeness could be applied to the rape of a teenager. She'd fought it, cried, screamed, but the Capitol had won- they always did. President Snow always did. But in the end, this was no different from the Games. The bedroom was the Arena, and although she couldn't kill the clients- despite dreaming about doing exactly that to each and every one of them- she could make certain that she didn't leave the place like a wounded animal. Her heart would always be injured, but she could stem the bleeding between her legs. She could act it out. She could pretend- a weapon that had replaced her bow and arrows. Although it made her sick to admit it- when she did, and she tried not to, doing to herself as she did to the other Victors by ignoring her plight, hiding behind carefully built walls- she had become good at the trade. She knew when to go fast and when to go slow. She knew how to satisfy men, and women, with other means than what she had between her legs. She knew the words to say to please them, and more importantly, how to say them. She knew that a glance though half-lidded eyes could bring a man undone more surely than a disheartened blowjob.

She'd never get used to it, though. She was Katniss Everdeen. She couldn't let it change her. She could live through it, go through the motions while deadening her own thoughts, but she couldn't let it break her.

She breathed in, watching the lights beneath her begin to twinkle, effectively shutting out the stars. She missed the stars. She missed the woods and the river and even the sprinkle of coal over the rooftops. Her fingers extended slightly, as they often did when she was standing on the rooftop balcony of Victory Hall, but she withdrew them, knowing that the force field surrounding the area would only cause her pain, not death. Death was never an option.

And more pain was not something she needed.

She heard the door to the balcony snap open and then shut again, but didn't turn around. Sometimes, the other Victors came up here, but it was rare. She came here often, as she knew she'd be undisturbed and besides, she needed the fresh air.

She heard footsteps, and they faltered for a moment, before someone drew up to the railing she was leaning on. She didn't care who it was, so she didn't look.

"Evening, Girl on Fire."

She kept silent for a long while, eyes skimming over the scenery, before sighing.

"Evening, Gloss."

Gloss was one of the Victors forced to live in Victory Hall. Of course he was. He was thirty-one, and at the height of his strength. He was one of the most handsome men she'd ever met, although all Victors living here could claim to be of rare beauty, with his classical albeit flawless beauty- a chiseled face, caramel blonde hair that he wore short, and muscular build. A face- and a body- like his were bound to be noticed by President Snow for Victory Hall. Although he was from District 1, and had been a Career tribute, pampered by the Capitol, he didn't escape the rules- District 1 was still a district, after all, and needed to be reminded so.

"Ah, the Capitol sights at sunset," he said after a while, looking out at the buildings with a snort of derision. "A reminder of another night of enjoyable sex to come, right?"

Katniss didn't answer that. Already, she could feel the walls shoot up around her heart and her brain. It was a cold shower, the reminder of what was coming, as well as the idea of actually holding a conversation with anyone.

So, she simply nodded, once, and then shoved herself off of the railing before stalking towards the rooftop door, entering the small cage, then the elevator. God forbid they actually got any kind of exercise here, like some stairs. No, the only exercise available was behind locked doors.

She snorted at that, punching in the number to Floor 10.

Victory Hall was a beautiful building, all in all, made of white marble and gold tiles. A small garden stretched out back, but Katniss, despite loving the grass and the trees there, avoided it- too many of the other Victors favoured it, so she generally kept to the rooftop when she needed fresh air.

There was a basement, although off-limits to the Victors, where stocks were kept, especially of food and drugs, just in case. This was a mandatory setting in the Capitol since the Dark Days, every house having a compulsory storage just in case the filthy districts rebelled again. Floors one up to four were essentially ballrooms and meeting rooms along with a kitchen, for the couple of times per year when parties were held at the Hall, supposedly arranged by the Victors. The truth was that not a party in the Capitol went without the organisation of President Snow, and it was all for show anyway. Katniss knew that many of those invited were unaware that the Hall was actually a high-end brothel, and simply believed that the Victors had their appartments here.

The fifth floor was the hospital, and Katniss had been there several times. The memories still made her shudder in imaginary pain. Sometimes, the Victors simply fell ill, as does everyone. Sometimes, the customer was particularly brutal. Sometimes, an abortion was to be arranged quietly- Katniss could only thank her stars that had never been her case.

Floor six gave way to what was called the Style Wing. It was where stylists came to outfit the Victors, given that so many clothes were ripped to pieces, here. Katniss knew Portia came for Peeta, but she hadn't seen Cinna since her Games. A double standard that infuriated her somewhat, as she considered Cinna a true friend- maybe that was the reason why he'd been replaced.

Floors seven and eight were dedicated to the Armory. In truth, it was the place where the Peacekeepers held their quarters- given that the Victors were assigned around-the-clock guards, supposedly for their security. Katniss knew that they were there, in truth, to prevent them from getting out. She didn't mind them, anyway- the Peacekeepers kept well out of their sight.

The ninth floor was a place no-one talked about, and with cause. Katniss had never been there and she doubted any of the other Victors had either. It was named the Family Wing and was reserved for any family who may want to visit the Victors. The people in the districts, however, being unable to leave their own district except for official business, no-one ever did. What business would farmers and miners and fishermen have in the Capitol?

The tenth floor was made up of the Victors' quarters. There were twenty bedrooms- not all occupied, at least at the moment- each one dedicated to a Victor and fully equipped with a bathroom. Katniss' was smack dab in the middle of the corridor. There were also multiple common rooms- a large kitchen, a dining room, the District Room- a large, cozy room with a fireplace and snuggly sofas, the walls decorated with scenes from the districts, such as fields of wheat from 11 and a coal mine tunnel from 12- and the Arena Room, a more official-looking place with a large mahogany table and bookshelves, full of censored wisdom.

Floors eleven to twenty-five were bedrooms. Themed bedroom for the most of them, in order to provide the right setting for every different need. Katniss had visited about half of them in four years.

She needed to eat. Katniss had always been a big eater, which had made hunger hard on her for the first sixteen years of her life- but she refused to go into a bedroom on an empty stomach. Somehow, it made her feel as though she was doing this as so many women in District 12 did when ligning up at Cray's door at night- to buy food. She didn't need food. She had enough of it. She needed, however, to remember that this was forced on her, always. Besides, food gave her strength, and that was vital to her task.

She stopped at the kitchen door, as she always did, eyes flickering around the kitchen. It seemed that the other Victors were readying dinner.

They had servants, of course- or rather, Avoxes, supposed to clean and cook and attend to their every need. However, when it came to cooking, they'd often shoo the Avoxes out of the kitchen. It turned out several of the Victors were rather good cooks and they liked doing it- it reminded them of home. They could make easy dishes, District meals, instead of the highly sickening food prepared in the Capitol. And, loathe as Katniss was to communicate with them- something that seemed mutual- they always laid out a serving for her, as well. In the beginning, Katniss had almost accepted their offering, but she knew that if she did so, she'd owe them.

Katniss hated that feeling. And she didn't want to join them. She never would.

Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason were standing next to the oven, snickering slightly over what she could only imagine to be an inside joke. Finnick pinched her thigh, and she responded by elbowing his ribs before whispering something that made him laugh so hard he dropped the rolling pin he was holding. Katniss felt her lips twitch slightly, ever so slightly. She'd long since repressed her reaction to Finnick- he just seemed to make everyone smile, with his jokes and his flirtiness. He had been the most difficult to ignore amongst the Victors, and although Katniss cared little for looks- especially now, given the nature of her activities, and knowing full well that pretty faces could hide the worst monsters- his beauty was striking, with his ocean green eyes and his sandy hair.

Johanna wasn't difficult to ignore, however. She had always been somewhat disparaging towards Katniss and the two disliked each other strongly. At first, Katniss had thought that Johanna was like that with everyone, until she'd seen her interact with other Victors. Johanna didn't seem to care the slightest that Katniss wouldn't talk, even in the beginning- ignoring each other was just fine. Katniss couldn't miss, however, the dislike that still shone in Johanna's eyes whenever she looked at her.

Mashing vegetables, near the door, was Enobaria. The dark-skinned woman was, Katniss supposed, the oldest Victor within the Hall, although it was difficult to attribute an age to her. Katniss suspected she was in her mid-forties, although she could easily have been ten years younger. Had Katniss not decided to ignore her fellow Victors, she supposed that she would have gotten along perfectly with Enobaria, once she got over the woman's fang-shaped teeth. Enobaria was fierce and proud of it, and Katniss supposed that, in a city of people who grafted jewels into their skin, her teeth were considered highly stylish.

Finnick, Johanna and Enobaria glanced over at her as she appeared- Finnick's grin dying slightly, Johanna's eyes narrowing, and Enobaria immediately returning to her vegetables as though she'd never interrupted. However, Katniss' eyes were on the last person present in the kitchen.

He was baking bread. Of course he was.

He didn't even acknowledge her presence- didn't as much as glance her way, as though no-one had entered the room. He merely rolled the dough under his hands. This was the way Peeta Mellark always behaved with her now.

And she hated it.

Of course, it was her fault. He'd tried to keep her close when they'd arrived at the Hall. Tried to engage her. Tried to pull her out of her walls whenever she retreated behind them. Tried to talk to her when she refused to talk to him.

It took him six months to stop trying. Six more to ignore her totally. And they'd been like this for the past three years.

At least Katniss looked at him. But he never returned the favor. Never.

Glancing away, she spotted what she was looking for and advanced into the kitchen without a word. Usually, Enobaria would salute her, or Finnick wink at her as though they were on friendly terms. But whenever Peeta was there, they just ignored her as well. Maybe they thought that Peeta was still heartbroken over her rejection, when he clearly wasn't, and kept quiet out of respect for him.

Him, not her. She was Katniss Everdeen. Panem loved her. But these people weren't just ordinary citizens, they were Victors, like her. And they didn't see her through tinted glasses- they saw her as the stuck-up bitch who refused to even speak to them.

Katniss grabbed two apples from the fruit bowl, a bottle of water from the fridge, and a loaf of bread. It was the morning bread, prepared for breakfast by an Avox- she never touched Peeta's bread, despite knowing from memory that his was the best she'd ever had. Some salted ham, and she was done, walking out of the kitchen towards her bedroom to eat alone. As she passed the dining room, she noticed that the table was set for eight, as always, although there would only be seven people eating there, as always. She never joined them, never participated. And, as always, her heart clenched slightly at the sight before she brought the walls back up, retreating into her bedroom where she ate silently, sitting at her desk, watching the Capitol light up through her window. A glance at the clock, when she was done, told her that it was half past seven. She had half an hour to shower and get dressed. Pressing a button under the desk, she looked at the bare wall where her schedule for the evening lit up. Perronius Gimmerlach was her first customer of the night, and he'd bought her for two hours. Then Idulla Bronsson, the stupid hen, for four hours. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. Given the going rate for the Victors' services, it was rare to have two customers in one evening, although it had already happened- most nights, Katniss or the others didn't even have customers. That was all right. She suspected that her earnings tonight would have made Snow happy, and that she'd be out of work for the next two days. Delighted at the prospect, Katniss shot out of her seat and into the shower- Perronius Gimmerlach hated waiting.