In All the Ways that Matter

by salanderjade

He knew from the moment they met that she was special. She was like him in all the ways that mattered. Some things were just meant to be. ****Dark! Peeta...

It begins…..

He still remembered the first time he saw her. That moment was etched into his memory, carved with delicate precision. Even now, he could still see her silhouetted against the pale glowing dawn. Small and slight. Dark hair that hung down her back in a wrist thick rope. Dusky skin pink with exertion as she labored over the animal sprawled in an untidy heap before her.

Red everywhere. Glistening drops painted her face and hands. A streak of crimson bisected her forehead where she had pushed sweaty strands aside. Knees and elbows sticky with a combination of sweat and blood. His breath caught as he watched her. Until now, he had resigned himself to a solitary existence. Those beings that crossed his path gave him what he needed to survive but not what he craved. He wanted love and all that came with it. Someone who could see him for who he was and not the painted face he wore for the world. And here she was like a gift from God. She was like him in all the ways that mattered. She was his and he loved her for it.

She was strong for such a tiny thing maneuvering the deer with ease as her knife sliced through sinew and bone. She scooped out the entrails with one smooth motion and dumped them amid the detritus and leaves of the forest floor. The slick, wet sound caught him up as did the sight of her bathed in warm, rosy light. She took what she needed from the animal and left the rest to molder. She was like him. She was his. Somehow, he would make her understand the truth of that. Some things were just meant to be.

Everybody's first time is special. It's that tentative step into the unknown, into a brave new world by which all others are measured and found wanting. Peeta Mellark's first was Delly Cartwright. I know what you're thinking…but it's not that kind of first. You see, Peeta Mellark was special. He was different. His first time should have shaken the world on its foundations. But, because he was who he was and even then knew that his appetites weren't what most would call normal…he hid them. He had the face of an angel and a smile that would tug at even the hardest heart. For some, that smile would be the last thing they saw.

They were eight year old and had been friends since learning to walk. Delly would come to the bakery every afternoon and wait until the evening prep work was done so that she could play with her best friend. It was as predictable as the sunrise that one was seldom seen without the other. That day, she smiled tremulously as he wedged her between the tree and his own body, his hands gently encircling her neck. Trust me, he whispered. It won't hurt. I promise.

She never blinked as the gasping breath left her body. Her blue eyes widened and then dimmed slowly as if a light had gone out. The last flickering of her pulse against his thumbs gave him a sense of peace that he had never experienced. Her glazed eyes stared into his unblinkingly. Peeta gasped as she had while taking those last few breaths. Finally, someone had seen him. Not the smiling, affable baker's son who had a way with words. Not the diligent worker or the talented artist who could make lifelike forms from sugar and flour. Him. She saw him. He had never felt more alive than at that moment and it terrified him.

He conjured up a rain of tears and a petrified scream. She lay like a doll against the tree trunk, her eyes gazing sightlessly up at the sun. Pounding feet echoed the thudding of his heart as the yard filled up with those who heard his cries. Questions flew, hands grabbed at him and then at her. They found her cold as marble. They found him sweaty and sticky, hands clawing at the dirt as he shrilled her name first in denial then in keening grief. His father pulled him away kicking and scratching as others came to the somber conclusion that she was gone. There was nothing left to save. Only Peeta knew what had really happened.

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The knock on the back door came as a surprise. The passage was seldom used except for the occasional delivery. He didn't bother to clean up but went to the door covered in flour and sweat. "You need to go to the front," he announced. "Customers aren't allowed back here." Silence greeted his statement. He let annoyance bubble up but adroitly kept it from coloring either his expression or his voice. "I'm sorry but rules are rules," he said smoothly. Still hearing nothing from his unexpected guest, he looked up and nearly swallowed his tongue as her silvery eyes bore into his.

"Is your father here?" She asked. Her voice was low and dulcet. Seeming more suited to velvet and soft cushions than a jagged, ragged dawn. Her expression was wary, cautious. She was like the game she hunted: leery of strangers, watchful, untrusting. She looked ready to bolt at the drop of a hat. She was lit from within with the blushing light that had so lovingly bathed her form just a few weeks before. She was Aurora come down from Heaven to answer his every prayer.

His golden tongue fumbled as those eyes continued to watch him. He shook his head, hand coming up to push damp curls away. Unknowingly, he left a layer of white just a few shades lighter than the winter wheat of his hair. "He's out front," he answered carefully. "Is there something I can help you with?"

She moved her head negatively as she backed away from the door already turning to go. He flung up a hand to stay her but it had no effect. She was walking away and he was helpless to stop it. It was an alien feeling. He wasn't used to being so thoroughly ignored.

"Peeta, we need more cheese buns. Do you have them ready?" His father's voice broke the stalemate. Both of them turned as Pryce Mellark entered the warm kitchen and raised a brow at the sight of his son standing in the door. The girl's relieved expression spoke volumes as she caught a glimpse of his father. "Katniss," the man spoke fondly. "I didn't expect you today. How many did you bring me?"

She silently held up a brace of squirrels. There were five total, each one shot neatly through the eye. The red-black fluid that leaked out of the opening made him nauseous. He hated the dead. Hated everything about them. It was that instant before they let go that he loved almost as much as he loved this girl. The moment when the spark burned hottest and the desire for just one more second was so strong that you could taste it. The remnants that were left disgusted him. He swallowed heavily and averted his gaze. His cheeks reddened at the light feminine snort that followed.

"Five," Pryce exclaimed in awe. "I don't know how you do it. Every one of them shot through the eye unless I miss my guess." He took the animals and laid them carefully on a folded towel next to the sink. "Peeta, get her two loaves of the fruit and nut bread. Put in a couple of the cheese buns too." Pryce smiled at the girl who still fidgeted nervously in the doorway. "Unless I miss my guess, those are your favorites aren't they?"

Katniss shrugged and dropped her eyes to the line her shoe had traced in the dirt. "It's too much, Mr. Mellark. They aren't worth half that."

Pryce waved away her protests and nodded for Peeta to continue. "You should remember that the buyer is often the one who sets the price. Not the seller. That is what they are worth to me. If you don't like the trade then that is your choice."

Peeta came back with the bread wrapped carefully in linen and placed in a paper bag. He silently extended the bundle to Katniss. A soft hiss of escaping breath left him as her fingers brushed his when she grudgingly took the bread. Avoiding his eye, she nodded to his father and turned to leave. He watched her go with a longing expression faintly visible on his face. His father's soft throat clearing brought his head around to meet his father's amused glance.

"Katniss Everdeen," his father observed quietly. "I always knew that you were the most like me out of my three boys. This clenches it." He clumsily clapped Peeta on the shoulder. "She's special, my boy. Not everybody can see it. Try to talk to her next time. Draw her out. She'll come around eventually."

"Do you think so?" Peeta asked quietly. "Do you think that she'll see me, the real me?"

Pryce shrugged and crossed the kitchen to retrieve the needed bread for the front display. "She will if you let her. Peeta, it's not an easy thing to love. You have to be willing to take the good along with the bad. Sometimes, it will hurt and sometimes it will be the greatest feeling that you can imagine. That's the chance you take. Only you can decide if it's worth it."

Peeta thought back to that morning and the way his heart pounded at the sight of her. For the first time, he didn't feel alone. He gave his father a tentative smile. "It's worth it. She's worth it. I'll take your advice, Dad. I'll try."

Pryce let his lips edge up in a return gesture. "I can't ask for any more than that. Better get back to work. Bread won't make itself." He watched as the boy bent studiously over the counter and then headed back to the front with his hands full of warm, steaming rolls.

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Peeta kept his word. Every few days, a reserved knock resounded. Pryce developed the habit of making himself scarce during these times. He waved encouragingly at Peeta as he beat a hasty retreat to the front of the store. Peeta would wipe clammy palms on his apron, unsuccessfully try to straighten untidy curls that fell over his forehead, and screw up his courage before facing her.

Her scowl never failed to appear when she caught sight of him. Eventually, she accepted his presence and consented to trade with him instead of his father. Peeta gingerly took the string of inert corpses and laid them on the counter. He tried not to notice the flicker of amusement that crossed her features each time he failed to keep the disgust from his face. He retaliated by giving her the freshest and most expensive loaves the bakery had to offer. He could see her visibly biting her tongue as she half-heartedly accepted the bag. She always left soon after with the bread cradled carefully in her arms. Every now and again, she mumbled a stifled thank you. Those were the days he treasured and the moments that he lived for.

She invaded all parts of his life. He listened for her knock every shift he worked in the bakery. In his art studio, her face was repeated over and over and over in every medium: oil, acrylic, watercolor, charcoal, and pencil. Her face filled his every waking thought. He began to seek her out on other days, in other places. Never in the woods where she moved like a specter amid the bushes and limbs. It was only there that she was completely out from under his eye. His heavy tread and clumsy gait would afford her that much. In town where his blonde hair and blue eyes made him the norm and not the exception, he became her permanent shadow.

His father wasn't the only merchant that benefitted from the fruits of her labor. She traded berries at the mayor's house, meat with the butcher, herbs and foliage with the apothecary, and hides with the tanner. She often left the square with a heavier burden than she had come with. He followed her to the boundary of Town and Seam, warning off any that sought to cross her path. A tiny figure bent under the weight of her riches was a tempting target for the unscrupulous or opportunistic. They were bold at first until they caught a glimpse of him trailing behind. After that, they left her alone.

In his other pastimes, she began to manifest herself in unexpected ways. Before, he had only acted when opportunity presented itself. He took the weak, the sick, and the broken-down. Only those that wouldn't be missed served his purpose. After her, he needed something more. He haunted the byways and back alleys of the Seam. In this place, the desperate and hopeless reached for any glint of hope that presented itself. The head Peacekeeper took full advantage of the wretched and despairing. It offered him an unending supply of warm bodies to grace his bed. Peeta detested the man for what he was and how callously he acted. Those that he took served a specific objective. He couldn't yet show the one he loved how much she meant to him. He couldn't bring himself to take those final few steps. He looked for hair dark like midnight and eyes that gleamed like the sun-dappled fog that lovingly draped the hills and valleys of her beloved woods.

They went with him willingly. Whether it was for the crusts of bread he offered or the spun gold perfection of his Merchant features, he didn't ask nor care to know. He took them to abandoned houses, out-of-the-way copses, or downtrodden shacks. Their timid smiles soon turned to confused frowns as he stroked coarse strands of hair while staring silently into eyes every shade of gray. Their brief flashes of fear as his frustration and disappointment became clear ate at his gut like acid. He soothed and reassured as his hands assumed a vise like grip on vulnerable throats. His lips curved into an angelic smile that made tense muscles loosen and creased brows smooth out. He ended it swiftly and as painlessly as possible. A quick twist, a sudden snap, and they sagged into his supporting arms. Some wore braids, others not. Some eyes were steely and leaden, others mercurial and shifting. None was an exact match to those that he adored. He left each one where they fell to be found later by the heartbroken and distressed.

He drew her after each episode, locking himself in his room until page after page reflected her face. Every day at the bakery, he waited for the sound of her knock. Every day, he managed to untangle his tongue faster, to smile a little wider. She still evaded his overtures of friendship. She stared at her shoes instead of meeting his gaze. The only reaction that she ever gave was a snicker or snort at his continued unease with handling the squirrels. He caught a glimpse of a smile pulling up the edges of her mouth as he rid himself of the carcasses as quickly as possible. He wanted to see it again and dreamed about that day. She would see how much he loved her and that they were meant to be. It would just take time. He could wait. She was worth it.

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It was a balmy, bath water day when he lost control for the first of two times in his life. His mask shattered and darkness blotted out the sun. He never let go. It was too hard to put him back together once he allowed himself the luxury of falling apart. He maintained an even keel. He was good at it. He never had a problem until the day that his beloved broke it beyond all hope of repair.

She made a lightning quick pass through town which alerted him that something about today wasn't as it should be. She took the bread without the slightest hint of discomfort. Instead, she met his eye for the first time and said quietly, "Thank you, Peeta."

The sound of his name on her lips set him afire. He stammered and sputtered while trying to return the favor. Her cheeks reddened and her hands unconsciously twisted the bag as she hurriedly walked away. He untangled his tongue from his racing heart and called her name. She threw one quick glance over her shoulder before ducking out of sight behind the apothecary shop. He didn't hesitate before doffing his apron and following.

He saw them at the crossroads that defined a borderland between Seam and Town. The boy was just as dark as she with quicksilver eyes and a brooding cast to his face. Peeta stiffened as the man grabbed the bag from her grasp and looked inside. He took a roll and ate it in two bites. Katniss growled an oath and tried futilely to retrieve the bread. The man danced gracefully back and in doing so, kept the bag just out of reach. He plucked playfully at her braid, whispering some platitude as his fingers toyed idly with the thick coil of hair. Peeta waited for another outburst from her and left his perch to help his love should she need it. Instead, he froze in horrified awe as an unfamiliar sound poured forth.

She laughed as she slapped the man's hand away with lighthearted aplomb. She then grabbed the bag from his loosened grip and stuffed it into her hunting bag. The man's muffled response didn't carry but her unfettered smile was clearly visible from where he stood. He watched as they parted then sank to the ground with his head in his hands. He trembled at the thought of another's hands touching her, another bringing that joyful smile to her face. It should have been him. It was supposed to be him. How could she? Why did she speak so tenderly to him only to give her smiles to another? Did he mean so little to her?

He shook his head as those traitorous thoughts bubbled up. She wouldn't do that. She would never set out to cause him pain. It was the other. The unknown man who accosted her without invitation or reason was to blame. He would pay for what he had done. Peeta bounded to his feet and set off after the dark-haired figure. His furious mind noted that they were headed toward the mines. All the better. No eyes to see the usurper get his due.

He caught up with the man at the slag heap. It was an inglorious place for the confrontation that was about to take shape. Most came covertly and left the same way. Clandestine affairs and stealthy encounters were the norm. This meeting was anything but normal. The man swung around at his challenging call and stood his ground as Peeta walked calmly toward him. The only outward sign of the tempest brewing within was blue eyes alight with fire and fury. That alone should have been reason enough to walk away. Anybody but Gale Hawthorne would have realized this and taken leave. Gale either didn't notice or didn't care. What happened next was inevitable as sunrise. Fire can't be fought with fire. And hate is a mutually exclusive club.

Gale had a long seated rancor toward the so-called entitled of the District. He didn't know the meaning of subtlety so his dislike was there for the world to see. When the baker's golden son sought him out, Gale relished the chance to get back some of his own. Here, at last, was a chance to even the odds. He laughed when asked about the girl with the braid. Sure he knew her, Gale announced. He knew her better than anyone. The rage that statement kindled in flinty blue eyes gave him pause. He had seldom if ever seen such unbridled anger. He began to reconsider his options but the chance to walk away was already spent.

The miner was tall and broad-shouldered. His arms and back were strong from hours spent grubbing coal from the stubborn mountain soil. Despite this, he couldn't stand toe to toe with the unassuming boy from town. Hours spent lugging sacks of flour and defending himself against two older brothers lent Peeta an unexpected edge. That fact coupled with unbanked anger fueling his every move gave Peeta everything he needed to end the bout quickly and decisively.

He gave no thought to the bruises and marks that he meted out. He usually avoided anything so obvious. Today was a different story. Here and now, he wanted them. He needed them. He would accept nothing less. A broken nose, a smashed lip, a black and bloodied eye. A satisfying thud as ribs gave way. He wanted more. Fingers splayed and smashed under a heavy boot. Blood matted and sweat dampened hair. A sidestep and a sudden embrace. She's mine hissed out in a rasping whisper. A flexed forearm and accompanying jerk. A dry snap and choked gasp. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. He left him lying on the hard pitted earth; sightless eyes gazing into a pitiless sky. Anger abated and walls were rebuilt. Peeta flexed his battered hand, wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and walked away without a backward glance.

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He stood in the waning moonlight and stared at her window unblinking. The shifting clouds dappled light and gave shadows a wavering edge. Seven days had passed and she hadn't come to the bakery. He couldn't take it anymore. He had to see her.

It had been seven days since the miner had been found. His broken and battered body made it clear that death had not been quick or painless. Peacekeepers had fanned out across the district in search of the slightest hint or clue. There was nothing to go on and no clues to be found.

Peeta quickly realized that his mangled hands would give him away. Gritting his teeth, he plunged both fists into the fire and waited. Burning hair and charred flesh overtook the sweetly perfumed air. When he could no longer feel, he took a deep breath and screamed. They pulled him out and let him sink to the floor. He could only gasp and moan as they hurriedly doused his hands in cool water. He tasted bitter ash and seared bone as he looked at the scorched remains of his hands. Despite the agony twisting through him, he was strangely content. She would now know how much she meant to him. He didn't have to hide anymore. The sureness of that knowledge swept aside his pain and discomfort.

Seven days he waited patiently for her. Seven days without a word. He refused to waste another precious second. He crept around to the back and gently twisted the knob. As he expected, the door swung open with no impediment. He walked cat-footed down the hall and glanced through each door in passing. In the last one on the left, he found her small and slight in a narrow bed. His heart climbed into his throat as he watched her sleeping so peacefully. She was as beautiful to him now as she had ever been.

She hugged the pillow and snuggled into blankets that were clutched tightly to her chest. He sat in the floor and watched her face in fascinated silence. Her lips were slightly parted and her breath warm and quiet. It stirred the curls that had escaped her braid. He reached out a tentative hand and pushed errant strands aside. He froze as misty gray eyes blinked opened and looked up at him in confused silence.

"Katniss," he breathed. "I had to see you. I had to make sure that you were okay."

She shrank away from his hand. "Peeta, what are you doing here? How did you get in?" She gasped. "What the hell were you thinking?"

He frowned heavily at her accusing tone. "I wanted to see you. I had to see you."

She rolled out of bed and landed lightly on her feet. "Why? You don't know me and I don't know you. We've barely spoken."

He shook his head in bemused disbelief. "How can you say such thing to me, Katniss? You know how I feel about you. Surely you know."

Her confusion was obvious. She backed toward the still open door, her eyes watching him warily as he regained his feet and followed after her. "What are you talking about? Why are you here?"

The blue eyes were bright in the moonlight with unbanked affection and awe. "I love you, Katniss. I'm in love with you. I should have told you before but I'm telling you now. We can be together. There's nothing standing in our way."

She darted past his reaching hand and headed for the door. He caught the whipping braid and pulled her to him. Her swinging hand struck him soundly across the face. The shock of the blow overshadowed the brief flash of discomfort from the impact of her hand colliding with his cheek. The quickly rising fury was pushed aside at the sight of her wide gray eyes. "You're scared and confused. You didn't mean that," he stated.

"I don't love you," she snarled. "I don't love anybody. I never will." She cocked a fist and let it fly toward his head. He caught her hand and twisted it behind her back. "I never will," she spat furiously.

The hand coiled around her braid found its way about her neck and tightened slowly. She tugged futilely on his wrist to loosen the grip. Strong fingers were steel bands that cut off her air even as he smiled into her frantic gaze. "You will and you do," he answered. "We were meant to be, Katniss. You're like me in all the ways that matter. We'll be together always."

Her eyes flickered to the door and widened once more. Peeta felt her relax against him and moved to pull her closer when the impact of a pan meeting his skull drove him to his knees. He shook his head to clear his suddenly blurry vision and caught sight of her sagging to her knees before him. He reached out a tentative hand to wipe away the tracing of tears that shimmered on her cheeks in the moonlight. The second blow sent him sprawling. The last thing he saw before the world went black was her outstretched hand. He reached for it even as his vision faded and the light swept aside.

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"What will happen to him?" She questioned as her eyes gazed on the familiar blonde head visible through the thick, heavy glass.

"He will be sent to the Capital. The hospital there is the best in the country. They are equipped to handle him." The Mayor consulted the sheaf of papers clutched in his fist. "Dr. Aurelius has made great strides in treatment and study of cases like this. They have every hope that he will be able to make something of a recovery. His control is phenomenal. There is hope that he will be able to apply that self-control to his recovery and not hiding behind it."

She put one hand to the glass and peered at the hunched form. He was sketching again. He got lost in it. He did it for hours. She came here often to watch him through the glass. She didn't know why or how but he had crept up on her. His declarations of love still rang in her ears. They crossed her mind at the oddest times. "Will he be allowed to have visitors there?"

The man's eyes widened as he caught the gist of her seemingly innocent questions. "Ms. Everdeen, he's dangerous. We have to keep him isolated because we don't know what will set him off. He looks calm now, even docile. He killed two guards bare handed and injured another before we could restrain him."

She waved his words away. "He wouldn't hurt me. He loves me." She turned back to the glass and watched as the page blossomed beneath his talented hands. He was drawing her again. Already, the room was littered with her image. He repeated it again and again without fail. "He loves me," she echoed. And you love him, a small voice whispered. She shook her head in denial. She wasn't capable of love. She felt responsible. He was in there because of her. One way or another, she would find a way to repay that debt. She turned toward the door without a backwards glance. "I'll be back tomorrow if that's alright," she said quietly. The mayor appeared startled at first then gave a resigned nod. Katniss couldn't stop the pleased smile that crossed her features. No, she didn't love him. Of course she didn't. She didn't know the meaning of the word.

It ends…..