A/N: Quite a while back I read a book called "The Magic of Ordinary Days". It's also a move, one that I think is really good, and it's been in my dvr listing for a while. The other day I was deleting some stuff in there and I got bit by a plot bunny. That book gave me the idea, but this story isn't verbatim: I just wanted to give credit to my inspiration. Having said that, I don't own the Hunger Games either. Just am awfully glad someone does. -m

A Marriage of Convenience

Prelude

"Panem is at war, Katniss." Gale's grey eyes, the same shade of stormy sky as mine, bore into me, pleading me to understand.

"No, it's not. You are rebelling and it's only going to get us all killed." I cross my arms over my chest. How many times we have to hash this out is beyond me.

"If we don't do something, then it'll never change! We'll die in this misery same as our fathers and theirs before." He runs his hand angrily through his dark brown hair, again, the same color of mine.

"It's not as if I like living like this either, but the alternative is much worse." I bite out in frustration.

"I have to do this!" He cries out emphatically. "And-" his voice breaks off unevenly. "I don't know if I'll make it back."

I clutch at him, fear rising in the back of my throat, bitter and scalding. His hands pull at me, almost feral like. And I let him.

He lays me down onto the bed of clover and high grasses where we've been sitting, miles into the forest where no one can find us.

I don't love Gale, not like he wants me to, like he says he does me. But I do love him in my own way. He's my best friend, my only friend. And now he's leaving, most probably to die.

His hands tug and pull at our clothing until we're both naked and then his lips press down on mine. I feel his hands roam my body and then he pushes in and the pain in incredible. I turn my head, tears trickling down my cheeks. As I feel him moving inside me, I know it should never have been like this. I never wanted it like this. But this is all I can give him.

All I can feel is pain, and I don't know if it's my heart or from what Gale is doing. As his hands squeeze and pinch at my breasts his breath hitches, groaning my name. His body jerks and he grunts harshly then I feel him release deep inside of me. He lays there, still inside of me, his body pressing heavily down on mine for several minutes trying to catch his breath until he finally rolls off of me, turning from me to gaze off at the far off, hazy mountains.

"I'm sorry, Katniss." He whispers, so soft that I almost don't catch it.

I rise, dressing quickly. "It's okay, Gale. I don't mind." But I do. I wanted my first time to be special, to mean something. But now it never will. I thumb a tear from eye, hoping he doesn't notice. He does.

He dresses quickly, too, then pulls me into a tight hug. "Thank you, though. I'll take that memory with me, cherish it always. I love you Katniss." He places a kiss on the top of my head then we turn to leave. I don't know how to respond, so I don't.

As we march silently back to the Seam, only one thought keeps replaying through my mind. One that makes me hate myself. I don't know what will be worse, if he doesn't come back or if he actually does.

Chapter One

Katniss's POV

Gale is gone. He crept away in the middle of the night, hours after we were together. He and a few others stole away to join the rebellion. I haven't heard from him in over a month, but I don't expect to. It's not as if he'll be able to simply drop a letter with the postmaster.

His mother, Hazelle, is beside herself. Gale's absence, besides breaking her heart and making her fear for his life, has left her to care for her three other children with hardly no income. Gale worked at the mines, his paycheck basically providing for the whole household. She takes in laundry when she can but most of us in the Seam don't have the expendable money to pay for her services. A few Merchant families come to her, but not many. I help her out as much as possible with my hunting, but there's only so much I can do as well. I still have to put food on my family's table too.

The Peacekeepers have been by several times, asking various questions about Gale and the others that left. Who their friends were, where they went, things they talked about. No one tells them anything. Every time I see a Peacekeeper, whether it be on the street in passing or when they knock on my door, my heart stops. It's not unheard of to be imprisoned simply for knowing a dissident.

I rise early today, hoping to be back from the woods before school begins. I slowly pull on my warmest clothes. Even though it's still early in the fall, the temperature can be quite cool deep in the forest. The last thing I pull on is my old leather jacket. It is my most prized possession, one of only two things I have that was my fathers.

My father died when I was eleven and Gale was thirteen. He and Gale's father and several others were caught in an explosion deep in the mines where they worked. That's actually the reason Gale and I are even friends. I met him in the forest, doing my best to forage and hunt for food when I ran across him. In the beginning it was a begrudged partnership, forged from the need to survive. Over the years we have grown close, as close as two people can get. It was perfect until this summer, when Gale declared his love for me. I tried hard to return his feelings, I buried deep inside myself searching for the possibility that I could love him too, but I couldn't. In the end I knew it wouldn't be fair to either of us to lie like that. In the end we'd just hate each other.

For a few weeks after he told me his feelings, things between us was strained. I didn't know what to do, what to say. He kept looking at me with eyes full of hope and unspoken pleas, touching my face or hair. Finally, things resumed back to normal and he stopped gazing at me with those questioning eyes. But honestly, things were never the same. There was still a tiny bit of oddness lingering in the air whenever we were together. I began to miss the old, easy camaraderie that we had shared.

Now, I was seventeen and Gale nineteen. After high school Gale had grudgingly applied to the mines, resigning himself to the same life his father had lived. I'm in my last year of school, and frankly, my future looks just as dim. Most of the girls I go to school with plan for a marriage, even one of convenience, to provide for them. I refuse. I've never wanted marriage, or children for that matter. After watching my mother suffer and fall apart from my father's death, I knew that I would never allow myself that fate.

It took years after my father's death for my mother to pull herself together. It almost took all of us dying for to eventually come around. It was all I could do to provide us anything to eat, and that included rummaging through garbage bins in the middle of the night.

Peeta Mellark saved us from dying. He took a beating to throw me two loaves of burnt bread in the pouring rain. Two loaves that I ran home and was able to feed my family with. That night, I laid awake trying in vain to find the words to thank him for his generosity. The next day at school, finding his eyes on me, my courage failed me and I couldn't do it. As I lowered my eyes to the ground instead, I noticed a dandelion, bright and yellow. And then it dawned on me how I could feed my family. That's when I became a hunter, a forager. And ever since, though I've never been able to thank him for his kindness, Peeta Mellark has always remained my dandelion. A bright sun in an otherwise grey and dreary life. But I try not to dwell on Peeta and the way I've failed him.

It's not as if I've never had another opportunity to repay his kindness. He and I have gone to school together since kindergarten. We've shared classes, passed each other in the halls of school. And so many times I've caught him staring, his beautiful blue eyes boring into mine. But when I look his way, he averts his eyes and moves on. I also try not to dwell on the way he makes me feel every time he stares at me. It's like a million butterflies have hatched in my stomach, fluttering around in there. My heart will speed up until I'm sure it will burst from chest. My body breaks out in a cold sweat and I find myself struggling to breathe.

I wonder, sometimes, if my aversion to marriage isn't also based on Peeta Mellark. Because I'm not stupid. Someone as generous and kind, someone as handsome as Peeta would never look my way. Not for that. He stares, I think, because we both know he saved my life, took a beating for it, and I never, not once, ever said even a simple 'thank you' for it. How he must hate me. And how I secretly love him.

I scrub my face in the icy water of the washstand, pulling myself back to the present. Best not to think of things like that, especially Peeta Mellark. He's a pipe dream that I've struggled to suppress for years.

I don't bother leaving a not for mother as to where I'll be, but she has left me one. It's a list of herbs and plants she needs while I'm in the forest. She's the district's unofficial apothecarian. In truth, she was once a legitimate one. Her parents, long since dead, ran the now defunct apothecary. After she met my father and married him, she was basically shunned from her former friends in the merchant area. Except for Peeta's father, Mr. Mellark. My mother doesn't talk much about her former life, but she did tell me once, that she and Mr. Mellark were very close, very good friends. After his wife died four years ago, they slowly rekindled their friendship.

Suddenly, as I collect my hunting bag to leave, my stomach turns itself inside out and I find myself vomiting. My stomach rolls and lurches, until I'm left dry heaving painfully. I rinse my mouth out, recalling that that's the fifth day in a row I've done that. Now that I think about it, I have been feeling off lately. My breasts have been tender and I've been extremely tired.

I think nothing of it, the nausea has passed, and I head off for the forest. I trudge, quickly but quietly, to my favorite spot to watch for game. As I wait, listening for the sounds of an animal, my brain cries out to me, something that's been right in front of my face the whole time. I'm late! I'm late and I've been throwing up! My heart starts pounding in chest like a caged animal desperately trying to break free. It's been well over a month since I let Gale do that to me. And he came inside of me.

I drop to my hands and knees, suddenly, as the acid and bile rise up my throat and I spew it out. What if I am pregnant? If I am, then it's all over for me, for us. There's no way that my family can make it with yet another mouth to feed.

I pull myself up, shakily, and head home, my head down in shame. I have to tell my mother.

Peeta's POV

I rise slowly, still exhausted from being up so late, to plod mechanically to the bathroom.

"PEETA! GET UP NOW!" I hear my father bellow up the stairs, the fourth time now.

"I'm up, Dad!" I answer loudly, then resume brushing my teeth. I throw some cold water on my face and pull a comb through my unruly blonde locks, then smile into the bathroom mirror. I've been doing that a lot lately, practicing my smile. It's so hard to keep up appearances some days.

After I pull on my school clothes, just some jeans and an old t-shirt, I throw myself down at the kitchen table to breakfast, though here lately I haven't had much of an appetite. I know why I've been down lately, but I can't really talk about it to anyone. Because it's stupid. At least that's what I think people will say. Her name is Katniss Everdeen and I love her.

I know what everyone would say: that I couldn't possibly know what love is, or that I'm too young, or hell, that I've never even spoken to the her, but I do.

I remember the day that I first saw her, that first day of school, when she stood up and sang so beautifully. My father told me the story of how he and her mother had been friends, how he had wanted to marry her. I've watched her over the years, watched as she wasted away when her father died, how she grew quiet and withdrawn. I threw her that bread because I didn't know else to do, how else to help her. I've watched her grow into the woman she is now, quiet and strong. But she's intimidating, she's a warrior. And no matter how hard I try to work my nerves up, to convince myself to be brave and talk to her, I can't. So I watch her, stare at her, and pine for her. But now it's the last year of school and I know my time is running out. And that's why I've been down lately. Because soon, too soon, she'll be gone and out of my life forever.

"Just talk to her Peeta." My father says, kindly, as he pats me on the shoulder from behind.

"I can't." I whisper, dejectedly, and drop my head.

My father figured out how I felt about Katniss several years ago. He's never prodded or pushed, never judged or deterred me about her. He listens when I come to him, he offers advice when I seek it out, and most importantly, he provides a sympathetic ear to comfort me with.

When my mother died, I'm ashamed to say, we didn't really mourn her. I couldn't remember a time I felt any sort of love or even fondness for her. I'd been born into a world where she dispensed anger and fists over love and tender hugs. I've never known a mother worthy of that title. My father, I think, mourned who she used to be, the woman he'd married years ago. But the one he buried was a monster that he was glad to be rid of. We don't discuss that. We both know how the other feels, and carry our own guilt in the matter.

But in the years after her death, my father has opened up again, become my father again. He can laugh now, we can share our secrets or talk about our fears without her ridicule. We can breathe again, it seems. The one thing he doesn't really talk to me about is his re-kindled friendship with Ms. Everdeen, Katniss's mother. I don't push or pry; I give the same courtesies he affords me.

"Yes, you can. I don't want you to shy away from this until it's too late. Believe you me, Peeta, regret is a heavy burden to bear." His eyes, the same bright blue as mine, look at me with kindness.

"I know,' I respond. "I better get to school."

I find I've torn my toast to small pieces rather than eaten any. I rise, hug him warmly, then toss the bits out the door to the birds.

I try again to give myself a pep talk on the way to school. If you never say anything, then you'll never know. One way or another, at least you'd know. But sometimes, not knowing is better. If I never talk to her, tell her how I feel, I'll at least think I have a small possibility of her liking me back. When I do ask, and I find she feels nothing for me at all, then all hope's gone forever. I kick a stray rock and feel my shoulders slump further.

Katniss and I share two classes this semester. Second period: math and fourth: art. Katniss couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler, but she's sharp as a tack in math. I don't do as well in math, simply because I think I spend more time staring at the back of her head than listening to anything the teacher says. Art, on the other hand is my favorite subject and one I excel in.

During lunch, I watch her slowly walk to her usual table. Madge, the mayor's daughter, and her only 'friend' at school is already there. They usually sit, the whole lunch period, heads down concentrating on their meals. Occasionally they make small talk or work on homework. Her eyes are tinged with red, as if she'd been crying earlier. Her steps are slow and automatic. Even during math she sat with her head down, not even bothering to open her book. Something is definitely wrong with her.

She sits down, not even acknowledging Madge, and puts her head down on the table. I begin to get worried. What could be so wrong that she'd wear her emotions so openly. I've studied Katniss for years, and if I know one thing about her, it's that she keeps a tight lid on what she's feeling.

All too soon lunch time is over and reluctantly I get up to toss my picked over lunch in the trash. She's still got her head down on the table and Madge has already left. I don't want her to get into trouble. Slowly I come to stand next to her table, then finding courage, I sit down in the chair to her right.

"Katniss," I touch her shoulder gently. "Katniss, it's time to go."

She turns her head, still resting on her folded arms, to peer over at me. Her eyes are ringed in red, so she's definitely been crying. She offers me a tiny smile, one that I echo back to her.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She doesn't respond for a few seconds, and just as I'm about to ask again, Principle Trinket shuffles over.

"Peeta, Katniss, is there a problem?" Her voice is high and shrilly, as usual, but her face is kind. I've always liked Miss Trinket despite her seeming ignorance of some of the poverty and hardships of the Seam residents. Her heart seems to be in the right place, even if she seems to miss the mark quite often.

"No, Miss Trinket." Katniss responds. I'm grateful because I wasn't sure what to say. "I fell asleep and Peeta was trying to wake me so I wouldn't miss class." Katniss's usual scowl was absent from her face. In it's stead was a dejected blankness in her beautiful, stormy eyes.

"Peeta, how thoughtful of you!" Miss Trinket pats me on the shoulder. "Well, you two should get going. Don't want to be late." She didn't wait for a response, just toddled off in her six inch bright purple heels. At least today her heels matched her jacket and skirt. Usually she is just an odd mixture of colors and textures.

Katniss rose from the table and gathered her bag. She turned her eyes to me again. "Thanks again, Peeta." She's off, leaving me standing there staring in her wake.

"She talked to me." Today was the first time I've shared words with Katniss in a very long time. I couldn't help the goofy grin that plastered across my cheeks. Even though something's wrong with her, she still spoke to me. See, you talked to her and she responded to you. All you have to do is talk to her. Even though it wasn't what I longed to share with her, it was a start.

I hurried to class before the next bell rang

Katniss's POV

Finally school was over for the day. It was pure torture, fighting to pretend everything was normal, walking to classes, interacting with teachers and students, not bursting out in tears.

But I dreaded going home as much as I had dreaded going to school this morning.

I'd headed home this morning in a daze, my mind still trying to wrap itself around the possibility of being pregnant. Even though I'm only two weeks late, I've always been as regular as clockwork in that department. I'm never sick, at least not like that, and I usually have a high energy level even when I'm sleep deprived. All in all, I've never felt like this before.

My stomach was in tight knots by the time I had gotten home. I had found my mother stirring around in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee before she began her day. She looked up at my entrance and then a look of worry etched into her brows and lips.

"Katniss, honey, what's wrong?" She asked, striding over to place the back of her hand on my forehead.

I opened my mouth several times, trying to find the words to tell her, when suddenly I burst into tears. She pulled me into her, letting my cry, waiting until my sobs had eased off into hiccups and sniffles. She ran her hand across my back in slow circles and pats all the while.

When I had finished, she retrieved a handful of tissues, then pulled me into the spare room that she'd converted to her work space when she began practicing again. I sat on the exam table and dabbed at my eyes.

"Now, tell me what's wrong." Her eyes were patient but expectant. I stared into them, a very similar blue to that of Peeta's. His were brighter. Her's is a more subdued, faded hue of blue.

I knew I didn't want to share the entire story of that day. If I was going to be honest with myself, I felt ashamed and cheap. I had let Gale do something that I wasn't ready for and didn't want to do with him. If he came home, he'd demand to marry me and then I'd be stuck with him for the rest of my life.

That sounds awful, I know, but I don't love him! I don't want to spend the rest of my life pretending something I don't feel, trying to make up for something that I can't help not being.

And it's true. If I told who the father was, when Gale came back, no matter how I felt, I'd be forced to live a life with him I've never wanted. Don't lie. You DO want that life, just with someone else. Thoughts like that only lead to heartache. I squash it as soon it rises up and tell myself, again, I don't want to get married. To anyone.

She's waiting on me, waiting on me to spill my guts. So I do. I tell her how I've been feeling: the fatigue, the nausea, the tender breasts. Her face takes on a passivity that I associate with her patients, with separation. I tell her when it happened, but not where or with who. Then I shut my eyes and drop my head.

She doesn't say anything. Not for a while. We sit in the quiet room, listening to each other breathing, me waiting for her to do something. Then she clears her throat and asks one question.

"Why?"

That throws me off. I expected who, so I stumble with my words. Which isn't surprising. I've never been good with words.

"It just happened." I whisper. And that's the truth. I let it, and it just happened.

"Well, obviously that's all you're going to tell me right now." She raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if I'd volunteered more. I bit my lips between my teeth.

"Okay. First things first." She gets up and starts rummaging around her supplies, pulling out vials of this and that. Finally she settles on a small bottle of clear liquid, topped with a dropper, and a small clear cup.

"Here, take this to the bathroom. I think you know what to do?" She held the cup out, on her outstretched palm. I timidly took it, suddenly feeling like a small girl again, then left for the bathroom.

After I fill the cup, I stand there staring at myself in the mirror. I don't look any different. There's no huge glowing letter "P" on my forehead. I return to my mother's exam room.

She takes the cup from me silently, setting it on her work station, then pinches off three drops of the clear liquid from the stopper.

"It'll take a few minutes, but if this turns blue, then yes, you're pregnant."

I wring my hands as I watch the cup while my mother puts her supplies away. She turns back to the cup and crosses her arms over her chest. It only takes a minute more, then the contents of the cup turn blue in seconds. My breath catches and my heart squeezes in my chest tightly.

"Okay. We know for sure now." My mother turns to me and sighs wearily. "Just go to school, and then we'll figure this out this evening."

"Okay," I whisper. "Mom, I'm-" I start, but she just leaves the room. I can hear her going up the stairs, the steps creaking under her slender feet. I leave for school.

I shake myself, coming back to the here and now. There's no way around this, I have to go home. So I suck it up and quicken my pace.

She's not home when I get there, so I perch on the edge of the couch in the silence. Prim should be home already, since elementary school lets out before we do, but she's not here either. Prim! I hadn't thought of her til now. How was she going to react to this news? It is the thought of her being ashamed of me that hits me the hardest. I had struggled for years to take care of us, but Prim more than my mother or me. I'd gone without meals so many times so that she'd have something to put in her belly. I'd worn rags just so she'd been able to get a new shirt or a pair of pants. Her opinion of me, though she was only thirteen, was most important. I felt nauseous again, just thinking of her.

Suddenly, the old, dusty television that sat in the corner of our meager living room burst into life. Here in District 12, like all the other districts I assume, owning a television is mandatory. There is never anything on it that is worth watching, just some silly Capitol shows about romance or clothes too hideous to imagine wearing, or most tortuously, cooking shows showcasing some of the most sumptuous meals I've ever seen. The only thing you manage to do by watching television is feel worse about your life.

But occasionally, President Snow will have something aired that is mandatory to watch. In that case, all the televisions in the district would automatically turn on, even those in the Justice Building, and everyone would stop to watch it. It usually aired for about an hour, non stop and on repeat so that everyone would have the change to see it. I glanced over at the set, nervous. It was never a heartwarming show that the President would air.

President Snow himself sat there, staring back at me. "Citizens of Panem, I am saddened to reveal an assassination attempt was discovered by several young men late yesterday. These men were caught in the Capitol Building red handed, with evidence of leading an uprising. I am as concerned for your safety as much as I am mine-"

"Bullshit" I mutter to the screen.

"and therefore with a heavy heart am forced to carry out the highest level of punishment. These men-" and at that the faces of several men, young and old, start flashing across the screen, seven in all. I gasp when I see Gale. "will be executed immediately."

"NO!" I cry out, but I can't wrench my eyes from the television.

The next scene was a large, square room, with those same men standing in a row. Their faces were bruised and bloody, their bodies beaten and weary. A row of Peacekeepers, seven of them as well, face Gale and the others. Gale looks over at the camera, gazes right in my eyes and I see the fear and terror shining out. He mouths the words "I'm sorry". A sob escapes my throat. Without warning the Peacekeepers open fire and I watch as the rebels jitter then fall, lifeless to the floor.

I'm numb. I can't breathe, my heart has stopped and my brain is shutting down. Suddenly I burst into tears, loud braying sobs that tear from my throat. Gale is dead. My best friend is dead. And you said it'd be better if he never came back. But I didn't mean it that way. The guilt of it all, the stress of the pregnancy, the sorrow and anger of Gale's demise wash through me, and I start shutting down.

Chapter Two

Peeta's POV

My father's waiting for me when I get home from school. Normally I help run the bakery from four to eight, when the bakery closes. But Rhyse, my brother, tells me that dad wants to see me. I climb the stairs to our living quarters, trepidation staring to gnaw at me.

I find my father sitting in the sparse living room, perched on the edge of a chair. He's wringing his hands, and a queasy look rides his features. Trepidation gives way to fear.

"Dad?" I ask, suddenly timid.

Her perks up when he hears my voice, looking over at me.

"Peeta, please, sit down." He motions to the couch across from him. I sit, pleading with my eyes for him to just spill it.

"I need to talk to you about something, ask you something. It's very serious and important, and not to be entered into lightly. I want you to think long and hard before you answer me." And then fear gives way to terror.

"What is it, Dad?" I ask, my voice breaking up in fear.

He takes a deep breath and begins. "Ms. Everdeen came to see me today. She needed advice on something. It seems that Katniss is pregnant."

The breath in my lungs whoosh out of me. How could this happen? My heart sinks, and I realize I've forever lost my chance.

"She isn't sure what she should do about the situation." He continues.

"What's there to do?" I ask, dejectedly. "Obviously, she'll get married." My eyes close, my heart breaking.

"Listen to me Peeta, let me finish."

I open my eyes to him, running a shaky hand through my hair.

"Katniss isn't engaged. She isn't even courting anyone, as far as her mother knows. She won't say who's it is, and there's no suitors to claim the baby. Olive is beside herself. Katniss is going to face a very hard future. She'll have no viable income, no husband to provide for her, and frankly Olive said that they struggle as it is, much less with another mouth to feed. They won't make it when this baby comes."

I nod in a vague way. She's not seeing anyone? Then how did she get pregnant? A fierce anger washes through me at the thought of someone taking advantage of her, possibly against her will.

My father can read my face like a book, apparently, and leans forward to squeeze my shoulder. "Calm down and just listen to me, Peeta. Olive was near to tears, and she's terrified of what's going to happen. I told her to give me a day, that I had an idea and to let me see what I could think of. I'm going to repeat myself: Katniss needs help. She needs someone to help provide for her, to take care of her, watch out for her. She needs a husband. BUT this isn't going to be easy-"

"I'll do it. I'll marry her, Dad." I burst out, finally seeing what he is getting at.

"You need to think this through. This isn't going to be easy, Peeta. It's not going to be like playing house. You two are only seventeen. People are going to talk, they're going to say mean, bad things about the two of you. This isn't your baby, Peeta. You'd be raising another man's child." His blue eyes, now calm and focused, bore into me.

And all those things are true, this won't be easy. We are really young, probably too young to be even harboring the notion of marriage. But as far as the baby, yes it may have been conceived by another man, but I would be it's father. It's not who puts the baby in a woman that makes a father, but who's there when it comes out.

But above all else, Katniss needs help, even if she'll be furious about taking it, if I know her as well as I think I do. And furious is probably too soft a word. She's not going to like this. In fact, she may not go for it at all.

"I understand all that," I say at last. "But it would be my child, if I'm the one there to help take care of it. I love Katniss, and I'll do anything I can to help her out. I want to do this, if she'll let me. I want to take care of her, help provide for her and the baby."

"Peeta, you have to know, realize, that she may never feel about you the way you do her. Could you live with that for the rest of your life?" He levels his eyes to me.

Could I? Could I spend the next fifty or sixty years, hell longer possibly, killing myself for her, doing anything humanly possible, giving her the best of everything I can provide, knowing that she doesn't feel the same devotion and unfaltering love for me? But the alternative is nothing at all, for Katniss would be forever out of my reach. It's this or none.

"I can't live without her. I'd never be happy, not for the rest of my life, without her. I know I'm only seventeen, but this I'm sure about. I'll never love another girl like I love Katniss. I'd never love again."

My father rises from his seat and extends his hands. I rise quickly and he pulls me in for a tight hug. "I love you, son, you know that. And I want the very best for you. I hope this is it."

"It is, I'm sure it is." I respond, whispered quietly in sudden apprehension.

"Now we just have to convince the bride." He laughs, pulling out of the hug to slap me on the back. "I don't envy you on that one."

I don't envy me either. Katniss can be very stubborn when she doesn't want to something, and that's being kind. But then a thought hits me so hard, it's as if I've just taken a punch to gut.

"Dad," I say freezing. "What if she doesn't want to do this? What if she hates me so much that I'd be the worst solution she could think of."

"Why would you say that?" He asks fiercely. "You're a great kid, Peeta, or rather I should say man, now. And besides, I highly doubt she hates you."

But I don't know. And that fear keeps biting away at me.

Katniss's POV

I laid there for a long time. Time itself seemed to ebb and flow and it could have been ten minutes or ten hours. All I could see were memories and snippets of Gale and I. The day he caught me inspecting his snares in the woods, the hours spent in each other's company talking and sharing secrets, the day we were together.

It all keeps playing over and over in my head when I hear my mother's voice from far away. Little by little, it gets closer and then she's shaking me. Her eyes are full of fear and roam over my body looking for the source of my stupor.

"What is it?" She asks, her voice high and reedy.

"Gale...Gale is dead." And tears overtake me again.

Eventually she gets me to calm down, and now I'm sitting on the edge of the couch sipping some sort of herbal tea. I tell her what I saw on television, the death of Gale. She bursts into tears and pulls me into her arms.

"Poor Hazelle," she says. "This is going to kill her."

Finally after a few minutes, she gains control of herself. She dabs the remaining tears from her eyes. I scrub mine with the back of my hand.

"Katniss, we need to talk." Before she can get any further, there's a knock at the door. I gaze dejectedly out the grimy window. She retreats to answer the door, and returns but I don't turn to look at her. I keep my eyes on the window.

"Katniss, we have visitors. And we need to talk." I turn, slowly, numbly, to see who's here. My breath catches as I see Peeta and his father enter behind my mother. He catches my eyes with his, his tender blue eyes, and I simply drop mine to the floor.

You should just give up on him right now, he's out of your reach. He deserves better than you.

And I know that. Peeta Mellark, the best person I know, deserves better than a girl like me.

Mother seats Peeta and Mr. Mellark on the love seat that's at a right angle to the couch I'm on, the sits down beside me.

"Prim's upstairs. I told her not to come down right not, so we won't be disturbed. Can I get anyone anything?"

"Oh, no thanks Olive." Mr. Mellark seems to steady himself. "I've talked to Peeta about what we discussed earlier-"

And then it hits me what he's just said. My mother told him and he's told Peeta! How could she do this to me? I gaze over at her, leveling my eyes, anger flashing through them. How in the hell could she do this? I open my mouth, not even sure what I'm about to spew at her when Mr. Mellark cuts me off.

"Katniss, please, if I may. Before you unleash what I am sure is a very justified tirade, just hear us out." He paused to let me react. My eyes dart over to Peeta and he's staring at me intensely. I can feel my face redden, burning in shame, then drop them to the floor again. I can't face him, his judgments. I nod woodenly.

"Olive was right when she said that your future is very limited Katniss. I know this must be very scary for you, but Peeta and I feel we've found a solution to this situation. That is if you will agree as well. None of this will be against your will, Katniss." He adds, his voice gentle.

"None of what?" I ask timidly. I don't understand what he's implying.

"Katniss, will you marry me?" Peeta asks, dropping to one knee.

A/N pt. 2:

I usually only write from Peeta's pov, which I find ironic since I'm female. There's just something about Katniss that I struggle with, writing wise. But, in my opinion, this story wouldn't be as good from his eyes only. I say that to say this: please bear with me while writing as her. I'm trying.

Also, some of you reading this may know I'm currently working on another story. I have not abandoned it, I promise. I just got bit by a plot bunny and as hard as I tried to work on my other piece, this one wouldn't go away. So I sat down, wrote this until I got it out, so that I can go back to my other work.

That means I'm going to try my best to finish that before I get back to this, BUT I'm almost done with it so it shouldn't take long. Honestly, I wanted to publish this in the meantime to get a feel of it's reception and see what people think about it. So please, review away. I always love to hear from you.

Lastly, this is semi-canon. There are no Hunger Games, but the struggles and the rebellion of the people remain. Katniss and Peeta will probably be OOC on and off as well, especially Katniss.