Looky here! New story. Now, I'm not shy, and have no problem facing critics, but I'd appreciate it if you had some sense and didn't read this if you don't like it. :) Enjoy!

Katniss' POV

District 13

1600 hours

His presence is overwhelming. He stalked into the room and every man sank into their seats, feeling inferior. He wears a sharp uniform with slicked back, perfect hair, as shiny as his spotless shoes. He looks very young. His skin is soft; lacking even one imperfection, but when he walks to me, a wolfish grin breaks the illusion of arrogance and intimidation.

"Hello, General Everdeen." he says in all kindness, his hands clasped behind his back and his chest looking mighty big. It makes me want to roll my eyes. Must every lieutenant be such a show off?

"Hello, Hawthorne." I sigh. So many times I have to deflect soldier's advances, even though I am their commanding officer. This isn't the most brisk and professional army in the world, and trust me, I've tried to change that. "How have you been?" I straighten my back and raise my eyebrows, trying to look like I've actually slept in the last four days.

"Well, General. Yourself?" He sits when I nod to the chair opposite of me in this small, on-site restaurant. We're surrounded by young privates and older lieutenants, all eyes on either me or Hawthorne. He straightens his uniform, a sly way of drawing eyes to the flashy pins on his chest.

"Fine, thank you." I mumble, crossing my legs and leaning back, spinning the straw of my drink, the ice making a soft clink. It must be 100° here, and buzzing fans have been placed around me by buzzing soldiers. Usually I sport slacks anywhere I must go, but today I chose a skirt, falling just above the knees, maybe subconsciously because Hawthorne is here. He's always caught my attention, more so than anyone else at least. His real name is Gale, and I think that might be the turn off for me. Not a manly name at all.

"I heard the team is back from the Capitol. Is everyone okay?" I ask. About a month ago, I'd ordered one of our specialized teams to slip into the Capitol, get me information, and cause panic amid the wealthy in the safety of their own homes. It worked, but I caught wind of the rumor we were down two men, and whoevers fault that was, they're going to get their ass handed to them. The group consisted of fifteen men, and that was just enough to get the job done. Thirteen was not.

I take a sip of my tea as Hawthorne answers. "No, we're down two soldiers. Denizen and Kapree." I almost choke.

"Excuse me?" I snap, my voice overriding anyone's in a fifteen foot perimeter. Denizen and Kapree were the only women soldiers I had sent on that mission. Hawthorne has gone pale, scratching the back of his neck as he stares at the table. "My two women are dead?! Them and only them?!" Every eye is now cast on me.

"I don't have the whole story, Ma'am. I did a head count and those two were the only ones not present. I didn't ask any questions, so they might just be AWOL." He says, no confidence backing him up anymore. He sucks on his teeth and looks up to me as I stand abruptly, my chair grating back on the concrete floor, and I jam a finger in his face.

"AWOL my ass, Lieutenant! Where are they?" I demand. He stares at me a moment, and then stands brusquely, turning his back on me and walking forward. I follow him; my shoes causing an echo to resonate in the cramped building, making every soldier stare.

The men stink. They're loud and disorderly, but when they catch sight of Hawthorne and I, they go silent. They form in a straight line on order, and my eyes graze over them, scoping. I stand before them as they stare ahead, straight as arrows, expressionless. "What happened to Denizen and Kapree? Huh?!" My voice causes one scrawny man to flinch. I go to him, standing before him as he shakes in his boots. "Nervous, Private?"

"A-a little, Ma'am." He stammers. He has big glasses and a small build, which make him look quite silly.

"Well that's nonsense. All I want to know is where Denizen and Kapree are." I whisper, tilting my chin up and looking down on him.

"I don't know, Ma'am."

A voice interrupts. "Whatta man, that Beetee." I turn my head, looking down the line of varying men, all of them standing stone still. Except one. He wears a smirk and shifts his weight, as if he had too much energy to stand there at attention. He has dirty blonde hair and a staggeringly square jaw, accompanied by baby blue eyes that dart to me. I stride to him, but I have no effect on his giddy mood.

"I'd imagine an asshole like you would have something to say in this conversation. What happened to my women?" I snarl. His eyes are still locked on mine and he rocks back on his heels.

"I have no fucking clue, Ma'am." He chirps. The soldier at his left closes his eyes with a soft, angry sigh.

"That's not good enough, Private." I grit my teeth and glare at him, but all he does is gnaw on his lip and continue to rock back and forth. The punishments we're allowed to administer are harsh: we can do anything from make the soldiers clean everyone's shoes to whip them in front of their comrades. "What's your name?"

"Peeta Mellark." He says, blinking once for the first time that I've been standing in front of him. I'm familiar with his name; I've heard of him before. Mellark is a sharp shooter and a damn good one at that, with strength that beats anyone of his size as well. But he's fucking nuts. He's cleared all of his mental health tests, but he's a pathological liar and has no common sense. If you tell him to go straight he'll turn left, and when you tell him to turn around he'll sprint forward.

I scoff. "Come with me." I order, turning and walking towards the exit, and he follows with a skip in his step. One man coughs to cover his laugh. I push Mellark outside, slamming the door as he squints against the evening sun.

"You like it rough, General?" he asks.

"You keep your mouth shut, Mellark. I want my questions answered, and I want them answered now." I've long since learned to ignore banter about sex; being one of the highest ranking officers and a woman, you're bound to be hit on by some real creeps.

"Was that some kind of oxymoron?" he drones, tilting his head to one side and shoving his hands in his pockets. He wears the normal military attire: Dark gray and black camouflage pants with a shirt the color of ash that's soaked with sweat like every other soldier.

"I should have you sprint fifteen laps around the base." I grumble and he beams at me.

"I can go all night long, General."

"WHAT HAPPENED TO DENIZEN AND KAPREE?!" I yell. His eyes widen a fraction of an inch, and he takes one hand out of his pocket and rubs his jaw with it.

"They disappeared, Ma'am. I already told you, I don't know what happened." He shrugs, crossing one arm over his broad chest. "Denizen refused to stay in one place. She got a lot of attention from citizens of the Capitol. Men citizens. So did Kapree, but she didn't like it as much. Maybe they were raped or something, I don't know."

"You say that with such ease, Private." I growl.

"If looking down the barrel of a gun doesn't scare me, the thought of assault won't either." He says, looking around.

"Do you have ADD or something? I'm still talking to you!"

"ADD, OCD, ADHD, you name it." He tells me, looking back to me with an amused smile. He's drifting me away from the subject and he knows it. I can't tell if he's insanely stupid or amazingly smart.

"I'm keeping my god damn eyes on you, Mellark. You've made every single one of my red flags fly up, you hear me?"

"Loud and obnoxiously clear, General." He does a mock salute, and it takes all of my energy not to slap him.

I turn away from him, mumbling, "Go back, soldier." I stride away, blinded by well hidden rage.

Peeta's POV

District 13

2200 hours

That's how I like my women. Like General Everdeen. Sexy, stern, and rough. Man, she's hot. There's nothing like a woman in charge. Those gray eyes and that dark brown hair… God, they make me hard.

I laugh for no reason, sitting on my makeshift bed in front of Finnick.

"What'd she say?" he asks.

"A whole lot of nothing." I say, untying my boots and slipping them off as I slow my breathing and my estranged laughter.

"You're fucking crazy, you know that, right?"

"I'm very aware, Odair." I mumble, flopping back on my cot and lifting my knees, hiding my awkward, inappropriate boner. Yes, a woman threatening to make me run 20 miles turns me on. Just women in general.

Get it?

I laugh again, and Finnick lies down, pretending I'm not there like he does every night. You know, one reason I hate being in the army is because when you got a little problem brewing in your pants, you can't fix it. Even I'm not crazy enough to whip my shit out right here and start jerking off. You can't do it in the showers, either. Very bad idea. I turn on my stomach and trace weird shapes on the wall, many of them the shape of an hourglass-or Katniss' figure. That's her name, right? Katniss Everdeen?

Oh, I'd tap that on the drop of a dime. I wonder if I have a chance, you know, of fucking a general. I've "gotten to know" a few other women privates, which were like one-night-stand things.

I've made a resolution. I'll find the General tomorrow and I'll get to her. Laugh now, but I'll fuck her and I'll bet you solid money she'll like it. She doesn't seem too fond of me, but you know how they tell you in kindergarten if a girl is mean to you she likes you? That's my alibi.

Gale's POV

District 13

0700 hours

That asshole. Private Mellark has to be the STUPIDEST being on the face of this planet. He skipped out of the room with General Everdeen last night like he was going to the park. He might be our best sharp shooter but he's replaceable.

I walk behind Ms. Everdeen as she stomps over the dirt path in heels with matching slacks and a white button up shirt. She's still pissed, and I walk with my hands nervously clamped behind my back. "Ma'am? May I ask what Mellark said last night?" I ask.

"Nothing. He said nothing!" she snaps, "He has to be the most ill-behaved soldier in this district! He is mentally retarded and a genius at the same time!"

"I'm not so sure about mentally retarded…" I mumble. She looks at me questioningly. "You see, Mellark has an IQ of 143. He's a near mastermind."

"You must have an IQ of four to think he of all people is a mastermind. He's not very coy, just rude!"

"What did he say?"

"He's very keen on hitting on his superiors, isn't he?" she snarls. My face flushes, and I clench my fists.

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