A/N: I am such a pushover. I'm expanding another one shot. I just got to thinking and decided there was a lot more of this story left to tell. It's got an outline and everything. I want to know, assuming Peeta had some courage, if he and Katniss could have been together if not for the Games. Let's explore, shall we?

Let me explain the format of this story. Remember that day off Peeta talked about in chapter one? Each chapter is going to cover that one day of the week. And it will be entirely from Peeta's point of view.

Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

Chapter 2:

I wipe away the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm, possibly streaking it with flour. I can't take time to look right off because I only have a few more minutes to get this finished up before I have to leave for school.

The door to the kitchen creaks. I expect to see Miche or Dad. It's neither. It's Rilee. Perfect.

"Man, what are you doing?" Rilee asks. His eyes are entertained and curious, despite his usual aversion to the morning hours. He's got a boxful of something in his arms.

"Frosting cookies," I say absently. Almost done. Just twelve more to go.

"I see that." He sets his box of whatever down and walks around the large island counter in the center of the kitchen. He looks over my shoulder as I work. I know he's seen cookies before.

"Why are you here?" I snap at him. I don't need a distraction. I'm almost finished.

"Mom told me to drop something off. Why are you working before school?"

I finish up laying the last layer of butter cream frosting on the little round confections. Done. "I couldn't sleep," I lie. The truth is I wanted the cookies to be fresh, so I waited until the day I planned to use them. And the morning rush was the best time to bake them because I could be without supervision. Around six, Dad and Miche are done with their early morning baking and tend to the customers, giving me plenty of time to bake. Well, plenty of time when you're as good as me.

"Uh-huh," he replies warily. He scratches his chin and looks over my handiwork. Every cookie looks perfect. Not a single one burned with expertly applied frosting. Rilee wishes he had the speed and the skill to do this as quickly as I can. His shifts would go so much faster that way. "There's only eleven dozen," he muses.

I busy myself by putting a tray of cookies on a rack to free up counter space. I don't say anything in response to his observation.

"We always make twelve dozen at a time," Rilee adds. Again, I say nothing and put another tray aside. He saunters around the small kitchen, taking it in like it's his first tour of the place. Rilee has always been suspicious in nature. When he senses something is wrong it's as if you can see the gears turning in his head. Much to my chagrin, he notices the paper bag with the name "Mellark's" stamped on it next to my schoolbag. He grabs it and opens it roughly before I can stop him. He even tears the bag. Jerk. "And what are these?" he asks with a smirk.

"Those are a screwed up batch," I growl.

"They don't look screwed up. In fact, they look different from the rest." My brother. What a detective. They are different. The ones in the bag would have taken me several hours to make an entire gross of. I didn't have a cookie cutter for their unique design. But you can't make just one dozen cookies. Cookies have to be made in mass quantities. That's why I only made one dozen of the difficult pattern and opted for easy, conventional circles with the rest.

I walk around the island and reach for the bag. He pulls it out of my grasp, like we're playing a game of "Keep Away". Haven't done this since I was eight. "Rilee, seriously?" I don't even try to hide my annoyance.

"Who are they for?"

"No one." I reach for the bag again and he doesn't try to keep it from me. I check the cookies, making sure they didn't get broken when Rilee jostled them. They look fine. I fold over the top of the paper bag a few times and gently put it into my schoolbag. I'll have to go a whole day without crushing them.

Rilee leans against the counter. He crosses his arms with a look of superiority. He's so proud of himself for figuring me out. "Mom is going to be pissed if you're giving away cookies." It's not really a threat. Just a fact. The risk will be worth it though. Assuming it works.

"Then don't tell her," I hiss.

The door to the kitchen creaks open again. We both look over. Miche walks in carrying an empty tray. He immediately starts filling it up with rolls. "What's going on, guys?" he asks cheerfully. Business must be good this morning.

"Nothing. Except Peeta being a suck up," Rilee snickers.

I glare at him. Miche does not need to know about the rogue batch of cookies or who they're for. Miche would be pissed if he knew I came in early so I could sneak some cookies for my own use. He's got a much larger stake in the bakery, since this is how he earns his living, whereas Rilee and I are unpaid laborers. Luckily, Miche isn't as distrustful as Rilee and probably won't notice the order of cookies is a dozen short; as long as no one points it out to him.

"Rilee's right. You are making us look bad. Working before school and on your day off," Miche says with a natural smile. At least I have one good brother. Or one gullible brother. What sixteen year old guy has trouble sleeping? I'm surprised he bought that story, but it's one less batch of cookies he has to make. And both my brothers know mine always turn out the best.

"Please. It doesn't take much to make you guys look bad," I joke. Miche laughs and Rilee flips me off. He does that too often. It's lost its shock appeal. I peel off my apron and wipe up the last of the flour from my hands and face. "What time is it?" I ask while checking my appearance in a knife. Eh. Good enough.

"Half past seven," Miche says.

"Shit," Rilee curses. "We have to get to school."

The bakery is farther away from school than our house is. Rilee and I have to book it to get there on time, but we're in our seats before the bell rings. He doesn't ask me anything more about the cookies on the way there, thankfully. I don't need his two cents on this.

I barely listen to the lesson in Literature. It's another drama, but this one's not about the Games. Regardless, someone dies. Someone is a hero. It has some deep philosophical meaning. Whatever. It sounds like every other story. It feels like every other day, which isn't helping me out of my bad mood in the slightest. A bad mood that's been developing since last Tuesday.

I thought things would change. I really did. I am an idiot. That has become clearer and clearer since last week.

Compared to last week—or any week previous to my conversation with Katniss—my life is exactly the same, which is frustrating on several levels. It wouldn't be so upsetting except for the fact that I did talk to her. I did walk her home—close to her home at least. We're not just two people who happen to be the same age and go to the same school. But what are we? We're not exactly friends, but we're not enemies. Acquaintances. Great.

In History class the day following our introduction, I thought she'd say hello. I spent the entire school day thinking about it, preparing myself for it, rehearsing how I would respond, and then worrying about sounding too rehearsed when the moment came. When History arrived, all my expectations cracked and turned to dust. Katniss didn't even bat an eye in my direction. She just sat at her desk, stared out the window, and occasionally looked over at the teacher, as if our encounter never happened. I know because I stared at her the whole class period waiting for her to turn her head and acknowledge me. I learned nothing during class except that she has a freckle on her ear.

Although I couldn't help feeling snubbed, by the time the weekend rolled around, and not a single word had been spoken between us, I realized how irrational I was being. I can't be frustrated with her. My expectations were too high, apparently. I was the one who approached her. And nothing about our conversation suggested she would reciprocate my actions or that she wanted me to continue. I read too much into that look she gave me as she walked into the Seam. I guess it didn't mean what I thought. It's like the Vesta thing is coming back to bite me in the ass.

So, of course Katniss is ignoring me. And still, it's not fair of me to say that. I wouldn't have called it ignoring before we spoke. It just feels like that now.

However, it's a new week, a new day of freedom from the bakery, and another chance to make something happen. She may have never said she wanted me to talk to her again, but she never said I couldn't. Best of all, I have a plan. A plan that blows the umbrella ploy out of the water.

I feel surprisingly lighter by the time History rolls around. My confidence in my new plan gets me excited. I even enjoy History more than usual today. Not because of the lesson and definitely not because Katniss doesn't look at me, but because I know in just a few minutes I'll have her attention again. I scratch at my paper instead of listening. When I look down at my paper, she's smiling at me.

I head in the opposite direction of the rest of my class when the final bell rings, toward the connecting building that serves the lower grades. I haven't been in this building in a few years, but everything is the same, down to the hallway where the eleven and twelve year olds hang out. The hallway seems much smaller than I remember it. Even the ceiling feels like it's lower. I was a good foot or so shorter when I hung out here last of course.

I search through the sea of kids who are all clamoring to go home. A few stare at me as they pass. The kids from the upper grades don't come down here unless they're looking for a brother or sister. I'm looking for someone's sister, but she's not mine. I spot her chatting with a group of girls who are all the same size as her. She stands out from them. Her rosy cheeks and bright blonde hair set her apart from her friends. She's going to be quite the heartbreaker when the time comes. It is in her blood after all.

Her circle of friends is breaking up as I approach her. The girls eye me curiously and hide behind their books. Prim doesn't notice them. Her eyes light up when she sees me. If only it could be that easy with Katniss.

"Hi, Peeta," she greets.

"Hey, Prim. How are you today?"

"Good," she says with a cute lilt in her voice.

"I brought something for you," I say, immediately putting the plan into action.

"For me?"

I reach into my bag where I've been protectively harboring my illegal treats all day. "Yes. Well, maybe for your sister and your mother. But only if you want to share."

With a big smile she takes the bag. She gently shakes it. Good thing it wasn't a cake. "Cookies?" she guesses.

"Yes, they're very special cookies."

She unrolls the lip of the bag and opens it excitedly. Her eyes grow as big and round as the cookies I made this morning. "Primroses!" she shouts.

"Yes. I invented them just for you." They were a pain to make, but the outcome was nice. Tiny cookies with four heart-shaped petals; painted with bright yellow frosting and a golden yellow center. "I think they'll be a big seller," I say.

"They look just like primroses. Thank you so much." Her thanks is genuine and make the whole experience, even the getting up before six part, completely worth it. Of course, that's not the whole plan. I'm glad to give Prim a gift and I'm pleased to see she likes it, but I'm hoping for some residual benefits for myself.

"You're welcome."

"Are you going to walk with us today?" she asks.

Prim. You are my favorite person ever.

"I'd really like to," I say. Prim does that thing where she bounces on the balls of her feet again. "If your sister doesn't mind," I add.

It's almost comedic the way both her shoulders and her face immediately deflate. "Oh," she sighs. That can't be a good sign.

"Why don't we ask her?" I suggest, trying to keep my confidence up. "And make sure you show her those cookies."

We walk through the halls back into the building for the upper grades. Katniss is leaning against the wall with her bag over her shoulder. I wonder if I should offer to take it for her today. Probably a bad idea. She'd think I was trying to steal it.

"Katniss, look!" Prim shouts when we reach her sister. "Peeta made me cookies in the shape of primroses!"

Katniss takes the bag and peers inside. She looks utterly annoyed by my presence and not at all impressed by the cookies. She tries to hide it when she sees how excited Prim is, but she's not successful. Good thing I didn't make them for Katniss.

"Prim, could you wait outside for a second? I have to talk to Peeta," she says calmly. A little too calmly, if you ask me.

I can tell Prim wants to reach for the bag of cookies, which Katniss is now holding. Her eyes get a little watery. She's thinking she'll have to give them back. I quickly reach into the bag and pull out a couple little flower-shaped cookies.

"Take a few with you," I say as I hand them to Prim. I want to assure her she's going to get to enjoy her gift.

After Prim is outside, Katniss gets that intimidating glare she falls into so easily. I'm not as rattled by it this time. It's just as scary as ever, but now I know it's not real. I've seen her smile; I've seen her vulnerable, if only for a moment. The scowl is how she protects herself. She needs someone who will actually take the time to prove his worth and earn her trust. I don't think cookies will do it, but at least it's a start.

"I can't pay for these," she whispers harshly. She must not want Prim to hear her.

I expected her to react this way given how touchy she was when I talked about repaying her for the squirrel. This is different though. "I don't want you to pay me," I reply.

Her eyes are spinning, like she didn't even hear me. "I may be able to trade something, but that won't be for at least a day. And I don't usually use my trades to get cookies," she mutters.

"Katniss," I say at a normal volume. It gets her attention. Her eyes focus on me and I hold my breath. Okay, so maybe I am still rattled by the scowl somewhat. "I don't want a trade. It wouldn't be a gift if you gave me something for them."

"A gift?" It sounds like a foreign word on her tongue. There's a crease between her eyes.

"Yeah." I chuckle, but not to make fun of her. I just adore her when she's confused. "It's free," I promise.

She glances once more at the treats, folds the bag closed, and readjusts the strap of her bag. "Why are you giving my sister cookies?" she asks with an accusing look in her eyes.

Really? She doesn't get it? I thought my plan was good, but I also thought it was pretty transparent. Rilee saw through it immediately. "Isn't it obvious?" I shrug.

"No." She blinks a few times. She waits for my answer.

How do I answer this? I want to impress your sister so I can get you to like me. That's the truth, but not something Katniss will like to hear. I change the subject. "Can I walk with you today?"

"No." She doesn't even take a second to think it over.

"Your sister already said I could."

"You didn't give her much choice if you're giving her presents. She's not rude."

"But you are?"

She narrows her eyes at me. Oops. She exhales through her nose like a bull about to charge. I gulp, trying to find the courage I had at the beginning of this conversation.

"Look, if you really want to pay me for the cookies, you'll let me walk with you." I appeal to her sense of fairness. I don't want to turn my gift into a bribe, but I realize this is how Kantiss thinks. Everything is a favor, a trade. Gifts are dangerous. She's afraid of being expected to pay my kindness back. It's like she doesn't understand how friendships work. "Just to the edge of town?" I plead with a smirk.

"Fine," she grumbles. She stomps off to where her sister is waiting for us.

"Don't sound so thrilled about it," I say under my breath. If she hears me, she doesn't say anything. I am happy to have this time with Katniss, but it's an uphill battle to get there. I'm already tired.

Prim is still holding the cookies I gave her in her hands. Some of the frosting melted in the sun and onto her fingers. She knew exactly what her sister was talking to me about. She didn't eat them just in case Katniss insisted she give them back. Katniss shoves the bag into Prim's hands without any explanation. Her eyes perk up again. Her whole world is restored. When you're twelve, losing a bag of cookies is the end of the world. "Are you coming with us?" she asks hopefully.

I glance at Katniss, giving her a chance to opt out. She stares at the ground and keeps readjusting her bag. "I am," I say with confidence. I bask in Prim's happiness.

No one talks for quite a while. It's like Katniss and I are giving one another the silent treatment for no good reason. It's uncomfortable for me to wait it out. I want her to say something first. I want to know that my presence isn't as grating to her as she acts. She's the one who's difficult. She's the one who—

"I feel bad eating these. They're so pretty," Prim ponders. She keeps checking the bag periodically, making sure they're still there.

I sigh. I was never any good at the silent treatment. "Don't feel bad," I tell her. "That's what they were made for. Just don't eat them all at one time. I ate too many shortbread cookies at one time once and now I can't stomach them." I hold my hand over my stomach and stick out my tongue. Prim laughs, but she's not feeling the slight nausea that rolls through me when I think about shortbread cookies. I shudder. Never again.

"That's too bad."

"It is. I really liked shortbread cookies before that. That's probably why I stuffed my face with them."

She laughs again. Everything is so easy with Prim. She accepts gifts, she smiles, she laughs, and she sincerely happy to be talking with me. It's amazing how different the two sisters are. One is soft and kind and the other is hard and guarded. Was Katniss ever like Prim? I think back on our childhoods. I remember glimpses of carefree smiles on Katniss' face. They made her whole face light up, just like it does with Prim. She was so pretty then. Light and honest. But my memory recalls very few of those smiles, and they all but disappear before she's twelve years old. Now, grown up, she's the product of losing a parent and having to suffer in poverty. She doesn't allow herself easy happiness anymore. Moreover, her greatest joy is to make her sister smile. That's the only reason she let Prim keep the cookies. I want to be able to do the same for her.

"So, how is school going for you, Prim? What's your favorite class?" I begin a new conversation, hoping I'll be able to lure Katniss in.

"Um…reading. I like listening to the stories."

Huh. I remember liking reading when I was younger now that I think about it. I can't stand the literature lessons we have now, but they weren't always so bloody and violent. "I liked reading too when I was your age. Do have Mrs. Mielke or Mr. Wells?"

"Mr. Wells."

"He's the best. Did he do his impression of the goatman yet?"

"Yes! It was so funny." Then she does her impression of Mr. Wells doing his impression, and we both laugh.

"What's your favorite class?" Prim asks with renewed interest.

"History," I answer without missing a beat. A smirk leaks onto my face and I can't make it go away.

"Last week you said history was boring," Prim says. Her memory is too good.

"It is boring, but I like the people in that class." I sneak a look at Katniss. I see her sneak a look at me, too. Her shell is staring to crack.

"That isn't a good reason," Prim admonishes. She's oblivious to this staring contest her sister and I have going on. "It sounds like you're not a very good student."

"Sometimes I'm not," I admit. I give Prim a slight nudge. "But I make a good cookie." Prim fights the grin on her face, realizing she can't argue with me until she actually tastes one. Quietly, she pulls out a single cookie, places it halfway in her mouth, and takes a bite. She chews it slowly, letting the sugar melt in her mouth.

"Mmm," she hums. She offers one to Katniss, but she declines. I can take flowers and now cookies off the list of items to give Katniss. Maybe I should get a hold of a hunting knife for her. How romantic.

Prim continues to nibble on the snacks, ending the conversation. Eventually, she's walking a good ten feet in front of Katniss and me so it's almost like we're walking alone. I sidestep one foot closer to Katniss. She shies away a foot. Katniss has her own game of "Keep Away."

I could wait and wait for her to say something first, but I know she won't. Her body language is a loud indication of that. I give up. "What did you think of History today?" Ironically enough, the moment the words leave my mouth I hope she doesn't give an answer because I have no recollection of what went on his History today. My notes aren't so much notes as much as they are a sketch of her from the neck up.

"Are you very interested in history?" she asks coolly.

"No, not really."

"Then why are you always talking about it?"

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"You only said you wanted to walk with us, you never said we had to have a conversation." Her words are harsh, but accurate.

"I'll be more specific next time."

She huffs and swings her bag from one shoulder to the other. That one gesture says so much. She doesn't expect this to happen again, not that she expected it to happen now or last week. I suppress a laugh, realizing both our expectations have gone unfulfilled.

We reach the town square, busy as it always is this time of the day. I catch a glimpse of Rilee rushing into the bakery. He's going to be late. Mom's going to be upset. If he rats me out to get himself out of trouble, he's dead.

"So what's obvious?" Katniss suddenly chirps. Is she talking to me?

"What?"

"You said the reason you gave Prim cookies is obvious. I don't know what it is." She purses her lips in her reluctance to admit it.

Once again, I have the chance to tell her the truth. "I like Prim," I reply innocently. That's enough truth for right now. "She's sweet."

"I know that, but it can't be good business to give every sweet girl you know free baked goods."

"Is it possible for you to just accept it and say thank you?"

She rolls her eyes. We both know this isn't about her inability to accept gifts. It's about why I'm giving Prim presents; why I'm walking them home. But I can't tell her that yet. She's not ready. We need to be friends first. She needs to learn how to be a friend first.

"Thank you," she mumbles. "You made Prim's week."

I'm happy to hear that, even though Katniss doesn't sound all that excited about it. "Good. I'm glad."

"She couldn't stop talking about you last week. She goes on and on about the flowers and the cake. She checks the window of the bakery everyday to see if you've made one with her in mind."

I don't like Prim, I decide. I love Prim. I don't care if talking about me annoys Katniss. I've been on her mind, no matter how much time she spends ignoring me.

"I haven't done any cakes this week. They're always special ordered," I explain. I don't want her to think I broke a promise to Prim.

Katniss nods. She seems to understand.

"I'll let her know if something comes up," I add. I press my luck and take another step closer. Katniss doesn't move this time. Maybe she's caught up in conversation and doesn't notice. She's even relaxed somewhat. She's not constantly readjusting her bag and her forehead is smooth. But she is a hunter after all. Perhaps she's lulling me into a false sense of security.

"Why did you wait until today to give Prim the cookies?"

At least this question I can answer without incriminating myself. "I don't work on Tuesdays. It's the only day during the week I have afternoons to myself."

"Oh."

"What days do you…work?" I suppose I could have said "hunt," but that didn't work out well for me last week. It may be better to keep things vague.

"Sundays. Whenever I need to."

"Must be nice out there." I gesture my head in the direction of the trees. You can just see them over the buildings in the square. I've always been wary of the woods. Sometimes the kids at my lunch table dare each other to go out there, but nobody ever does it. We'd probably fall off a cliff or get attacked by a bear the second we got over the fence. At the same time, there is a temptation and a curiosity about the woods. What would it be like to be in a place that isn't surrounded by an electric fence? I'm jealous Katniss knows what it's like. "Peaceful, right?"

"Usually."

"Bakery is awful. It's hot, sweaty, customers yell at you when you mess up their order, and you get burned constantly."

"But you like to do the cakes, don't you?"

Hey, look at that. She's been listening. "Yeah, I guess that part is fun. Is it fun out there?"

"Fun?" Another foreign word falls out of her mouth.

"In the woods. Is it fun?" I repeat, but she still doesn't understand the question.

"It's not about…fun," she stammers. "If I don't get anything my family doesn't eat."

I've offended her again, but I didn't explain this correctly. "Right. Sorry. I don't mean to say what you do isn't dangerous or anything," I apologize. "But I imagine that it's freeing at the same time, right?"

"I don't know what you mean," she hedges.

"I mean, you're not dependant on anyone else."

Her forehead crinkles. I don't blame her. I jumped from woods to fun to danger to freedom without explaining how it all connects. "My family makes a good living with the bakery," I begin. She's looking up at me, genuinely interested in what I'm saying. I finally have her attention and I'm unsure of the words. If I were to explain this to any other girl, she'd be shocked and maybe even turn me into the Peacekeepers. However, Katniss is a criminal. There's no other way around that. It's the Capitol's fault she is what she is. They cause her poverty and force her to break the law. Maybe she'll understand. "If there's a flour shortage or if the Capitol decides to ration our sugar, we don't have any options. We're out of business. We starve. But no matter what, you can always provide for your family."

"Yes," she breathes.

"The Capitol determines whether or not we live. So, while it may not be fun. At least you have to chance to just…have some control of your life." I'm forced to whisper this to her. I can't help the feeling that someone is suddenly going to grab me by the shoulders and force me into the stocks for my treasonous statement. However, Katniss appears completely unfazed. In fact, she smiles to herself, just barely. My guess is she's amused by my plight. Who am I to complain after all?

"Too bad it's illegal," she laughs nervously.

Did she just make a joke? I do my best to hide my shock and laugh with her. This is Katniss without her shell. I like her this way.

We've stopped walking. I didn't even notice. We're at the border of the Seam. Prim is standing beside us, moving her head back and forth between us like she's watching a tennis match.

I clear my throat and gesture to the now infamous bag of cookies. "So how many did you eat just on the walk home?"

"Not many," she says.

"Let me see." I tilt the bag, and sure enough, it looks like she only ate three or four. "All right, but remember what I said about stuffing your face."

"I'll remember. Will we see you again next week?"

I look over to Katniss for some kind of confirmation, but she doesn't give me one. Stares at her feet instead. Too much to hope for. "I'm not sure. Why don't we play it by ear?"

"Okay," she says softly, hiding her disappointment well. Then she takes a small step toward me and wraps her skinny arms around my waist.

"Oh!" I say in surprise. Katniss shakes her head, not surprised at all. I have brothers. We don't do this a whole lot. I tentatively wrap my arms around her shoulders and give her a pat on the back. I catch Katniss' eyes with my own. I'm glad to see she's not threatened or bothered by the small display of affection. That means a lot. I'm sure of it. This is her sister. If she trusts me with Prim…well, it must mean something.

"I'll see you soon," I promise. She lets go. "Bye, Katniss."

"Bye, Peeta." Just like last week, she takes her sister by the arm and leads her on home. I decide to turn around a little bit sooner this week. If she gives me another look, who knows what my head will do with it.