Chapter 2: Damsel in a Tree

It has been more than a year - a year and a half, actually - since Peeta Mellark proposed to me out of the blue. The moment still haunts me, leaving me feeling steamed at his temerity, but also gives me a sharp pang of regret. As time has gone on, I feel almost - almost... badly for how I treated him.

It is deep winter now, and an unforgiving one at that. It is already dark when I bag my last raccoon, and I know that I should have called it a night at least a half an hour ago. With my game bag bouncing over my shoulder, I hurry to the fence, to crawl under and make for home. If Mother is not necessarily concerned with where I am at this late hour, I know Primrose definitely is. It does not matter how many times I return home unscathed and not caught by the Peacekeepers - my baby sister will always fret that I will be eaten by an animal too large to fell for game. Or be finally caught red-handed by Cray and his men and thrown into the stocks.

I am a few feet away from the fence now, when I twitch my ear, cocking it to listen. There! It's the telltale hum of electricity.

The fence is back on for the night. Fuck.

Technically, the fence is supposed to be on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. However, it is but one of the corners that Cray has cut. I imagine that for him, the loophole has been widened out of laziness. Then again, District 12 does not have a lot of extra money to spend towards the government. Electricity cuts might be seen as a necessary way to scrimp and save. Regardless of the reason, the fence's weakening has been essential in my hunting career.

All the same, I really needed it to be off right now.

Thankfully, I do have an escape route. There is a thick oak tree with a prominent branch that hangs over the fence. The drop to the ground is ten, maybe fifteen feet. I don't want to use that pathway if I can avoid it. And when I have needed to, there has always been the risk of breaking or straining something. But that's never happened before. I've never broken a bone or so much as twisted a muscle in my life. I don't expect that impeccable track record to fail me now.

I scale the tree with ease, my toned thigh muscles helping me climb higher and higher, despite how malnourished I would still consider myself. I finally reach the famous branch and begin to edge out along it. The plan before has always been to cross the branch as far out as I can without it breaking under my weight, then hang by my fingers from it, and drop to the ground. The least risk for the greatest reward: getting out of here without being electrocuted and killed.

I have almost reached what I call the drop off point, when a voice nearly makes me lose my balance and fall off prematurely: "Don't do it, Katniss!"

Startled, I wobble as I fight to regain my grip on the branch, then I look down. When I see who it is, I want to groan, and barely suppress one.

Peeta Goddamn Mellark is standing below me, just a few feet away from the fence. Does the damn fool want to get himself killed as well as me? He should know better than to wander near the fence, and at nighttime besides!

"What are you doing here?" I snap. It comes out a little harsher than even I meant it to, but really! Peeta Mellark has no business being near the fence, or anywhere within one hundred yards of the Seam, over an hour past curfew.

Peeta holds up what looks like a disjointed bundle. Peering through the gloom, the moonlight helps me make out that it is a pile of sticks. "My mother sent me out here to gather some firewood."

And that's another thing. It's freezing cold! Peeta could get frostbite out here, and I tell him so. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that you could freeze to death out here?"

"Oh, she did, but in her mind, it's better me than her! If I get caught and thrown in the stocks, at least she'll have deniability." Peeta laughs it off almost as a joke, but I can hear a tinge of bitterness in his voice. I know why. Peeta's mother is often referred to as the Witch in Seam circles. She has built a reputation of being deeply prejudiced. Her greatest love is her comfortable Merchant lifestyle, and she will apparently do anything to protect it. There are even rumors that she even beats her own sons. The thought of Peeta getting walloped oddly makes my heart constrict in this moment. Why is his mother even sending him out here, if she knows it's dangerous, in more ways than one?

I hear a tiny clatter and I watch as Peeta discards his pile of firewood to the ground. "What are you doing?" I frown.

Peeta holds out his arms to me. "Just jump! Come on, I'll catch you!"

I will allow nothing of the kind. I am not some damsel in distress! If I were to literally fall into Peeta's arms, I half-suspect that he might do something to take advantage of me. Grope me through my clothes. Or throw me down into the snow and have his way with me out here, where no one could hear me scream. Another part of my brain scolds me, attesting that Peeta Mellark is an honorable young man, and would never hurt me. The man is in love with me, after all. At the same time, something about his chirpy, innocent demeanor has always seemed phony to me, so what do I know?

I scowl at him. "The fence won't stay on forever. I can wait all night if I have to."

Peeta's brow creases in perplexion. "What are you talking about?"

I huff at his obtuseness. "The fence is not always on, Peeta. You really shouldn't believe everything the Capitol says. Are you that trusting of Cray?"

Peeta chuckles a little at my dig of our Head Peacekeeper. "No I guess not. But I've never had a reason to doubt that the fence wasn't always on."

I turn up my nose, still a little annoyed at his naivete. "Well, it's not," I report almost prissily. "Just listen."

We sit in silence for a moment. "There! Do you hear it?"

"Hear what?" he frowns.

"The humming."

Peeta listens again. I actually allow myself to watch him as he does so. I rather like the countenance his face makes, as he thinks and ponders. At last, his eyes light up like the sun. "There it is! And when it's off, there's just silence."

I can't help it. I smile at his eagerness to learn. "That's right." How strange. I have only ever reserved my smiles for Prim, and at one time, Gale. But only when he and I were ever in the woods. "How do you think I have managed to hunt all these years?"

"Good point," Peeta concedes. "I stand corrected." He doesn't move the way I expected him to, now comforted in the knowledge that the fence is not impenetrable and that I can find my own way down.

"You can go," I verbally nudge, trying to shoo him away.

"Absolutely not," Peeta shakes his head, and he takes a seat right there in the snow, next to his forgotten pile of firewood.

A tense, pregnant silence is held between us, exacerbating our separation by fifteen feet of vertical height. At last, Peeta asks:

"Won't your mother and Prim be worried about you?"

I bite my lip. "Primrose, probably," I admit at last. "My mother is not exactly the affectionate type."

Peeta's posture sags slightly. "That makes two of us."

I am about to say that my mother falls more into the Neglectful camp, rather than Abusive, but I bite my tongue. I don't want to bring up likely bad memories for Peeta about his mother.

"Were you hunting squirrels out there?" I almost glare at Peeta for his next question, my guard coming back up. What, is he trying to spy on me? Run to the Peacekeepers if it would save his neck? Oddly, he laughs at my gaze. "You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?"

Almost guiltily, I tear my gaze away. "I've never been very good at making friends," I murmur.

"That's all right. It just takes practice."

"I'm not very good at practicing, either," I admit. "Except when it comes to hunting."

Peeta chuckles. "That I can believe." Just then, somewhere in the distance, there is a crunch of snow. Peeta looks back and down the hill. Far and away, a distant streetlamp captures the white armor of a patrolling Peacekeeper. The Baker's son turns back to me, urgency in his eyes.

"Katniss, jump!" he entreats me. "I promise I won't let you hit the ground. We've really gotta go!"

I've seen the Peacekeeper too, and suspect that his patrol route will likely include the fence. Snarling in frustration, I swing my legs off the branch and scoot down until I am hanging by my fingers. I loosen my grip, inch by inch, until I finally can't hold on any longer. I let go.

I slam into something firm and warm, then tumble further backward against it. I yelp as powdered snow coats my clothes. Shaking my head to clear it, I glance up to find myself gazing into Peeta's eyes.

I can't believe it. He actually managed to catch me, and break my fall. Then again, I really shouldn't be surprised. Peeta's strong. He can lift a hundred-pound sack of flour right over his head; I've seen it. It is now that I realize I am lying practically prone on that very same muscular chest. I can only imagine it is in a very compromising position.

Frowning, I rise as gracefully as I can off from where I was pretty much... straddling him, and wince in pain. A sharp stab shoots up from near my ankle, and I just know it is sprained. Every perfect track record has to be broken sometime, I guess. My luck finally ran out.

"Are you all right?" Peeta asks, scrambling up out of the snow.

"Fine, I'm fine," I growl, waving him off.

"Here: lean on me, if you need to," and his voice is so sweetly insistent that I can't find it within me to refuse.

"Don't forget your firewood!" I remind him. Peeta looks as though he could care less whether he goes back for it, so I take it upon myself to scoop the bundle of sticks up. It's lucky I did, for we barely make it to the main road in the Seam before placing any weight on my sprained ankle becomes unbearable. The first time my stance buckles, Peeta literally sweeps me off my feet and carries me, bridal-style.

His gallantry terrifies me. Not exactly the courtesy itself, although that is part of it. No, what really leaves me scared is how... safe I feel in his arms. It is almost blasphemy, to admit even to myself how much I enjoy listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, with my head cradled against his chest.

Peeta carries me all the way to my home. If Mother seems surprised to see me in such a state, and a Merchant boy with me, she doesn't show it. But what she doesn't bother to hide is the knowing look she sends my way. I scowl. What does she think happened out there? What does she think is going to happen? If she starts to play Matchmaker, I might just strangle her alive and feed her to the cat!

Mother treats my sprained ankle as only a master Healer can. She then thanks Peeta for his help and insists he gets home. Peeta graciously refuses, saying that he can't in good conscience. Then, before I can object, he scoops me up off the kitchen table and carries me up to my bed, even going so far as to setting me down into it and tucking me in.

The medicines Mother gave me have left me feeling woozy, a little lightheaded. High, almost. So when Peeta turns to finally take his leave, I grasp his hand in mine. "Stay with me?"

He acquiesces, sitting down in a nearby chair. He even says something to me, but I don't quite catch it as the drugs pull me under.