A/N: A big thank you to all who reviewed! You're all awesome! :)

A fair warning to anyone new, all my stories have some sort of dark element. In all fairness, this story isn't as dark as Torn Between or Rusted Gold but some stuff you might not like in this fic. Especially the event in Peeta's past that caused him to need the cane. It's not a gigantic part of the plot so you can skip over it if you like any time it's talked about. I just thought I should warn you.

Dreams written in italic

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.

Chapter Two

The shackles chafed. His wrists were slick with fresh blood, making the chains around his wrists slippery. He wasn't sure how long he'd been chained up but it felt like days since he'd come to a plane of conciousness but that didn't nesscarily mean it had really been that long. His limbs were stiff, so he'd definitely been restrained for more than a couple hours.

He could move his arms just fine-he kept them covering his face most of the time, scared to look anywhere but at the familar gloom of the darkness behind his eyelids-but his ankles were shackled apart. He couldn't move them at all, not even to shut his knees to express some form of dignity from the way his skinny jeans exposed his crotch. He hadn't wanted to put those jeans on that morning, his mom had forced him into them. For what, he didn't know.

A slit of light spilled out in the otherwise dark room but he was too afraid to look up. Instead, his head burrowed further into his elbows. Footsteps rang out in-judging by the echoing sound-large room. "He's awake," a gruff voice said.

"Good," a different one purred. The sound crawled down his spine like an unwanted tendril of pleasure, coiling around his heart and forcing it to skip a beat. He immediately knew he would grow to dislike that voice, no matter how soft and comforting it sounded.

"He's a good 'en," the first one noted. "Hasn't made any noise, unlike some others." Unable to control it, the captured boy shuddered. Just by the way the man had said 'others' made him worry for his own welfare and safety. Since these 'others' had obviously been in the same position as him-captured and chained-and were now being spoken of in the past tense, whatever happened to them couldn't be good.

"Well, it's nice to have someone who's obident," the second voice sighed. "But first, we need to see if he's worth his weight. You got the stuff?"

"Uh-huh," the first person mumbled, popping the cap on something. The footsteps got closer and the boy recoiled in on himself, terrified of what they were going to do with him.

"Come on sweetie," the soft voice crooned. "We're not going to hurt you." Instead of a soft touch to match the voice, his hair was grabbed and violently yanked back, forcing his head out from it's hiding place in his arms. The boy gasped, blue eyes shooting open in fear to find a woman with bright red hair smiling sweetly at him. It wasn't kind sweet-the type you'd get from old ladies giving you candy at Halloween-it was a sickly sweet. Like thick golden syrup sickly.

"Oh, how pretty," the woman said, tracing the boy's features with her scarlet red fingernails. He flinched at her touch but the hold she had on his hair was too strong to pull away from. The other person-a man with oily black hair and a smirk evil enough to rival Satan himself-took a hold of his throat. His fingers tightened around the boy's windpipe, forcing him to gasp.

"Now be a good boy and swallow all this up, eh?" The man said in a patronizing voice, producing a blue container with a popped top and tipping the contents up into the boy's mouth. He choked, the cold liquid sliding down his throat like an unwanted slime. He tried to force himself to throw up but the grip on his neck squeezed, and he was forced to swallow.

Blood rushed from his head and headed down south, going straight to an organ he still wasn't completely familar with. He may have been a fifteen year old boy but he'd always been too busy to fritter away his time with stuff like worrying about self-stimulation when he always seemed to have work to do. The denim of his jeans seemed to tighten uncomfortably and he squirmed on the spot, trying to relieve some of the pressure.

The red headed woman's smile widened to show off row after row of pearly white teeth that seemed to glow in the dark. She gave him one last indignant tug on his blond hair and ran a fingernail down the side of his face. "Now, let's see what you've got."

The boy didn't realize what she was talking about until the black haired man's hands grabbed the waistline of his jeans, opening his belt buckle with ease. His cerburan eyes widened in fear and he tried to fight him off, thrashing whatever he could move-anything that wasn't restricted by the chains.

The woman grabbed his shoulders and pinned him down, fingernails digging into his skin painfully. He cried out in pain. "Do it," she ordered. "And be quick about it. He's gonna be a fighter."

When the man finally forced his jeans down, the boy did finally find his voice.

He screamed.

Peeta awoke with a gasp, his body coated in a flim of sweat. He swung his arms, making sure they weren't chained up like in the dream, and moved his legs underneath the thick velvet quilt. Sighing in relief, he slumped back against the headboard of the bed.

He hated when he dreamt of the past. It only made it harder to forget. It seemed that something, at the back of his mind, refused to let him lose the memory of what happened when he was fifteen. A part of his head that wanted to haunt him with it for the rest of his life. Maybe it was just him, since he wasn't as pure as he always claimed.

Peeta hadn't seen Cato since he got on the train to District 2 and, even when they arrived in the District, he'd been lead by an avox (he didn't know that people in District 2 had avoxes) to a room and gestured at to make himself comfortable. No-one having showed up the entire night, Peeta went to bed, exhausted from the day's events.

The nightmare had perturbed him. He hadn't dreamt of that for weeks now, maybe even months. Sure, he'd suffered various other vicious allusions: watching his father being shot, his brothers brutally murdered . . . facing his mother again after all this time. . . he'd had them all. But it definitely had been a while since he'd dreamt of that one horrific week the previous year.

Kidnapped was the the best way to put it but even to this day he refused to believe he'd been abducted. Even those long weeks at therapy couldn't convince him of it. It was just something he couldn't comprehend. What had they wanted with him? Though it had been only a year ago since the kidnapping had occured, there wasn't much Peeta remembered. They told him this was probably because his kidnappers had drugged him a lot when he was in their captivity. The only time he'd remember anything was when he was sleeping, when random events from the week came forward into his mind and played out behind his eyelids.

Of course, he wasn't just picked off the streets for some special reason-his eyes weren't too bright a blue, his hair a special type of blond-he had been recommened. By his mother of all people. That's why when he said goodbye to her that morning, the morning of the kidnapping, it was the last time he'd ever seen her. Because she'd decided on her own head that-since the Bakery hadn't been raking in enough money-she'd sell her son to a couple of D12 sex slave distributers.

Shivering, Peeta wrapped the quilt around his body and tried to calm his nerves. They'd found the money his mother had recieved for selling him but he refused to look into how much it had been. Apparently it was a grand amount . . . because he was a virgin. That money had legally became his but the thought of the money alone made him feel sick to his stomach.

A knock on the bedroom door made Peeta jump out of his skin. Nervous and still shivering, he took his cane from where he left it sitting against the wall, slipped out of bed and hastily walked to the door. His hands shaking, he turned the brass doorknob and opened the giant oak door.

Cato stood in the doorway, his arms crossed across his chest. Peeta wasn't sure what he'd expected to see when he next saw the man. He hadn't seen him since the train ride to 2 and hadn't been particularly keen to see him too soon again. Cato's skin was shining with sweat and Peeta's heart exploded into a rapid beating cycle when he saw the sword pressed against the brute's side, the thin light coming from down the corridor sparkling off the metal. The thought of Cato commonly carrying a sword with him terrified Peeta to the point that he had to grip the doorframe out of fear of collapse.

"You okay?" asked Cato.

"Wh-what? Yeah. Why?" Peeta said, stumbling over his words in a panic.

Cato raised his eyerbows. "You were screaming?"

"I was?" Peeta squeaked. The older blond nodded slowly. "Oh . . . well . . . y-yeah. I'm f-fine." He shut his eyes and exhaled out his nose, cursing himself for stuttering like a blundering fool.

"You sure?"

"Uh . . . uh-huh." Peeta opened his eyes again, his gaze sliding to the sword again in deep worry. Cato followed his gaze and smirked, unfolding his arms and brandishing the sword proudly. The blade glinted as it caught the light, as if winking at him, and Peeta swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"You honestly didn't think I was coming here to kill you, did you?" Cato asked, amusement clear in his eyes.

"N-no," lied Peeta unconvincingly.

"Trust me, I'm not going to kill you until I get what I want," informed Cato. He smirked and slid the sword into a holder strapped to his side, and held his hands up as if surrending. "See? Trust me, I was only training."

"For what?" Peeta found himself asking.

Cato quirked an eyebrow. "You're seriously asking that?" he said.

Oh what a dumbass he must have seemed to be. Peeta clenched his jaw, irritated with himself for not knowing it off the bat. In a week, it was going to be the reaping for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. Cato was born and bred District 2. He was a career. "You train late at night?"

"Early in the morning actually," the brute responded. "5:00am, bright and early. Every morning. The Career Institute is very clear on how often you should practice."

Peeta found himself rolling his eyes. "I didn't interuppt your routine then, did I?"

Cato smirked. "No," he said. "You're good. Plus, I can always spare some time for my partner."

Peeta stiffened and cast his eyes to the floor. Partner. It was such an alien idea. He still wondered why Cato had sought out a virgin when there was plenty of ruggad, well-built Seam teens he could have chosen in District 12. The worst thing of all, was that the brute from 2 . . . well . . . he wasn't really a brute. He was gueninely a nice guy. He didn't force himself on Peeta, had obviously been giving him space, and came to make sure he was okay when he heard him screaming.

Peeta winced, his leg starting to hurt, and shifted his weight, leaning more heavily on his cane. Cato noticed the movement, his eyes locking on the stick of wood curiously. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

Nodding quickly, Peeta tightened his grip on the cane and gripped the doorframe harder. "I'm fine," he said dismissively.

Cato chewed his lip. "Look, I'm sorry for being so rough trying to get you onto the train. It was uncalled for, I mean . . . I was just in a bad place yesterday that's all. I'm sorry."

Peeta was taken aback. Was he actually apologizing to him? "Um . . . that's okay." They stood in a thick awkward silence that neither attempted to break for a while. "Was there anything else?" he finally managed to spit out.

The career shook his head and turned on his heel, heading down the corridor. At last minute, he whirled back around and looked at the boy carefully. "Keep the doors locked."

Peeta frowned. "Why?"

Cato's eyes sparkled with mirth as he looked around himself almost nervously. "Kayla will most likely try to find you."

"Kayla?"

"My sister. Believe me, you don't want her to find you."

"Why?"

Cato grinned. "She won't leave you alone once she does."

~xXx~

Something poked his cheek. Once. Twice. A third time. Peeta shut his eyes tight, not wanting to face the day just yet, and batted the intruding prodder away. They didn't stop, in fact the poking got more persistant, barely breaking between prods. Groaning in agitation and finally giving in, Peeta's eyes snapped open.

He was startled to find a girl leaning over him on the bed. Her knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his knees, her right hand gripping the pillow by his head as her left one froze mid-poke, hovering in mid-air. Her long blonde hair was long and hung like a curtain, incompassing both their heads as if wishing for privacy. Her eyes were wide and dark blue-shocked at his sudden waking.

Peeta noticed something smiliar in her face. Same angular jaw, perfect nose and high cheekbones . . . she was spitting image of Cato.

Kayla. His sister.

Had he locked the door like Cato had said to?

Obviously not.

"You're awake!" Kayla exclaimed, resting her left hand on the other side of his head, leaning her weight forward so her nose skimmed his. "I've been waiting for you to wake for the past half hour."

"You have?" asked Peeta, alarmed. Kayla had said this as if it was normal to sit and watch someone sleep, waiting for them to wake up for thirty minutes.

"Oh yes. I wanted to make sure Cato hadn't fucked up in choosing his partner," the girl explained. She pressed her face closer to his. "I have to say he didn't. Can't say I didn't help him in the decision with all my incredible advice and all but the ass obviously ignored me when I said to chose a virgin. Don't you just hate that?"

Peeta's eyebrows knitted together in a frown. "What?" he asked nervously.

"Virgins," said Kayla brightly. Her smile beamed but her face was still uncomfortably close to Peeta's. "Best to chose. I told Cato, I told him, the purity of a virgin is the most fun to wreck. Because it is, obviously. I should know, after all." Her blue eyes narrowed. "It seems he didn't think so though."

Peeta was becoming extremely uncomfortable by the girl's proximity but Kayla seemed unfazed by it-her arms not even shaking as she held her weight up. "But he requested a . . . virgin . . ." he said, trailing off mid-sentence.

Kayla frowned. "Oh. And he got you? What happened? No virgins in 12, eh? I'd heard about that slag heap-they did a documentary on peasent District behaviour-but I had thought there would at least be some-"

"I'am," the baker frowned. "A virgin, I mean."

Blue eyes wide in shock, Kayla sat back so her weight is balanced on his hips. "Shut the front door!" she exclaimed. "Really?" She dropped back forward so her face loomed over his again. "That is so weird. No way!" Her eyes darted over every inch of Peeta's face, scrutnizing every feature.

"Wh-what's wrong with that?" Kayla was so close now that her lips nearly brushed Peeta's when he spoke.

"But you're so . . ." Kayla frowned and bit her lip. She poked his cheek once more and tugged on a lock of blond hair, prompting a quiet yelp from the boy underneath her. "Handsome. Hot even. You could rival some of the people I've had as boyfriends!" Before Peeta could respond, Kayla slapped her hand over his mouth. "Don't respond to that," she ordered.

Peeta shrugged in reply. Claustrophobia was starting to take over and he began thinking of the best way to tell the girl to get off him before it got too much and he'd need to be sick.

"Cato!" Kayla yelled, her voice nearly shattering Peeta's eardrums. "Good job!"

"Kayla?!" Cato yelled from somewhere in the distance. "What are you doing?!"

"Checking out your eye candy!" Kayla answered. Peeta took an immediate disliking to the nickname. He did not want to be anyone's eye candy, especially not a career from District 2's. The thought of being oggled just because of the way he looked made awful memories rush foward. Things he knew from his nightmares.

Cato burst into the bedroom, looking pissed off. "Kayla!" he yelled, lunging at the girl. Kayla laughed and leaped off the bed, narrowly missing her brother's arms, and landed nimbly on the floor. She gasped and grabbed Peeta's cane, twirling it round her fingers like a baton.

"Wow! Why do you need a stick? Are you a cripple? Do you have a fake leg?" she questioned. Before Peeta could answer, Cato tackled her to the floor. Cato was twice his sister's size and Peeta worried that he'd seriously injure her, judging by the way they'd slammed into the floor. Worried, he pushed himself up into a sitting position on the bed to see if she was okay. As quick as a flash, Kayla had kneed her brother in the crotch and was on her feet again.

Cato, just as fast, brandished his sword and took a swing at her. Kayla laughed and ducked under it, jumping over the blade as he swiped it under her feet as soon as it went over her head. Her movements were graceful and seemed to come as easily as baking came to Peeta.

That's right, Peeta thought. She may be younger than him, but Kayla would probably be training just as hard as Cato for the Hunger Games.

Soon they were chest to chest, both panting from exhaustion-Kayla holding Peeta's cane against Cato's neck and the blade of Cato's sword softly pressed against her own neck by her brother. Peeta's eyes were wide in horror from watching them fight like that, not even comforted when they both burst out laughing and withdrew their weapons.

"Seriously squirt, what are you doing in here?" Cato asked, ruffling his sister's hair.

"I told you," answered Kayla, lifting her head indignantly. "I wanted to make sure you made the right choice in your partner." She smirked at the horrified look on Peeta's face and poked Cato in the chest. "I almost thought you'd skipped out on my advice to get a virgin."

Cato rolled his eyes. "Now why in the hell would I do that?" he said.

Kayla folded her arms and huffed. "Well, I'am going to have to watch him when you go into the Games this year," she said.

Now that grabbed Peeta's attention.

"You're going into the Games this year?" he asked. Both snapped their heads toward him, as if just remembering he was there. Kayla nodded and Cato stayed indifferent.

"Oh yes," Kayla replied. "We're proud of him. Even his tutor's saying he's ready." Cato eyed his sister warily, looking almost embarrassed. "Someday I'm going to be trained just like him and I'm going to volunteer and become a victor!"

Peeta found it strange listening to Kayla speak of the Hunger Games as if it was some glamourous gameshow. The same way the citizens of the Capitol saw it. Nothing could beat the ultimate prize: The continutation of your life. What else could you possibly ask for? Then again, there is the luxuries you recieve once you are a victor. Peeta wasn't sure if he'd be too fond of being brand as a victor for the rest of his life. It would be a stamp saying he'd killed people.

"He's so gonna win," Kayla continued to natter. "We're all so confident about his survival that we let him get his partner a week before he volunteered. You know, like a congratulations gift?"

Oh, so he was a congratulations gift to a career. How flattering.

"You want to get changed?" Cato asked Peeta, gesturing at his crumpled clothes. Since he hadn't really had anything to get dressed in, Peeta had fallen asleep in the outfit he'd worn to the Choosing Ceremony. Though after Cato's visit at five o'clock, Peeta couldn't stop thinking about him and gotten uncomfortably hot, so he'd discarded his pants. He blinked, worrying about them discovering this and unsure whether Cato would own anything that would really fit him. As if understanding what he was thinking, the career pointed at the wardrobe built into the wall to their left. "My mom guessed your size when you arrived. She's right nearly 95% of the time."

Well, better than nothing, Peeta thought.

"Oh!" gasped Kayla. "Sorry! I almost forgot, here take your cane back. Sorry about taking it . . . I'm sure you're not a cripple . . ." Trying to be discreet, the girl slowly slid down to a crouching position and tried to peer under the crinkled covers at Peeta's legs. Cato stared at her, appalled, and pushed her shoulders, making her lose her balance and fall. She yelped and grabbed the quilt for leverage but just ended up dragging it off the bed as she landed on her backside.

Blood rushed to Peeta's face as his bare legs were exposed on the bed. It wasn't like he slept without underwear or anything but even with this much skin on show, he felt uncomfortable. He tried to act nochanlant, like sleeping in your underwear is the most ordinary thing ever-which it really was.

As Kayla struggled to fight her way out from under the quilt covers, Peeta noticed Cato staring at him. Well, not at him, but his leg. Because of the way he had been lying on the bed, the material of his pale blue boxers had ridden up, revealing a good portion of his upper thigh. This is what Cato was staring at. Peeta-for once-wished it was in a sexual way and not in the way he knew the career was looking at that particular part of him for.

The scar was big. Jagged right across his right thigh, almost in the shape of a cartoon lightening bolt. The skin around it was slightly marbled, curling around the scar and pushing outwards like a starburst. No one really saw the blemish that often but Peeta and having someone he barely knew staring at it in amazement made him squirm uncomfortably.

He pulled the fabric of his boxers down, feebly trying to hide the scar even though it was too late. Cato had already seen it. The career's eyes flicked from the scar, to the cane that lay on the floor. Peeta could almost see the cogs working in his mind, praying that he wouldn't put two and two together.

"I'm going to . . . get changed," he stuttered, swiftly snatching his cane and hobbling to the wardrobe. Flinging the door open, he didn't even bother to check what clothes he'd grabbed before he disappeared into the en suite bathroom.

The bathroom was massive. Peeta's footsteps echoed around the room as he climbed the five steps to the main area where the sink, bath and toilet was located. Above the granite sink, a giant mirror hung against the wall. Peeta watched his reflection carefully, as if half expecting it to lurch out of the mirror and attack him. He nervously turned and pulled the fabric back up to look at the scar. It looked worse since the last time he looked at it, if that was even possible.

His cane clattered to the ground and he leaned heavily against the sink, wishing he was back home. Wishing he hadn't been such a hopeless teenager and had had sex so he hadn't of been chosen by Cato. A silent tear trailed down his cheek and he scowled at his weakness.

Crying never solved anything he scolded.

This was a policy he'd learnt the hard way.

A/N: So I hope I've got you thinking. Has Peeta's kidnapping got something to do with his cane? The scar on his leg? How did he escape such a horrible fate anyways? Well, you'll have to wait to find out!

I hope you don't mind the OC. I always liked the idea of Cato having an irritating little sister who always nosied in his business. And for those who're wondering, her name is pronounded Kyle-a. Not Kay-la ^_^

Preview: Chapter Three

Watching him train was mesmerzing. Peeta couldn't take his eyes off his acclaimed partner as he stabbed all of the dummies in the heart, not missing a single one. He wished he had his sketchpad, so he could capture it on paper, but sadly he didn't.

He didn't have anything anymore . . .

Please R&R! :)