Author's Note: This chapter is long overdue and I apologize. I was lost between the wild, screaming reds and the deep blues and that led to dark place. I just couldn't write for a few weeks I just felt too numb.

All or None

Chapter 6

I should regret what I have said, but do not. The words I spoke were true, and why should I regret saying them?

Her face contorts with another bitter expression and she answers me, "No you do not!" She gathers her abandoned nightgown from the forest floor and takes of in a tear, and like that she is gone.

I could chase after her, run her down, force the situation to be something that it isn't, but instead I remain where I am. She doesn't want me and I need to make peace with that. I won't torment her with my affections I love her too much to do that. If her wish is to push me away then I will let it be.

The walk back to the house is lonesome and solemn as I work out in my mind what just happened. For the first time since I have laid eyes on her Katniss is real to me. Not that she was ever anything sub-human to me, but holding her in my arms turned her into real flesh and blood. She was no longer a great lady in a grand house where I worked, but rather a very real person that I could be there to have and to hold.

My throat burns and I swallow in an attempt to fight off the tears that threaten to come. I can't walk into the house crying. I am filled with dread. 'The House!" I yell to myself. I have completely forgotten about my duties and the time. I look to the sky and this does nothing to pacify me. I am sure that it is already past half past six. I have only minutes to dress and be down by seven and I am walking through a field.

Others could easily be up by now. I know some of the maids rise before I do in order to clean more of the house. I could easily be seen and realize what a vulnerable situation I have put myself in with my actions. I start to run I think I have given Katniss enough time to return to the house without thinking that I am perusing her and I must get to my room in a hurry.

The kitchen floors are slick in my wet shoes and fall to my hands and knees running up the stairs. I don't even stop to think of these things I can't let anyone see me in this state and be able to ask a question I won't be able to answer.

By some miracle I have been I am able to reach my room undetected. Cato is still asleep in bed, maybe I am not as late as I thought. I start stripping off my sopping, grass stained, muddy clothes and tossing them on the bed. Once I am down to just my underwear I realize that what I am going to do with the pile on my bed is quite a sticky wicket.

I can't send them down to be laundered the normal way and I can't put them back in my shared closet. I make my mind up to wad the soaking heap together and toss it under my bed I can deal with it later. Looking around I make sure no one entering the room will see any clothes sticking out and then start dressing in my livery.

Half way through buttoning my shirt up Cato wakes. He glances at the window and then throws his arm over his eyes as if disgusted by the first morning light and another day dawning. I can relate to this sentiment this day is not half of what I hoped it would be.

He then asks in a groggy, half-asleep voice, "Where the hell have you been?"

I feel the air in my throat catch and my stomach twist inside me. He knows I left. I grab my coat and black tie and answer, "sleep walking", before heading out the door. I finish dressing as I descend the stair and am straightening my tie when I step into the kitchen.

Delly's blue eyes snap up and meet mine. She then heaves a sigh of relief and says, "Good, you're down early. You have to get Mrs. Sae up early I can't finish all this work on time."

I nod and take the tray without a word. For all the commotion I made this morning she didn't notice, but Cato did. It's like my best laid plans never come through. I enter the dark, gloomy room and drop the tray at shoulder height. It shatters into pieces and the saucer breaks as well. The spilled tea floods the cracks between the broken glass.

I drop to my knees and start picking up what pieces I can find in the dim light. Looking up I find the old woman sitting up in bed, her night cap askew, and her gray hair matted in sleep. I close my mouth as I realize I had been muttering to myself as I worked. Her eyes meet mine and I know that she has seen, if not heard, my misery.

"Go," she says in a gentle voice as she points to the door, "I'll get one of my girls to clean it up."

I nod to acknowledge her and turn to leave. I return to the counter where my food is usually resting, but nothing is there today. I look at Delly and words start forming in my mind about what I am going to say to her, but as usual she is ten steps ahead of me.

"Oh you'll get nothing right now. Some of the guests are leaving early and you need to be up setting the table. I'll try to keep some scraps warm for you and maybe you can grab a bite later."

Nothing in the way she said this was the least bit mean, it just wasn't as nice as it normally is. I have upset her and I realize I will need to make an apology later. I have nothing to say at the moment and move out of the kitchen. In my mind I feel that it is better at this point to make one large plea for forgiveness, than a worthless short one.

Running up stairs is a terrible experience when your stomach's empty. Every step causes your muscle to tighten around the empty cavern inside you, just so you don't forget you haven't eaten yet. I hear the footfalls of someone descending the stairs and instinctively turn to the side. It is Lavinia holding Katniss's torn and muddy nightgown. There are even brambles in the lace collar. Lavinia knows, she has to know. I wish I wasn't in such a hurry, I want to be able to think about that, but there is no time.

I break protocol and run openly through the house to the breakfast room. By some miracle Snow is not there. Cato is and he has already draped the first white table cloth on. It is a job for two though and both ends hang crooked. Without a word I grab my side and we lay it straight. The second one goes on just as easily and before I know it I am setting the table. There are so many of them to place, but this no longer concerns me I have developed an eye for it now. The plate should be a palm's width away from the edge of the table. The knife should be two fingers away from the plates right side. The spoon one finger away from that.

I place six settings and Cato does seven. I feel almost bad for him though. Something about the red paint in the room accentuates his pallid complexion and the dark circles under his eyes. He works hard. I'd almost say too hard, but he still seems to have energy for scheming. He goes to bed later than me every night and for as much talks about becoming a butler at least he puts his money where his mouth is and works like a demon to get where he is going.

The breakfast is extravagant: sweet meats of every kind a person's ever heard of, three different kinds of eggs, and juices are provided from exotic fruits. In an endless cycle up and down the stairs I go. Carrying tray after tray. It is the last meal some people will be having at Panem House and it must be memorable. Even in all my frenzy I notice that Katniss and Mr. Hawthorne are missing from the party.

The stiff collar around my neck is wet by the time my duties are complete and I am told to go stand by the door. Standing still has never been so hard for me. My lungs are still burning and my cheeks are flushed. All my clothes seem to irritate my skin and I am tormented by the fact that I can't adjust them. I think about how if I was at home I would not have to be wrapt in such heavy, highly starched, fabric and could easily be wearing a soft, breathable cotton shirt.

Some scuffling and whispering draw my attention to the outer hall and in the far left corner of the room Katniss and Mr. Hawthorne make their appearance. It is easy to tell why they weren't at breakfast this morning they were both out horse riding. There is a whisper of a smile on both their faces and I am grieved.

My first reaction is to hate him, violently, passionately, hate him. I recant this feeling almost as soon as I have it. I don't mean it. My problem lies with the fact that I have held this girl in my arms and felt her heart beat against my own. I know things about her that he never will and I have treasured even the smallest things I learn about her as if they were precious gems. My true problem now lies in the fact that Katniss is now real to me.

Before she was always a notion, an idea, a lovely unattainable idea. Now all of that has changed. I now know the warmth her skin gives off when you touch it, the rate her breathe becomes when she is frightened, the way she fits so easily in my arms. She is entirely human too. I could have her. She could be mine.

There are too many 'could's in those sentences because she won't have me and doesn't want me. It shouldn't be a surprise to me, but it still creates a deep wound that only time can heal. They disappear into another hall branching of the room and are gone leaving me alone only with my thoughts.

Time passes at a disjointed rate of jumps and starts and long unending hours. Guests leave and I help them with their bags. Then for a half hour nothing happens. Lady Primrose walks by with her hair tied up in ribbons and her three cats trailing behind her all wearing different colored butterfly wings. Not another person passes for fifteen minutes. Snow emerges from a dark hall beside me. I keep my eyes straight I have not seen him all day and I know he will ignore me.

My intuition fails me. "Mr. Mellark," Snow's deep, gravely voice breaks into the silence, "those shoes are not up to standard."

I look down and deep crimson blooms on my cheeks. My dark shoes are not longer black, but rather varying shades of brown with mud coating every inch of them to different degrees. Grass is plastered like a fringe around the edge of my heels, and I cannot believe I have not been tracking marks through out the whole house.

"Go down this instant and clean them." I flee from his presence and hurry to the stairs. "What a fool I've been." I think to myself. I could lose my job over this. I am in the work room before I know it pulling a jar of tallow from the shelves and feeling sick in my stomach.

Sitting down I realize I could have forgotten the the tallow I need to get the debris of them first. I remove my left shoe and the the other being carful not to mark my trousers with dirt. My big toe peeks out from a hole in my wool socks. I don't know how to darn it myself and I haven't plucked up the courage to write home. If they saw a letter from me I'm sure they wouldn't even open it without debating whether I would have a bed to sleep there tonight.

My hands start scrapping away the filth and I am sick with myself for getting into this situation. Why did I do any of it? I thought it would solve my situation and bring closure and hopefully some opportunity. Instead it left me in a dazed and confused place. My insides almost seem to itch with a hot confusion as I realize that I had never been closer or farther from her than I was this morning. I mourn the fact that I fell in love with someone who could so easily walk away.

I chip furiously away at the mud on the shoes and when that is done I realize that I need a wet rag to get the fine dust of them before I start trying to shine them. I walk over to the hand pump in the corner of the room. My sock snags on the rough wood, by the time I get the stray thread free four of my toes are left uncovered and the sock is beyond repair. I retrieve the water I need and then sit back down and start throwing myself into my work. I can't think about my problems right now they would consume me.

I use my wet rag to return the shoes to their normal black color. The dirt that has been on them dulled them considerably and I know the shining process will take some time. I break some tallow free and start rubbing it in trying to find my rhythm. My circles are small as I try to focus. I can see the shoe's potential now and this encourages me. My scrubbing rate increases and everything does not seem so lost. I can fix them. It will all be alright.

The luster returns, all will be well again, until I find it. On the interior of my right shoe is a pit mark about the size of a pea. It is gray, dull, and draws the eye. I want to lay my head down on the table and cry. It's not over the mark. Today has been an all around terrible experience. I know tears won't help me now and I continue until I finish the job. I'm amazed at how they can look so perfect except for that one blemish. With a ruined sock, a damaged shoe, and a broken heart I leave the room.

The door clicks shut behind me and I can see the servant's hall buzzing with excitement. It must be near tea time. I had nearly forgotten. Hunger grips me and I remember that I haven't eaten all day. I see Lavinia's flaming locks flash past the entrance and I also remember that there is something I recently discovered that I need to ask her about.

I try and organize the words in my mind as I walk towards the hall. I don't want to sound like I am accusing her of anything, but I want her to realize that I know the full scope of Katniss's morning adventures.

With every step the noise of a Panem servant's life increases: laughter and chatter from maids, the endless clattering of china on a wooden table, Mrs. Sae giving orders in the kitchen. I break free of the hall and a bell rings. Everyone goes quite and looks up. It is a guest's room. Nervous whispering breaks out. No one is sure if a man or woman is staying in that room. If it is a lady a maid should go. If it is a gentleman it is my responsibility.

The bell rings again and the uncertainty of the room does not change. Mr. Snow appears from the stairwell and looks to me then my shoes. "Mr. Mellark, please go up and assist Mr. Hawthorne with his bags he will be leaving early."

"Yes Sir, Mr. Snow." I say hoping I am not smiling too much. I can't help it this is a positive change in events. I feel the same warmth a person feels when the first pleasant day after winter comes or when a person sees crocus in the snow drifts. Winter is over spring is coming.

He must be saying his goodbyes, because when I enter the forest green room full of oak furnishings he is nowhere to be seen. His two suitcases sit by the end of the bed and I collect them with a spring in my step and a song in my heart.

At the top of the stairs I see him clasping Katniss's hands in his own as they say their final words to each other. This no longer bothers me because she is staying and he is going away, far far away.

The birdsong never sounded so cheerful to me as I strap his bags to the back of the car. I make sure to do a good job to help ensure he has no reason for an early return. I suppress the urge to wave as the car pulls out of the drive and heads for the gravel road. Things are finally going my way.

Snow pulls me aside once we are back within the walls of Panem at first I thought he was going to inform me that looking absolutely overjoyed at a guest departure was not acceptable behavior. He instead told me that I would have no break today because Cato had to take my place at the door. Cato was suppose to be shining silver during that time so now it is my job to do it. I readily agree. It only seems fair.

The silver has been brought down by other servants and now decks an entire workbench. In my mind this is how a tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh would look with treasures stacked all around. The metal does not even looked tarnished to me and if they were pieces at my house I would see not problem with them.

I find a clean rag and start rubbing. A slight sediment does come off and I start working faster. Silver is a funny thing. When you clean it you don't want to clean all the crevices of their tarnish. They idea is by leaving the details dark thy are better expressed. The eye is more likely to be drawn to them. The imperfection enhances them. The stain makes them more endearing. I think back to my shoes and how upset I was that they would now be flawed, but maybe things do not have to be perfect to be good. Maybe the flaws enrich the the value and beauty.

The work is not hard. All it takes is a firm hand and a clean rag. I leave the now gleaming silver on the table hoping that it will return from whence it came as mysteriously as it arrived. The smell of dinner wafting through the hall remind me of something. I haven't eaten.

The realization leads to an almost crippling pain in my stomach as if it wants to punish me for my neglect. I stand just outside the kitchen door and scan the room making sure Mrs. Sae is no where in sight. I can't find her anywhere and assume the coast is clear.

I stick my head through the entrance. "Delly. Delly." I hiss looking in her direction.

Her attention averts from the three pots she has on burners and she looks up at me. Recognizing me she lifts up her wooden spoon from a sauce to show me she has my full attention.

"What?" She calls back in a hushed voice. The small movement she makes causes a drip to break free from the spoon and bright red liquid coats the edge of her skirt and the floor.

"You said you would try and save some food for me."

She purses her lips and then answers in a slightly shocked voice, "Peeta, that was almost eight hours ago."

"I know, I know." I say in an apologetic way. "But I didn't get any breakfast and also missed tea. I need something."

"Oh, alright." She says. Covering her hand with her apron and grabbing a fresh roll from her covered basket. She places it in my hand and I immediately toss it up and then catch it. The bread is burning hot and I continue to juggle it to avoid being burned.

"Thanks a million." I say as I leave the room just in time to avoid running into Mrs. Sae.

I have been raised around bread my whole life and feel like I know as well as anyone all of its qualities and failings. After eating that roll though I have to conclude that the best thing about baked things is that if you drink enough water with it you can feel like you just had a small feast.

The house seems less hectic tonight. All the guests are gone and things seem to have slowed down. This surprises me a little more than a month ago the dinner service always seemed so frantic and like it was on the edge of spiraling out of control. Now it is almost relaxing bordering on boring.

I follow Cato up, bringing the bread for the first course and enter the blue dining room again. Seeing the family I remember why there will be a little excitement for me tonight. Katniss is here and it will be the closest we have been since this morning when I lowered her from the tree. It doesn't help that she looks spectacular tonight in a deep blue, satin dress. I refuse to except that she probably was saving it for what was suppose to be Mr. Hawthorne's last night.

My face feels like it might melt as I lean in to serve her the bread. How can she act so calm? We are so close. We shared such an intimate moment this morning. I feel alive and dead all at once ad my heart seems to sputter with an excited misery. She takes the bread and moves on. I am forced to draw back remember not to linger after serving a person.

At this moment I wish more than anything that she was not so tranquil. I wish she had such high spirits that everyone in the room would know what she was thinking or at least enough spirit so that I knew what she was thinking. Does she love me? Does she hate me? Does she wish me dead? It's all lost in that smooth unchanging face.

I force myself not to smile at a thought I just had. We share a secret now and even she can't ignore that. I know she goes to the woods in the morning and she knows that I followed her there. This is a link between us. Another thought follows that is not as hopeful, maybe she does hate me. She cannot reveal me because she would have to admit that she runs off to the forrest in the morning and she has her reasons for keeping this as concealed.

My knowledge might frighten her. I might frighten her. She has no reason to believe that I will keep this information to myself. The true depth of my affection escapes her. I feel a slight choking feeling bubble up inside me as I hope that I have not become a thing to be feared and distrusted to her.

Author's Note: Please review they help me more than you imagine. A review helped me come back and more reviews can help me keep going.