Once again, this chapter wouldn't be the same without the help from my beta DandelionSunset! :) Please be sure to check out her stories, she is an amazing author!
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This chapter is rated M for sexual content.
Plutarch is pacing back and forth on the upper level of the Control Room, hands behind his back as he surveys the room. He's waiting for Minister Antonius to arrive for his morning briefing.
Although the blizzard has offered more time to tweak and perfect the plan, the delay has also caused some difficulties. The recovery of Soldier Eighteen needs to correspond as closely as possible with the capture of assets deployed to Seven and Four, where no blizzard awaits to slow them down. With the two districts as far apart as they are, coordinating such a capture has been difficult, to say the least. Plutarch trusts the agents there, but there are still things that could go badly wrong.
The morale level in District 12 is also an issue. In the past week there have been more floggings in Twelve than in the last several years, and arrests continue to be made on a daily basis by the power-hungry Head Peacekeeper. One young man, a nineteen-year-old coal miner, was nearly killed at the whipping post only two days ago, saved in the nick of time by none other than the Mayor's daughter. Following this incident, it was only by the skin of his teeth that Plutarch was able to convince the furious Minister to not arrest and remove Mayor Undersee straightaway.
He may enjoy the strategy involved in such things, but Plutarch Heavensbee does not enjoy having to plead with anyone, especially with people such as the Minister. Even if he's able to do so in such a way as to not make it obvious, it still rankles him. But in this case it was absolutely necessary. The intelligence provided by Mayor Undersee has been crucial to the plan thus far, and he needs as many of the right people in the districts as possible or the plan will fail, which will mean trial and public execution for all those involved.
With that, he makes a mental note to further investigate this coal miner. Perhaps he would be a valuable addition to the plan. Especially if he's consorting with the Mayor's daughter.
"Good day, Heavensbee," Minister Antonius says as he steps through the door, straightening the black glove covering his right hand. The superficial cuts caused by the monitor glass have been healed, but the hand still pains him from time to time.
"Good day, Minister," Plutarch answers, bowing slightly. "It is a fine day, indeed."
"I trust everything is as it should be?" Antonius asks. "What is the status on the weather system affecting Eighteen's recovery?"
"It is expected to continue for a few more days, sir," Plutarch replies. "Soldier Seventeen has been conducting his readiness drills, and as soon as the storm breaks he will be deployed without delay. He is prepared, and quite impatient according to his trainer, sir."
The Minister smiles, tapping his baton. "Yes, I have been most impressed with Seventeen's progress thus far. He has already successfully completed two missions on his own, and I have little doubt in his ability to both capture and demoralize Soldier Eighteen." He sighs. "If only the damn weather would cooperate."
"Yes, sir," Plutarch says. "It is indeed frustrating."
"Very well, it seems as though you have everything well in hand here, Mr. Heavensbee," Minister Antonius says proudly, glancing around the Control Room. "The new Peacekeepers have squashed the unrest in Districts Twelve and Seven, and once this weather system breaks, we will be able to apprehend Soldier Eighteen without further delay. I am pleased, and I will be sure to inform the President of your achievements at the next possible opportunity."
Plutarch nods in agreement, tapping his fist against his heart. "Thank you, sir. It is my honor to serve."
"I shall see you again in the morning," Antonius says as he heads for the exit. "Until then…"
Plutarch watches as the door closes behind the Minister, then walks over to his monitor, typing his code into the keypad. When the box appears in the corner of the screen, he begins keying in the message.
RECOVERY ASSET WILL DEPLOY FOLLOWING STORM. WILL ADVISE.
Tapping his chin, he shifts on his feet, waiting for the coded response.
UNDERSTOOD. WE ARE READY.
With two quick keystrokes the box disappears, and Plutarch breathes out a long breath. Now, all he can do is wait.
When I was a little girl, my mother once told me that the toasting ceremony tradition in Twelve was developed as a way to ensure that the newly married couple could enjoy their first night together as husband and wife. She explained that when her parents were children, the Peacekeepers in charge of the district would often enforce something called prima nocta. This was a wretched custom where, if he so chose, a Peacekeeper could lay claim to the bride on her wedding night.
In order to counter this despicable act, the toasting was invented as an alternative wedding ceremony, to ensure that the couple would be allowed to enjoy their wedding night in relative peace. While the toasting wasn't officially binding as a marriage in the eyes of the government, it did at least have the desired effect of reducing the incidence of prima nocta.
I then asked Mom if she'd been subjected to prima nocta. She gasped at the question, shaking her head reassuringly. "No, Katniss. That tradition had long passed by the time we were married." She smiled then, staring off into the distance. "Your father and I had our official wedding in the Justice Building, and then held our toasting later that evening. But you know, no one in District Twelve really feels married until after the toasting."
We get ready first. Peeta melts and heats some of the already fallen snow so we can bathe. I rinse and brush out my hair, rebraiding it with the blue ribbon Prim gave me before we fled District 12. I help Peeta shave and comb his hair, then rebandage his leg wound, which opened back up during our fight with the mutts. He dresses in the shirt that I made for him while I slip into my nightgown, the closest thing I have to the rented white dress that's usually worn for a wedding at home.
Once we're prepared, dressed in our best, I pull a chunk of bread from my bag as Peeta preps the fire, not wanting to use the synthetic, Capitol-made fire for our ceremony. Tearing the bread into two pieces, we spear them with sticks and hold them over the glowing orange flames, watching as the edges start to brown and the cave fills with the scent of toasting bread. My heart begins to pound in anticipation. This is not how I imagined our toasting would be. Most toastings in Twelve are held after the couple is married in the Justice Building. The two families gather for a bit of cake, or even an entire meal if it can be afforded. Then the couple builds their first fire together in their new home and toasts the bread. Peeta always said we could use a cheese bun for ours, since they were my favorite thing that he baked.
In all my wildest dreams, I never thought our toasting would be like this; held in a dark, damp cave in the middle of nowhere, with no family present, and using bread that Peeta baked in a homemade outdoor oven located in a refugee camp where we were attacked and nearly killed. Again.
But somehow, despite everything, it's still perfect. Because it's him. It's us. He loves me and I love him, and that's good enough for me. And maybe when this is all over, we can have a small gathering at home to celebrate with my mother and Prim, and the Hawthornes.
At Peeta's nod, we draw the pieces back from the fire, waiting a few seconds before pulling the hot toast off of the sticks.
Peeta clears his throat, eyeing me shyly as he takes my hand, the licking flames of the fire highlighting the golden strands in his hair. "Katniss, I love you. Even when I didn't remember anything, didn't know who I was or where I came from, when I wasn't sure if I remembered you, you stood by me. You protected me, you helped me, and you loved me." He takes a deep breath, holding the charred bread up to my lips. "With this bread, I pledge myself to you. I pledge to love you and protect you my whole life, until death do us part."
I chew the bread slowly, savoring it as Peeta brushes the crumbs away from my lips before curving his large hand around my cheek. "Real," he whispers. "This is real."
"Yes," I murmur. "It's real."
With a final swipe of his thumb across my lips, he smiles and sits back, waiting for me.
I swallow hard as I begin. "Peeta, I love you. You gave me hope when I had none, the day you gave me the bread. You taught me how to love with your kind eyes and patient heart. Even when you didn't remember us, you still protected me, and saved me." I bring the bread in my hand to his lips. "With this bread, I pledge myself to you. I pledge to love you and protect you my whole life, until death do us part."
As he did for me, I brush the crumbs from his lips as he chews, watching his blue eyes darken with hunger as he studies me, his cheeks flushed and his blond curls flopping down over his forehead. His hand holding mine begins to tremble in anticipation, sending shocks of electricity surging throughout my body.
"Peeta, I—"
"Can I kiss you?" he asks softly, his free hand reaching to trace the outline of my lips. "Please?"
"Of course," I whisper. "You don't have to ask—,"
I'm cut off by his lips pressing against mine. His kiss is sweet, his lips warm and slightly chapped. But I can feel the underlying passion beneath the sweetness, a force so powerful it nearly steals my breath.
"Katniss," he murmurs as we break apart. "I want you." His thumb brushes along my cheekbone. "Can I—, can I have you?"
I almost cry with relief. Finally. "Yes," I manage to say.
His lips quirk into a slight smile as he reaches for my braid, his hand gliding down its length until he reaches the tie at the end. He gently releases the tie, combing his fingers through the strands until my hair falls like a curtain over my shoulders and back. "Your hair," he says softly. "It's so gorgeous." His hand curves around the back of my neck, pulling me close as his other arm encircles my waist.
"You love me," he whispers. "Real or not real?"
"Real," I murmur. "It's always been real."
Slowly, he dips his head, his lips brushing against mine so softly I barely feel them. A tiny whimper escapes my throat as Peeta leans back, studying my face. My arms wrap around his neck as his pupils dilate even more, his arms pulling me against his muscular chest, into his warmth that I've craved ever since he was taken from me.
"We haven't done this before, have we?" he asks, looking sheepish.
The question makes my heart pound even faster, thinking of all the times I wished we could go further than we were allowing ourselves. How easy it was to lose myself in our kisses and caresses. How badly I wanted to feel his skin against mine, to feel him moving inside me. But the fear of me possibly getting pregnant, and the subsequent consequences from Peeta's mother, or even Gale, always kept us from going too far. Of course there were herbs I could take, my mother knew about them, and even used them herself to prevent pregnancy when I was small. But they aren't one hundred percent effective, and we didn't want to take any chances.
Not that it's likely even an issue. My courses have never been regular, and it's been several months since I last had one.
"No," I answer. "We haven't. We were waiting for our toasting."
"That's what I thought," he says. "I don't have any memories of us like this. But I wanted to make sure."
His fingers thread through my hair as he captures my lips with his, tilting his head as his mouth molds to mine. His tongue traces along my bottom lip, asking for permission, like the gentleman he's always been.
My lips part against his, allowing his tongue to explore and taste the contours of my mouth. The spark in my chest flares to life, spreading down my arms and legs until it concentrates into a fiery pool in my belly. This, this closeness, this fire, is what my body has craved for all these months. Ever since that morning when Gale brought him back from the woods, barely clinging to life, this is what I've needed.
Sliding his arm under my knees, he lifts me into his lap, cradling me against his chest as our kisses grow more urgent, the flame within me growing more intense with each swipe of our tongues. I gasp against his lips as his fingertips glide down my cheek and neck to my chest, landing on the tied neckline of my nightgown. He pauses, breaking the kiss to look into my eyes. I nod, burying my fingers in his thick blond hair as his lips follow the trail of his fingers, kissing down to the edge of the fabric covering my breasts.
"Katniss," he sighs into my skin. He finds the end of the tie, pulling it loose, allowing the nightgown to slide off my shoulder. His hand slips beneath the garment, ghosting over my breast before covering it with his palm. I arch into his hand as a groan rumbles up from his chest. "My Katniss."
"Yes. I'm yours, Peeta," I murmur as I tug on his hair. "Always." I suck in a sharp breath as his mouth lands on the fluttering pulse point of my throat, nipping gently at the tender skin. Gathering me close, he gets to his feet, carrying me over to the sleeping bag near the fire, laying me down with such reverence it brings tears to my eyes. He hovers over me, his sapphire eyes trailing up and down over my face and body.
"Real," he whispers, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. "You're real."
I nod, tracing my fingertips along his strong jaw as he shudders. "I'm real. I love you."
He leans down to kiss me again, his fingers brushing along my skin as he reaches for the hem of my nightgown. My belly contracts at the sensation, sending another wave of heat rippling through my body. "Can I see you?"
At my nod of assent, he slides the nightgown up my abdomen and chest, drawing it over my head and tossing it aside. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as his eyes take in the sight of me, almost bare beneath him. He stares so long that I flinch, fighting the urge to cover myself with my hands. "I know… I'm not…"
"You're perfect," he murmurs, silencing me with a brush of his fingers across my lips, followed by a soft kiss. "Don't ever hide from me. Please."
"I want to see you too," I say, gathering a fistful of his shirt and tugging. He smiles as he sits up, untying the neck before pulling it over his shoulders and head. For a few seconds I can only stare in awe at how beautiful he is. I've felt his strong arms and chest against me, when we would kiss in the woods during our Saturday afternoons, or at the camp as we slept at night, but I've never seen him shirtless until now.
I run my hands greedily up his muscular arms, across his broad shoulders and down his sculpted chest to his stomach, tracing my finger through the fine hair below his belly button that disappears into his pants.
Taking the hint, Peeta unbuckles his belt, sliding his pants and underwear off and tossing them into the pile of clothing. My eyes go wide at the sight of him, aroused and ready for me. Tentatively, I reach my hand to wrap around him and begin moving it up and down, reveling in the soft skin that glides so easily over his erection. Peeta moans loudly, bucking into my hand before dropping down onto his forearms to capture my lips in a searing kiss.
"Katniss," he whispers as he lavishes my neck and shoulders with his mouth and hands before moving down to my breasts. "God, I love you!"
"Peeta," I gasp, his calloused fingers now trailing down my chest and abdomen to the waistband of my underwear. The kindling in my belly has roared into a raging inferno and I squirm, raising my hips off the sleeping bag, desperate to feel his skin against mine where I need it most. "Peeta, please!"
"Yes," he murmurs into my collarbone. "I want to touch you."
Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he carefully peels my underwear down my legs, inhaling shakily as he gazes up and down my bare body for the first time, the look in his eyes a combination of wonder and lust. "Katniss," he says. "You're so unbelievably gorgeous!"
"Peeta," I moan, reaching for him, uneasy under his intense stare and missing the warmth of his body. "Come back."
Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself over me, pressing me into the sleeping bag as his lips brush across mine. We moan in unison at the touch of our bare, overheated skin, the feel of his erection hard against my belly sending another hot wave of bliss soaring through me. "Peeta!"
At the sound of his name he shudders, thrusting lightly against me. "Oohh. Say that again."
"Peeta," I say as he palms my breast, kneading it. I tilt my head as his lips plant open-mouth kisses down the column of my throat. "Please, touch me!"
He nods against my neck as he rolls off to the side, his hand finally moving down to nudge my legs apart, draping my thigh over his hip. "Put your arms around me, Katniss."
I weave my fingers into his hair, rubbing circles on the back of his neck as his lips caress along my jaw and cheek. A high-pitched whimper, almost a squeak, escapes my throat as his fingers find my most intimate place and start to explore. "Hmm," he whispers, smiling against my skin. "Do you like that?"
"Yes," I breathe. "Don't stop."
He doesn't stop, and slowly his explorations become less tentative as he responds to the chorus of sounds he elicits from me. My skin flushes hotter and hotter, the blood in my veins burning like coal as the coil in my belly winds tighter and tighter. To think I once had no intention of ever experiencing pleasure such as this, of ever wanting to experience pleasure like this. My breaths grow shallower and shallower, my fingers tugging harder on his hair as I hear his voice break through the fog filling my mind. "Let go, Katniss. I've got you. I want to see you."
And then white-hot stars burst behind my eyes as I shatter into a million pieces, crying out his name, clinging to his shoulders to keep myself tethered to earth as he whispers words of such adoration I feel as if my heart will burst.
I'm not sure how long it is before I open my eyes, but the first thing I see is Peeta smiling his shy smile, stroking my sweat-soaked skin with his fingertips, his blond hair illuminated like a halo around his head from the firelight flickering against the walls of the cave. "That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from my forehead. He gently lays me down, shifting back on top of me and settling into the cradle of my legs. "Are you ready, love?"
I nod, wrapping one leg around his thigh. "Yes, I'm ready."
He pauses as his thumb trails along the curve of my cheek, his forehead wrinkling in concern. "I don't want to hurt you."
Shaking my head, I tug on his neck, bringing his lips to mine. "You won't," I breathe against his lips. "You're so gentle, Peeta. You won't hurt me."
He stares, unconvinced, for a few more seconds, then nods his head. "You tell me if it hurts too much, and I'll stop."
I take his face in my hands, looking deeply into his eyes. "You won't hurt me," I say firmly. "I'm not afraid of you."
"Okay," he whispers before lowering his lips to mine, deepening the kiss as he starts to push into me.
He is gentle, so gentle it's impossible in this moment to compare him to the man who almost broke Gale's arm, the man who killed Peacekeeper Drake and fought off a mutt with his bare hands. Even so, I bite my lip as he takes me, my fingernails digging into the tight muscles of his shoulders as he trembles above me, waiting for me to adjust to him.
"Katniss," he croaks, his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up. "You feel incredible." His lips caress along my forehead and temple. "Are you sure you're all right?"
I inhale as deeply as I can, willing myself to relax. As the discomfort subsides I kiss his shoulder, pressing my heel into his thigh. "You can move now, Peeta. I'm okay."
He grunts in relief as he starts to move, tentatively at first, then slowly finding a rhythm as my hands caress up and down the smooth skin of his back. "Katniss," he says in the midst of his throaty moans. "You're perfect!" He works his right hand under the small of my back, lifting my hips to meet his as my knees press against his sides and my legs wrap around his waist. "So perfect!"
There are no words to describe the feelings coursing through me. It is simply beyond my comprehension. Aside from the physical joining of our bodies, there's a completeness, a wholeness that I've never felt before, not even when we've kissed or held each other close at night. I feel more alive in this moment that I ever have in my life. And I know there's no possible way I could ever feel this with anyone except Peeta. He is mine, and I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.
But it's only a few seconds later that he starts to tremble even more, his teeth catching hard on his bottom lip. "Katniss!" he cries, the sound echoing against the walls of the cave. "I can't—, I'm sorry!"
"It's okay," I tell him, knowing he can't hold himself back any longer. "Let go!"
His hand presses me up to meet his final thrust as a strangled moan rips from his lungs and a rush of warmth from his release fills me. He buries his face into my hair, whispering over and over how much he loves me, how perfect I am, how he wishes he could freeze this moment so we could stay here forever. I feel his tears dripping down onto my neck as he carefully rolls us, tucking me into him as closely as possible with my head on his chest, wrapping us both in the thermal blanket.
"Are you okay?" Peeta asks. "I didn't hurt—"
But I stop his words with my fingers, brushing them over his lips. "Shh, no. You didn't hurt me."
His arms tighten around me, holding me so close that I'm not quite sure whose limbs belong to whom. "I can't lose you," he whispers as another tear rolls down his cheek. His finger traces down my nose, over my lips and chin to my throat. "I can't lose the only light in my life. I just can't."
I burrow imperceptibly further into his side as the soothing sound of his heartbeat lulls me to sleep. "You won't lose me, Peeta. I won't allow it."
"You'll stay with me?" he asks. "No matter what sort of monster I've become?"
"Always," I answer, softly kissing his jaw. "And you're not a monster. You're Peeta Mellark, you're from District Twelve, and you're my husband."
He smiles, leaning down to kiss my lips before pressing his forehead against mine. "And you're everything to me, Katniss. Absolutely everything."
He's still stroking my hair as the tendrils of sleep pull me under.
"Mr. Heavensbee, sir," the trainer says, a tall, lanky man with brown hair and round glasses. His name is Carter, if Plutarch is remembering correctly.
"Yes, Mr. Carter?" he replies.
Carter smiles broadly, bouncing on the balls of his feet, no doubt pleased that he's been addressed by name. "I have some wonderful news, sir! I have successfully reactivated Soldier Eighteen's tracker!"
Plutarch is able to stifle his sharp intake of breath just in the nick of time, coughing into his hand to hide his surprise. "You—, you have?"
"Yes, sir!" Carter exclaims, oblivious to Plutarch's distress. "From what I understand, it initially shorted out due to Eighteen's sudden surge in heart rate and blood pressure, which occurred during a presumed attack outside the border of District Twelve. You see, all trackers operate on an individual frequency, so we are able to track each soldier without the tracking signals overlapping, and—"
"Yes, yes!" Plutarch snaps. "I am aware of this already, so please get on with it!"
Carter immediately looks chagrined. "I'm sorry, sir. Um, well, I was able to isolate the frequency of Eighteen's tracker, and using a new software patch that I attached to a computer virus, I was able to essentially send in a repair program for the tracking device. It has since rebooted and is now broadcasting a clear signal."
Plutarch swallows hard, clasping his hands behind his back so Carter won't notice how badly they're shaking. "Well," he says, clearing his throat. "Very good, Mr. Carter. Well done, indeed."
"Thank you, sir!" Carter says proudly. "It's my honor to serve!"
Clearing his throat again, Plutarch walks with Carter to his monitor. "So, where exactly is Soldier Eighteen now?"
"Here, sir," Carter replies, pointing to a blinking orange dot on the monitor. The dot indicates a location approximately ten miles south of District 6.
"I see," says Plutarch. Perhaps there is a way this information could be helpful. "Yes, Mr. Carter, I am most impressed. And at exactly what frequency is the tracker broadcasting? So I may note it in the log?"
"1580.40 MHz, sir," Carter says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Plutarch nods. "Thank you. Return to your station and ensure that Soldier Seventeen is prepared for launch as soon as the weather allows. And inform me at once if Eighteen's location changes."
"Very well, sir," Carter says. "Seventeen will be briefed and launched as soon as possible."
"Thank you, Mr. Carter," Plutarch acknowledges. "I will be sure to inform Minister Antonius at once of this wonderful achievement. He will be most pleased."
Carter smiles widely, bobbing his head. "Thank you, sir! I would be most grateful!" The trainer taps his fist to his heart and hurries back to his monitor to stare intently at the blinking orange dot he just brought to life, still basking in the glory of his achievement.
Plutarch watches Carter settle in at his station before moving to his own monitor, quickly inputting his special code into the keypad. As soon as the box appears he begins to type.
18'S TRACKER REACTIVATED. FOLLOW 1580.40 MHz.
The amount of time he waits for a response seems like an eternity, his heart pounding in rhythm with the valuable seconds ticking away. If they aren't able to get to Eighteen before the Capitol… well, he doesn't want to think about the setbacks that would result.
Finally, the reply flickers across the screen.
COPY. WILL TRACK AND DEPLOY ASAP.
Plutarch inhales a shaky breath through his nose as he taps the command to clear the program from his monitor. The blizzard should be blowing over in the next couple of days, and while it's possible he could delay Seventeen's launch for maybe another half a day, beyond that there's not much more he can do. They are going to be cutting it very close, much closer than anyone could have anticipated.
He huffs out the breath, his hands clenching into fists as he straightens his shoulders. Yes. He had better get moving. Picking up his telephone, he dials a number.
"Effie Trinket, please," he says into the receiver. He pauses again, scratching at the back of his neck as he glances down at Mr. Carter, still watching the blinking orange dot.
"Miss Trinket," he says as she answers. "It is time."
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