Author's Note: As always, thank you for the wonderful reviews, the follows and the favorites. I so enjoy responding to my readers and engaging in conversations with you about my story. Thank you for sticking with this journey...and to any new readers, welcome aboard.

We are almost halfway through the story, so the Everlark will be picking up full speed in the next few chapters. I look forward to hearing everyone's thoughts.

To my lovely muses, jeeno2 and ILoveRynMar, you know how much you are appreciated. And a special thank you to Kismet for her wonderful fan art that now accompanies this story AND to Ro Nordmann for the phenomenal banner. ( : / / tinyurl AFW-banner ...put in the http before the semi-colon and remove the spaces!) You ladies are awesome!

The sailors part like the Red Sea as Captain Snow strides menacingly towards me, face flushed crimson.

"Did you not hear the question, Miss Everdeen?"

"It's Katniss," I snap back.

"What is the meaning of this?" he snarls. "Where did you get those ridiculous garments? Where are your proper clothes?" He assaults me with the questions, and I fidget, bouncing on the balls of my feet nervously. I can sense his rage building as I stand silent before him and an unexpected bolt of confidence shatters my anxiety.

"I've joined the crew," I announce loudly, thrusting my chin upward and meeting his chilly eyes rebelliously.

"You will do no such thing," he barks, practically lunging at me. I stand my ground, folding my arms across my chest.

"But I have. Ask them."

"Go to your cabin and remove that preposterous clothing at once."

"No."

His eyes narrow until they are little more than slivers below his bushy brows. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'no.' I'm one of them now." I know it is wrong of me to speak to a man of his station, especially one of my elders (monster or not), in such a disrespectful fashion. But I cannot suppress the tiny thrill that darts through me at my obstinacy, and I am still reeling from the exhaustion and exhilaration of my climb.

"You listen to me, you idiotic little girl," he hisses. "You will get yourself to your cabin and redress in your proper attire. You are disrupting the entire crew with your self-centered behavior. I will not allow it."

"I will not." My voice is firm and clear, and I again surprise myself with my boldness. The captain's face is now the shade of a ripe plum, and he fixes me in place with that cold stare.

"You will."

"I am now a member of this crew. Ask them!"

"Who is behind this?" he yells, raking his eyes among the assembled men. No one utters a word; they meet his stare with equally blank ones.

"It was my idea," I continue. "I petitioned them, they agreed."

"You agreed?" he probes the crew. Again, they remain mute. "You really would have this spoiled brat as one of you?"

"She proved herself," Abernathy rasps. Captain Snow snorts disdainfully.

"Proved herself?" he leers. "What is she good for? I remind you sick charlatans that she is underaged."

"She climbed to the royal yard and back. She proved she can be a worthy member of this crew," Haymitch fires back, ignoring the captain's accusation (which I must admit puzzled me at the time).

"I cannot imagine your father would be pleased with your decision, Miss Everdeen. I imagine he would find it highly demeaning for a lady of your stature and he would forbid you to-"

"My father would applaud my intentions," I interject. "And I do not think it is wise to presume you know your employer better than I know my own flesh and blood." I tamp down a smile, my pulse thrumming with energy. I am shocked at how good it feels to speak my mind with such a loose tongue!

"Mr. Crane?" the captain barks. It is only then I notice the quiet man standing back well behind the crew.

"Sir?"

The captain remains silent. He opens his mouth to speak, but quickly snaps it shut. Frustration is etched on every inch of his face. His mouth opens and closes several times like a trout gasping for breath.

"Sir?" Mr. Crane repeats. The captain straightens his frame and sets his shoulders.

"This is your final chance, Miss Everdeen. March yourself to your cabin at once. Remove that scandalous outfit and put on your gown. We shall forget your selfish interlude and go on with the voyage."

"No." My voice is clear, firm. My decision is final.

"If you choose to perpetuate this absurd scheme, there will be no turning back. Once you are with them, you are with them for all purposes. Do not come crying to me when things get tough."

"I would not dare dream of coming to you for any kind of assistance," I reply. His eyes narrow at me and a chill slides down my spine. I straighten my back and meet his stony glare.

"Very well. Mr. Crane, see to it that Miss Everdeen's personal belongings are removed from her cabin. She is no longer welcome there. Let her assume her place in the forecastle with the rest of these dogs."

"Yes, sir."

"And be certain to update the log. List Miss Everdeen as lost at sea." He glowers at me, those sinister eyes brimming with poisonous distaste. " As for you, Mr. Everdeen, you will be expected to work as hard as the rest of them. I will personally see to it!" He pivots on his heel and storms off.

"I am prepared for it!" I call after his retreating figure. Mr. Crane hovers among us for a moment.

"We'll get her things," Abernathy says to him, and the first mate nods and cracks a small smile at me, then disappears without another word.

The enormity all that has just transpired hits me like a blow to the back of the head. I slump to the deck, a silly grin plastered to my face, my spent legs unable to support me any longer. Most of the crew hollers their approval and approach me to pat my shoulder or ruffle my hair. Peeta hangs back, almost shyly, and I sense that he wants to follow suit and congratulate me, but he remains in his place. It disappoints me immensely.

"So, sweetheart, you ready to work?"

I smile up at Abernathy. "I will not disappoint you."

"Well, you've already surprised me."

"I surprised myself," I laugh. "So I will take Mr. Mellark's place on first watch?"

"Fuck that. I don't want her on my watch," Cato growls, hovering over me.

"Cato," Abernathy warns, grabbing the muscular man and pushing him back slightly.

"I'm serious, Haymitch!" he yells. "I ain't working alongside some fuckin' girl."

"Switch 'er with Marvel," Odair interjects softly. "I'll gladly work with 'er. Show'er the ropes."

Abernathy faces the shorter man, who shadows Cato, stance identical, shooting me the same reproachful sneer. "Marvel, you okay with that?"

"Fine by me." He spits at the deck, the wet glob of saliva landing mere inches from where I sit.

"Done. Up you go, sweetheart." Abernathy reaches out a hand, and I grasp it. His skin is rough, like the riding saddles at Panem, but his grip on me is gentle. I tentatively rise to my feet, my legs wobbling a bit as I put weight on them.

"Ye'll be sore tomorrow," Odair whispers to me.

"I cannot feel my legs now," I hiss back quietly. "I can't imagine how much worse I can possibly feel." He laughs amiably, and I smile, as the sound is contagious.

"Miss Everdeen," Abernathy begins. "You have proven your intentions to be a member of this crew, and we wholly accept your offer. I do think it's time we no longer address you as "miss"-"

"You never addressed me as 'miss'," I tease. His eyes wrinkle with laughter in response. "And I have already requested that you call me Katniss."

"Beautiful name fer a beautiful lassie." Odair reaches over and squeezes my hand reassuringly. I sneak a glance at Peeta, whose enchanting blue eyes are locked on me again. We hold each other's gaze for several moments before I feel a blush creeping up my neck and across my cheeks and I quickly look away.

Abernathy clears his throat. "Men, Katniss is now one of us. We will be her brothers, and she will be afforded the same equal treatment as every sailor on this ship. All in favor, reply with 'aye'."

The men chorus their "ayes," but Cato and Marvel are silent.

"Opposed, speak now." He shoots the two a withering glare but neither does utter an opposition.

"You understand what this means, sweetheart?" Abernathy's tone holds no malice, no condescension. He is truly just testing my comprehension of my new role.

"I think so," I hedge.

"We'll give ya as much privacy as we can in the forecastle. You may be one of us, but you're still a lady." My blush blooms full on my cheeks, and I murmur a quick thanks to the men.

"I promise you'll not regret this," I swear, making eye contact, one by one, with each and every sailor. My heart skips a beat when I reach Peeta. Perhaps I am imagining it, but the look with which he rewards me is pregnant with admiration.

"First watch, back on duty!" Abernathy barks. "Mellark, you best be getting back to the galley." The crew begins to disperse. Cato, Marvel, Chaff and Mr. Thread retreat, resuming their positions on watch, and Peeta gives me one last brief look before he too disappears.

"Odair, why don't you take Katniss to her cabin, help her move her belongings to the forecastle. I'd just assume she go with you, to make sure everything is cleared out."

So it is that I follow Odair to my cabin and am stunned to discover that it is already bare. Nothing remains. We say nothing to each other and make a quick dash to the forecastle. My belongings are piled outside the door and my clothes have been neatly draped over my valise. I am mortified to think my underclothes have been handled, as they are part of the bundle that was in the drawer. I hastily gather the garments to my chest and Odair grabs the valise. He throws open the forecastle door and we step inside. He surveys the space and crosses the room, placing my valise before a low hammock in the back corner.

"This one'll 'ave t'be yers." He pauses in front of the sling, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. He nods to himself and moves back across the room, rummaging through the heap of sails and tarps near the door. I linger in the threshold, watching him intently.

Several minutes later, he pulls two sheets of canvas from the pile and returns to my new hammock. Working swiftly, he manages to suspend them and tack them up as a curtain, a means of providing me with privacy, I realize. He turns and sweeps his arms wide with a flourish, his eyes sparkling with pride.

"That'll do, no lassie?" I nod happily, my lips curving into a wide smile.

"It's perfect, Odair, thank you."

He tousles his golden-red curls. "Ye can call me Finnick, if ye wish, lassie."

"Only if you call me Katniss," I shoot back playfully, though I have come to enjoy being called 'lassie,' I must admit.

"Aye, lassie, I'll try." He grins. "Katniss. I've never 'eard that one before."

"It's a plant," I offer. "An edible tuber that grows near the water. My mother wanted to name me Katherine, but Father thought there were too many Katherines." I am rambling again, I know, but Finnick is so easy to talk to. He laughs lightly. I think, once more, that it is such a marvelous sound. One could never be sad in his presence, and I reflect back to the story he shared with me about his Annie. It makes my heart ache to think this kind man has known the pain he has.

"Yer father sounds like a wise man."

"He is," I agree, smiling easily at the thought of him.

"Ye'll prob'bly want yer trunk from top cargo, no?"

I shrug, chewing my lip in thought. "I guess. I mean, maybe? I'm actually not certain what use I have for it now. All the clothes that are kept within it are hardly things that I'll wear while working."

"Ye'll need more than that, though," he points out, indicating what I am currently donning. "Even we change a few times a week." He winks at me.

"This is all that Cinna made me," I whisper, heart clenching at the memory of the kind man.

"We'll take care o'it, lassie. Katniss. Cinna'd been showin' Peeta the ropes fer the last couple o'voyages. I'm sure he can fashion ye some more," he adds kindly. "Ye'll still read t'me, aye?"

"Aye," I laugh heartily. We exchange a look, another laugh, and he reaches over to push away a rebellious lock of hair that has escaped my braid. He tucks it behind my ear.

"Get some rest, Katniss," he orders gently. "We're on watch in a few bells."

I crawl into the hammock and Finnick draws the curtain closed. I don't remember closing my eyes, but I must doze off because a gentle touch on my shoulder shakes me awake some time later.

"Miss Everdeen?" My eyes fly open. A face peers expectantly between the two sails that now act as my privacy shield.

It's Peeta. I blink rapidly a few times and rub at my weary eyes. Wincing, I draw my body into a sitting position and swing my legs over to the floor. The pangs in my shins are so intense that it feels as if someone is repeatedly striking them with a phantom mallet. I gingerly roll my shoulders, but the mere motion causes me to gasp in pain.

"You should call me Katniss, you know," I scold him through gritted teeth. He peers down at me, concern heavy in his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"I didn't expect the pain to be so immediate," I confess softly.

"You're not exactly used to any kind of manual labor. Your body will most likely ache for days until your muscles get used to being worked so hard," he explains, hesitating in between the sails. I sense that he is waiting for me to invite him to enter further.

"Did you want something, Mr. Mellark?" It's out of my mouth before I can stop it, and he raises an eyebrow at me.

"You should call me Peeta, you know," he reprimands loftily, echoing the words I chided him with moments ago.

"Did you want something, Peeta?"

"I thought you might want some tea to relax," he replies. "But perhaps it's best you just rest. I'm sorry for disturbing you." He retreats and the sails swish back into place. I take my lower lip between my teeth, worrying it as I consider his kind offer.

"Peeta!" I call weakly. His footsteps cease and then grow louder until the sails part again.

"Yes?"

"Tea would be lovely, thank you," I smile wanly. "But I don't think that I can stand on my own."

He is by my side in an instant. Leaning down, he reaches behind me and places his right hand on the small of my back. I can feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my shirt, and it floods my own body with warmth. He extends his left hand to me, and I clasp it, allowing Peeta to guide me to my feet. I stumble on my feeble legs, and I find myself suddenly wrapped securely in Peeta's arms. A tremulous sigh escapes my lips, and we stare expectantly at each other, unblinking, unmoving. My heart pounds.

"Careful," he whispers, his breath tickling my nose and cheeks. The sweet smell of spearmint mingles with his usual musky scent. "You can walk, yes?"

"I think so." My voice is hoarse, and I am uncertain whether it is due to my weakened state or the heat suddenly coating my throat.

"Then let's get you to the galley and get you some tea, Katniss."

It takes longer than usual for us to reach the galley, as my steps are slow and measured. Each stride takes effort, and when we arrive, Peeta ushers me onto the chair, setting about preparing me a cup of tea.

"Thank you." I sip the beverage gradually as Peeta slides into the chair opposite me. The fragrant stream has a therapeutic effect, soothing me more and more with each sip. It does not erase the throbbing in my bones, but it is a start.

Peeta watches me intently, and I realize at this closeness that I could count each of his eyelashes, so pronounced and long are they. Blond stubble stipples his jaw. I wonder what the coarse little hairs would feel like under the pads of my fingers. I scold myself for having such a thought, but the idea persists like a gnat on a summer day.

I want to touch this man.

Those wide, blue eyes are fastened on me, something akin to admiration flickering in them again.

"What?" I feel my cheeks color anew. A slow smile turns up the corners of his mouth.

"You were amazing today," he murmurs shyly. The flush spreads across my face and I lower my eyes to the rim of the cup.

"I owed it to Mr. Boggs and Cinna."

"None of them thought you'd do it," he adds. "Complete the climb, I mean."

"Most of them probably would have preferred that I hadn't."

"I wouldn't say Cato or Marvel were rooting for you, but we all know we desperately need the help. So no, no one wanted you to fail, Katniss."

I don't know that I will ever tire of hearing him say my name.

"You surprised a lot of men today," he continues. "I remember the first time I had to climb to the royal yard. I was terrified. You seemed like a natural up there. What I could see, anyhow."

"Oh, make no mistake, I was terrified," I laugh. "I still am. I cannot believe I will be making that climb daily."

"You'll be great." He impulsively grabs my hand, the one that is not curled around my tea cup, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. I inhale sharply. How is it that such innocent contact can have such an effect? My nerves are all alight, my blood sizzling. I glance up at him, my own eyes wide. He coughs and withdraws his hand, drumming it against the table nonchalantly.

"Finnick will be a great resource."

"Yes, it will be nice having someone who will have patience with me. He is a lovely man."

"He is," Peeta agrees, still tapping his fingers on the gnarled wood. "He's had a lot of sadness for someone so young."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-four. But he's lived a lot in those twenty-four years."

"He told me about his Annie."

"Yes, Annie is his greatest sadness, but it's not really my place to tell you about her. Lend him an ear, Katniss, if the opportunity arises. It's good for him to talk. He keeps a lot inside."

"I'll try," I supply. "I guess you're happy to be in the galley now?"

"Yes," he begins slowly. "I did volunteer, after all."

"So you can cook?"

"This isn't really cooking, Katniss," he chuckles.

I am about to probe further about his prowess in the kitchen when the clanging of bells interrupts my train of thought. I realize with each subsequent toll that it is the end of watch.

It is my turn.

"I should go, Peeta. Or, I mean, I must go. It's my watch." I lever myself from my seat, grimacing as I do so. Peeta stands as well. "Thank you for the tea," I smile.

"I know you often joined the captain for tea." He pushes an unruly lock of blond hair off his forehead and scratches absently at the nape of his neck. "And though you should rest when you are off watch, please, Katniss, if you should ever wish to join me for tea or need company, I am here."

"I think that I should like that," I murmur, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth.

We stand, neither of us saying a word, holding each other's gaze for what seems like longer than it actually is.

"Thank you, again," I smile shyly before turning and leaving him behind in the galley.

"Katniss! Good luck!" I hear him call, and my mouth stretches into a grin as I edge through steerage and bound onto the deck with renewed vigor.

My first official watch is uneventful. In fact, my first several days as a crew member pass with relative monotony, including the repeated agonizing pain that wracks my body, as promised.

Finnick, Haymitch and Brutus (Finnick and Haymitch insist I now call them by their first names; Brutus maintains that "Brutus" is his only name and I do not press him for further details) are patient and eager instructors. They take me under their wings, not merely explaining each new task, but showing me in kind the safest way to do this or the fastest way to do that.

Finnick is a master at ropes and tying knots, and he shares his secrets with me. I watch his dexterous fingers work the frayed fabric with ease, and I study as he explains the differences among the various kinds and purposes. Anchor hitches, bowlines and square knots come easily to me, but I struggle mightily with Carrick Bends and Clove Hitches. I am particularly frustrated by the latter because I know it is a simple knot to tie.

"Aye, lassie, stop worryin'. 'Tis deceptive and I ain't too fond o'em 'cause they slip so much. I'd just as soon us'a constrictor. I can teach ye that in due time." He winks at me and those friendly dimples melt away my aggravation.

For his churlish, tactless character, Haymitch astounds me the most. He shadows me constantly, showering me with advice to keep me safe at every task. My next climb up the mainmast (and most subsequent climbs therafter) is done in tandem with him, and he takes added time to show me how to complete my duties with one hand while aloft. I must always hold on, he warns, and so he guides me through jobs such as reefing sails and cutting free tangled ones. They are tedious lessons, and I am remiss to discover I am not as quick a learner above the ship as I am on the deck.

The physical labors of scraping the hull, pounding oakum, and tarring the rigging take a toll on me. Working under the unyielding rays of the summer sun, my porcelain skin turns a shocking shade of pink and Finnick somewhat gleefully congratulates me on my first sunburn.

"At least now ye've got some color in yer cheeks," he teases as we sit at the edge of my hammock, cracking open aloe shoots that the men keep on hand to rub into my tender, blistering skin. I moan my appreciation as it absorbs the cooling salve. "Without the aid o'young Mr. Mellark, that is," he adds, a knowing gleam in his eye. My heated skin flames even more at his pointed insinuation. Have I been that obvious with my affections?

"I do not…" I begin, lamely trailing off when I see Finnick's eyes have softened sympathetically.

"'Tis okay, lassie," he murmurs. "'Tis a very natural thing fer a girl yer age t'catch the eye o'a handsome lad like him." He has a wistful, faraway look on his face, and I sense he is thinking of his lost love. I reach over and trace my index finger along the curve of the mermaid's tail on his tattoo.

"How did you know you loved Annie?" I ask shyly. Finnick's lips curl into a sad smile.

"I can't remember," he confesses. "I can't remember a time that I didn't love 'er, so the remembering is gettin' harder and harder the longer I've been without 'er."

"So tell me how you met her," I beseech softly. Finnick nods, and he swallows, the prolonged bob of his Adam's apple against the column of his throat indicating the effort it takes.

I immediately regret my request and backpedal, "It's okay, Finn. You don't…"

"It was a late summer morn. August. Me dad had just thrown me out o'our cottage-"

"Your father cast you out of your own home?" I interrupt, incredulous. Finnick sighs and rubs at the back of his neck.

"'Tis complicated, Katniss," he replies. "We both said things we regretted, and I know now I was bein'a stubborn kid. I was a smart arse. The world was big, me town was small, and me parents were strict." I wrinkle my brows. His words remind me of something Cinna once told me. It seems as though the sea is perdition for wandering souls.

"So I needed a job, a place t'stay. I was seventeen, and I was alone. 'er father 'ad a farm, raised sheep fer wool and goats fer milk and cheese. 'e took me on as a hired 'and."

He pauses. "I don't know if I loved 'er at first sight. I know she grabbed me attention right off, though. I remember I was pitchin' 'ay in the field when a streak o'raven darted past me like lightnin'. She was racin' her sister, and the sheer joy on 'er pretty face, God, she was radiant." I lean back against my hammock, slightly light-headed from my sunburn and completely mesmerized by his words. My eyes never leave his face, though he stares straight ahead and does not seek out my gaze.

"I 'adn't known much 'appiness in recent years, so t'see 'er and 'er wee sister, runnin' so carefree, not a worry in the world, it awakened somethin' in me. That's what love should do, ye know?"

"No, I don't know," I whisper bashfully. "I haven't been around many boys, Finnick. I don't know anything about love."

"Then ye're in fer the greatest surprise of yer young life, lassie," he muses. "Love makes even the worst day bearable."

I clear my throat. "But losing her…was that not unbearable?"

"Aye." He closes his eyes, and silence prevails for several long minutes.

"I'm not sayin' love is easy er that it doesn't take work. Nay, Annie and me, we 'ad our obstacles. I worried 'er father wouldn't approve o'a hired 'and courtin' 'is little girl. The Crestas, they weren't wealthy, but they weren't peasants either. But I think they saw the 'appiness we brought t'each other, it made any difference 'tween us just disappear."

He takes a deep breath, a greedy draw of oxygen, and his voice cracks as he continues.

"I 'ad been savin' me wages, puttin' a wee bit aside each week t'ave enough t'buy 'er a ring. I was all ready t'ask 'er father fer 'er 'and in marriage." His voice is little more than a whisper now. "She 'ad the day off from 'er chores. It was early May, and she couldn't wait t'get t'the seashore. I told ye, Annie was a fish. She may 'ave been a farmer's daughter, but I swear she 'ad sailor's blood in 'er somewhere."

"Finn, you don't have to…" He shakes his head and holds his hand up.

"I need t', Katniss. 'Tis been awhile since I spoke o'er. Please listen." I nod mutely, and he continues.

"She and 'er sister got up early and packed a lunch and went t'the sea. There 'ad been a thunderstorm the night before, early in the season fer Scotland, but it must'ave churned up the sea somethin' fierce. Annie was a strong swimmer, but she went out a wee bit too far. The riptide caught 'er, and me Annie, she panicked. She tried t'swim free, but she just wasn't strong enough t'fight it. Her poor sister watched 'er disappear beneath the waves and never resurface."

My lower lips quivers and when I next blink, tears slip down my sunburned cheeks.

"Oh, Finn," I breathe, raising my aching body toward him. I slip my arms around him and hug him tightly in a fierce embrace, ignoring the searing pain from my sunburn as my shirt clings to my skin.

"Losing Annie was the greatest pain ye could ever imagine. I 'ope 'tis the worst pain I ever 'ave t'endure. But ye see, Katniss, 'ad I not loved 'er so passionately me loss wouldn't 'ave been so deep. So I keep remindin' myself that I am lucky, so, so lucky to 'ave known that kind'a love, even if 'twas taken away from me too soon."

"I'm so glad you told me, Finn. I know that wasn't easy. Thank you." He glances over at me and smiles wanly.

"Anything fer ye, lassie." He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. "Get some rest and let that aloe do 'tis magic. Ye'll feel a might better when ye go aloft fer watch later tonight."

My sunburn fades within a few days, and my skin transforms to a golden-brown. My chocolate tresses lighten as well, kissed with auburn streaks from the omnipresent sun. I slowly get used to the daily torture inflicted on my body, but it is one morning after holystoning the deck with Brutus that a whole new kind of pain paralyzes my back.

Having spent the better part of two hours on my hands and knees, when I finally rise to a standing position and stretch my spine, I have to clamp down on my lower lip with my teeth to keep from screaming. I bite so hard that I know when I finally release my lip there will be marks.

"Are you okay, Katniss?" Brutus asks me, shielding his eyes from the relentless sun as he studies me. I nod, eyes filled with tears, as a debilitating spasm seizes every muscle in my back. The pain is excruciating. He shakes his head.

"You're not okay," he chides me, scooping me into his massive arms and carrying me to the forecastle.

"Our watch isn't over," I wheeze in protest, sucking a breath through my teeth and struggling to sit up as he deposits me onto my hammock. His beefy arms hold me down and I am too weak to fight him.

"I'll take care of it. You probably wrenched your back. It happens to all of us. It will loosen up if you rest."

"But Captain Snow-"

"He won't be out until at least the start of afternoon watch, and by then we'll be off duty. I've got your back, Katniss." I smile wryly at his pun, intended or not.

"Thanks, Brutus," I reply. He winks at me and draws the curtain closed.

"I did not know the human body could withstand such pain," I groan aloud to myself, curling onto my side in the hammock and closing my eyes tightly. I cannot imagine the unbearable torture Mr. Boggs must have felt losing his arm or the agony Cinna must have endured while being lashed. This pain is torture.

I must fall asleep soundly (or perhaps I passed out, I consider later) because the next conscious thought I have is my name being called softly.

"Huh?" I roll over onto my back, the shooting twinges of pain gone, blessedly, but the ache in my muscles lingers.

"You, ah, didn't come for tea. I was worried," Peeta whispers, suddenly kneeling at my side, his handsome face close to mine. "Are you alright?"

"I am fine," I grit my teeth, "just a long morning holystoning the deck."

"Your back," he responds matter-of-factly. I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Yes, are you a mind reader now?"

"We've all been there. It's practically an initiation," he smiles. I now spy the tea cup in his hand. He sets it down on my trunk and hesitates before me.

"May I sit?" he asks politely. I nod and motion to the edge of my hammock, then I make a move to rise. Peeta shakes his head and licks his lips. My eyes are lured by the innocent gesture, and I stare at his mouth, transfixed.

"What?" I ask as he stares at me pointedly.

"I can make you feel better," he offers cautiously, "if you'll allow it."

"What do I need to allow?"I swallow thickly.

"I'll need to touch you."

Those five words that spill from his mouth send a ripple of desire through me. He needs to touch me? Where? And how? How can he heal me with his touch?

I may be confused by his offer, but God help me, I want his hands on me. I do.

He watches me in anticipation, waiting for my reply.

"Okay, I'll allow it," I murmur, hiding a smile that threatens to break out at the sight of Peeta's brilliant blue eyes gazing at me so intently, the grin that creeps onto his lips as I give him my assent.

"You'll need to turn onto your stomach," he instructs me gently. I hesitate then twist myself over, wincing, until I am lying prone. I fold my arms and lay my head against them, my chin resting on the backs of my palms. A strange cloud of unease and anticipation swirls in the pit of my belly.

Peeta cracks his knuckles and hovers over me.

My stomach nearly arcs up off the hammock as his fingers dance along the arch of my spine, feather-light touches along each vertebra. He then trails them up my sides, causing me to squirm at the ticklish sensation as I flatten my belly against the hammock again.

"Sorry," he whispers. My breath catches in my throat as his hands near the under-curve of my breasts, but he deftly works his fingers across my back and up along my shoulder blades instead.

"You can relax, Katniss." His lips are inches from the shell of my ear and his warm breath against the sensitive skin there shoots little bolts of electricity down my neck and along my arms. I must shudder visibly because Peeta laughs softly.

"You're too tense. This is supposed to be enjoyable. Just relax. Let me do the work." His tone is an elixir and I find my muscles slackening immediately.

I hiss when the pads of his fingertips and thumbs press hard against the knotted muscles of my upper back, working the flesh there by alternating light, gentle rubs and applying rough, almost painful pressure. The thin cotton of my shirt does little to stifle the heat of his touch, and I push away the sinful thought that I wish it were my bare skin he was touching.

Peeta kneads my muscles as skillfully as if I were a lump of dough and a moan escapes my lips as he works out a particularly painful knot below my left shoulder blade. He pulls back his hands and I raise my head in protest.

"No, no, please don't stop."

"Oh, okay," he stammers. "I just thought…I had hurt you…the sound you made…"

"It feels amazing. Keep going," I plea softly. He acquiesces and his fingers tread across the curve of my shoulders, easing towards my bare neck. The contact with my skin feels so unbelievably good that another quiet moan passes my lips. It spurs Peeta on, his thumbs pressing hard against the base of my skull, rubbing circles down to the nape of my neck. His fingers tangle in my hair, raking his nails over my scalp.

He continues manipulating my skin and my muscles and with each new touch, my body comes alive. I am startled to find my breasts tingling and my nipples tightening. A fluttering in my stomach migrates south and floods the juncture between my thighs with wet heat. My mouth is dry as a bone and my breathing becomes shallow and erratic.

"Is this okay?" he murmurs and I realize with a start that his hands have slipped underneath my shirt. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and bite my lip to smother a gasp.

"Yes," I manage to choke, wholly in awe of the sensations overwhelming me. His hands press into my skin forcefully, undoing another mass of knots just above my tailbone. His fingers dip just below the waistband of my trousers, but only for a fleeting moment. He then rolls his knuckles along the column of my spine and splays his hands outward.

It is then that he ventures too far with his left hand and brushes the side of my breast.

I whimper, louder than I intend to, and while it sends another gush of heat between my legs, the sound must alarm Peeta because his hands leave my back and slide out from under my shirt, and he jumps back. My chest heaves as I struggle to sit, facing him.

His own breathing appears as irregular as mine and crimson stains both his cheeks. He shifts and grimaces and turns from me hurriedly.

"I should go."

And before I can voice an objection, he is gone.

A/N: I may not be on tumblr, but I would be remiss if I didn't thank everlarkrecs for her continued support of this story on her page. Thank you, my dear.

And FWIW, I must edit Finnick's brogue dialogues ten times any time he appears, but any small inconsistencies you might find are all mine.