A/N: Yay! I actually finished this update before the end of the year! LOL I was still so busy planning parties (I'm telling you… if over 200 babies are born every minute, I'm pretty sure I know most of them!), but I was feeling inspired to write, so my husband said if I felt inspired to write, I should ride that wave while I had it. I'm sleep deprived and my house is a box of creative chaos, but here's your next chapter.

Thanks again to those that added this story to your favorites even before it's finished! I appreciate your faith in me. And of course, to those that took a minute to share a review. You make my day!

Read on and enjoy!

Chapter 10: In a Sacred Place

It wasn't until I reached the front porch of my bungalow that I realized I left the key in the pocket of my swim cover up which I had abandoned back at the beach. With my forehead pressed wearily against the door, I knocked, hoping Prim or my mother had come home since I left. When no one answered, my body gave up and slumped itself onto the doormat. I was completely spent – mentally, emotionally, and physically. All I wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep away all the thoughts and aches that were fighting their way into the forefront of my mind.

I didn't want to think about my cramping leg muscles, my sore shoulders, or how to keep the dam from bursting under the weight of the tears. I didn't want to think about how terrible of a teacher and friend I was to take Peeta out to swim today and not keeping a closer watch on him. I certainly didn't want to recall nearly losing him for good or the feelings that that event and those prior were triggering deep inside. So I just sat there, leaning against the door, elbows propped up on my knees, with my head cradled in my hands.

"You forgot this at the beach," Peeta said as he tentatively climbed up my porch as if approaching a wounded animal. He offered me my cover up which I quickly took and excavated in search of my key. Coming up empty handed, I dropped the garment down next to me, too exhausted to get frustrated. Peeta picked it back up and wrapped it around my still sparsely dressed and sodden frame and took a seat beside me on the floor. "Missing your keys?"

"Mm-hmm," I answered, my eyes shut tightly to avoid his.

We sat there silently for some time. I wasn't sure if it was because we didn't know what to say to each other or if we were simply lacking the energy to use our voices.

Peeta finally broke the silence, but with barely a whisper. "I'm really sorry, Katniss. It was a bad joke… with bad timing."

I gave my head a subtle shake. "No, it's not that."

"Then I'm sorry for making you feel like you owe me anyth –"

"It's not that either."

I could see Peeta in my periphery, searching his memory for an answer.

"For not following you?" I shook my head again. "For…" He hesitated, the words hanging on his lips, and I knew what was coming. "… not kissing you?"

The only response I could muster was a lone scoff. I was a little mad about that, but mostly, I was mortified that I even made the attempt. Mad at myself for even allowing the notion to cross my mind.

"Katniss, I don't know what you want me to say. I just hate seeing you so upset and if it was something I –"

"I'm just tired, Peeta."

Again, we sat without saying another word, but I could tell that Peeta was debating something in his head as evident by the complex choreography his eyebrows and mouth were performing.

"Do you… maybe want to come to my room… and rest while you wait for someone to come back home?"

"Peeta…" I said with a hint of warning in my voice.

"Katniss…" he repeated my tone mockingly. "C'mon, you're wet, barely clothed, fatigued, and locked out indefinitely. It's not the time to be all 'Miss Independent.' Now would you please come with me?"

He arose sluggishly, obviously still weak from his near death experience, and held his hands out to me. Not wanting to force him into overexerting himself, I opted for using the doorknob to pull myself up. A wave of hurt crossed his face, assuming I had rejected him, so I offered a timid smile to assuage his ego.

We slowly ambled our way to the main lodging like two injured soldiers returning from war. The sun had only just begun its descent, but a thick marine layer had rolled in, dropping the temperature significantly, at least for someone in desperate need of dry clothing. Thankfully, the building was not far from mine and his room was conveniently situated on the first floor.

As soon as Peeta let us into his room, he went directly to his dresser to rummage through his wardrobe and retrieved a pair of flannel pajama pants and a well-worn Detroit Pistons sweatshirt.

"Are these okay? Sorry, I don't have anything more… fitted," he said apologetically.

"They're perfect. Thanks." He gestured in the direction of the bathroom where I went to change. I removed my wet bathing suit and hung it on the shower curtain rod before shimmying into his warm clothing. I smiled at the reflection of myself in the mirror wearing a sweater reminiscent of home. The Pistons reminded me that, even though we had only gotten to know each other in this new, foreign place, Peeta and I shared roots.

When I exited the bathroom, I found Peeta already changed into sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt, leaning over and fiddling with his laptop.

"Oh, I'm just tweeting about my resurrection," he jested then took notice of my lack of amusement. "Sorry, still too early for the jokes." He shut his laptop. "You look like you could use a nap. You're welcome to lie down on the bed."

"What about you? What are you going to do?" I perched on the edge of his bed.

He scanned the room.

"I'll just chill out on the bean bag," he replied with a shrug.

"Don't be stupid. You're the one who almost d–" I stopped short, unable to say the word. Not with reverence and certainly not with Peeta's casual, humorous tone. "Come here. You need your rest too."

I crawled over to the head of the bed and pulled the striped covers down to burrow myself underneath them. Peeta, in turn, made his way to the opposite side of his king-size bed and plopped down on top of the covers. I knew he was probably just being a gentleman and wanting to put me at ease, but a small part of me couldn't help but feel disappointed – offended even – that he chose to keep a solid boundary between us. Nonetheless, we both rolled onto our sides, facing our respective edges, our backs to one another.

"Hey, Katniss?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you… for saving me today."

I didn't reply. Instead, I let one nagging tear roll down my cheek as I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

All I wanted was to sleep off the memories of that event. To not think about it for an hour or two. But the images of Peeta bobbing face down in the water, his lips pale, his limp, unresponsive body lying on the ground filled my dreams.

"Breathe, Peeta, breathe! Please!" I could hear my own voice repeating, willing him to come back to life. Only, in my dream – no, my nightmare – he never does. I just pump his chest and blow puffs of air until I can't anymore, but his blue eyes never open. His once warm smile remains cold and purple.

"Peeta!" I cried again.

"Katniss?" I heard his voice, but his lips remained motionless. "Katniss, wake up!"

My eyes shot open. I found myself straddled over Peeta, my fists on his chest with his fingers wrapped around my wrists to restrain me, a bewildered expression on his face.

"Peeta?" I threw my ear to his chest searching for the reassurance of a steady heartbeat. It took a brief moment to regain my bearings. When I finally processed the compromising position I was in, I hastily dismounted myself and turned away from him. "Oh, my gosh, I'm sorry."

"I take it you were having a bad dream?" I glanced back in his direction and caught him rubbing his torso where I must have struck him.

I nodded. "Did I hurt you?"

He lifted his shirt to assess the damage. A few pink welts were beginning to form below his pecs, but he still denied the harm I caused him.

"Are you okay now?" he asked even though it seemed more appropriate to ask him.

"I am now."

I was sure Peeta thought it strange how traumatized I was by the situation. I was a lifeguard after all and saving drowning victims and administering CPR was just part of the job description. This wasn't even the first time I've had to do it either. I've jumped in to rescue many flailing non-swimmers. And last summer, I resuscitated a 50-year-old woman who had suffered a heart attack at the grocery store, but never had I ever needed to rescue someone I knew and cared about.

The phone on the bedside table next to me rang causing us both to jump in surprise. Peeta crawled across the bed and over my lap to reach for the receiver.

"Hello?" It felt a bit intrusive to be so close to him while he was on the phone, but his free arm was pinning my legs down. "Hey, Uncle Haymitch… oh, you heard about that? Yeah, we're alright… I promise, I feel fine… Well, if it'll help you breathe easier – no pun intended – Uf!" I kneed him in the stomach and sternly mouthed the words 'not funny'. "Yes! Alright, I'm coming. I'll be there in five minutes."

Peeta hung the phone up and pushed himself off of me.

"Ugh. Gotta go see Haymitch. If he doesn't see me alive in the flesh soon, he's going to call my parents," he explained as he laced on his running shoes.

"Should I leave?" I asked, dropping my feet off the side of the bed.

"No, stay," Peeta insisted before heading out the door. "I'll be back shortly. Make yourself at home."

It was a strange feeling being left alone in a boy's room. It almost seemed sacred and intimate, never mind that I had just shared a bed with him just a few moments ago. But this was more. This wasn't about physical contact with a person. He not only trusted me to leave alone, but he basically invited me to a free for all of his most personal space. The silence in the room seemed to judge me.

I surveyed my surroundings more thoroughly than I had the first time I set foot in here. This time I noticed a few photographs pinned onto a bulletin board hanging over his desk . One was a photo of Peeta and Haymitch taken at Disneyland a couple of years ago. I only dated it by Peeta's scrawny appearance I remembered from the time just before he left Detroit. Below it was Peeta holding a trophy and being held up by several teammates, all clad in wrestling singlets. But the picture that drew the most attention was a worn photograph of a young Peeta dressed as a lion, posing next to his brothers and his parents in front of the P.S. 12 auditorium stage. Mrs. Mellark wasn't smiling, but his dad and brothers seemed genuinely happy for Peeta whose sparsely toothed grin could light up the entire stage.

I held this picture reverently knowing that he was probably keeping it as a reminder of a better, simpler, sweeter time. I couldn't help but feel admiration for this guy that clearly loved his family despite what they had put him through. This. This is that sacred insight that could be found in one's bedroom. I hung the photo back on its tack, being careful not to bend the brittle paper. When I pulled my hand away, that's when I saw it. In the corner of the photo, in the busy background of the auditorium was a flash of a checkered blue dress. It was me. Peeta had a photo of me.

A smile began to play on my lips. I wondered if he was even aware that I was in the shot. The fleeting thought crossed my mind that maybe that was the real reason Peeta kept the picture, but I wiped the arrogant idea quickly from my mind. Who was I to Peeta anyway? And why did I care so much?

His laptop rested temptingly on his desktop, a treasure trove of secrets, its quiet hum telling me that it was still on and easily accessible. Gale was always telling me I was far too nosey for my own good. It was just good-natured teasing coming from him since there were really no secrets between us. At least, there used to be no secrets.

I had no idea he was going to kiss me before I left, nor what types of feelings might have been brewing that motivated said kiss. And what was I keeping from him? Well, where I was living, for starters. I hadn't called him since our first long-distance phone call and as far as I knew, he had no idea where to contact me. Guilt washed over me for being such a terrible friend. Every day for the last five years, Gale and I would touch bases and now I've allowed two whole months to pass without so much as a terse phone call or e-mail. E-mail. Why hadn't I thought to send him a quick note to update him?

I wanted to say that telling Gale what I've been up to all summer simply slipped my mind, but I'd know that wasn't true. I had been purposely avoiding any and all conversations that might bring up "where we stand" or having to tell him about my new friends here and how they're nothing like the kinds of people Gale or I would ever hang out with back home. In fact, they were the types we tried to avoid. I just couldn't bear hearing Gale's disapproval of the only people I had available to me and, to be honest, I actually liked. And while this life I had built in the short time we've been here feels safe and far from the reaches of Gale's judgment, there was one thing I was truly avoiding – Peeta. I wasn't sure whether Gale actually knew of Peeta or not since Gale never got the chance to go to school with him, but Peeta was where my two worlds collided; and while that brings me comfort while here in California, I simply was not ready to bring it under the scrutiny of the person whose opinion I valued most.

But maybe e-mail was the answer to my problem. Maybe I could say hello and tell him about the move to the country club and the new job. This way, I could avoid his line of questioning or the hurt tone in his voice that would inevitably make me feel guilty for going M.I.A.

I looked back at Peeta's laptop. Without wasting any more precious time mulling it over, I stuck my thumb in the groove and pulled the screen up. Thankfully, it was not protected by a password, so I easily navigated my way to his internet browser and opened up my sporadically used e-mail account. Without a computer at home, I was usually limited to the computer labs at the school or library, but since my social network consisted of those within arms' reach, I didn't typically need e-mail for personal use. The e-mail address was actually assigned to me by Mrs. Collins, my English teacher, for submitting writing assignments. Nonetheless, it was coming in handy for this particular situation.

What I didn't expect to find when I entered my account was an inbox full of messages from Gale. Of course he would try to e-mail me. Without a mobile phone or an updated home phone, where else would he be able to get hold of me? Great. Now there were 23 messages that will unquestionably contain a broad range of cheery greetings, informative updates, and angry demands for a response. But I didn't have time to read them. Peeta would be back any minute and, even though he probably wouldn't mind my borrowing his computer to send an e-mail, it would still feel awkward to get caught using it without his permission.

Hey Gale!

So sorry I haven't been in touch. Been keeping pretty busy. Long story short, my grandparents invited us to stay at the country club for the summer, so we left the apartment, and I got a job as a lifeguard here. It's been okay. Had to save my first drowning victim today –

I paused a moment to reassess my last sentence then thought better than to open up that subject. I held down the backspace key to take it back. It was better to avoid any potential questioning on the event. It would inevitably bring up Peeta.

Been enjoying the great weather. Mom loves her job. Prim's made new friends – no surprise there. And I've finally rid myself of that wretched farmer's tan.

I heard the clicking of a key going into the door. In a panic, I hurried the last few words before sending it off.

I'll write you more later! Miss you!

-Catnip

Just as I was clicking on the 'X' in the top corner of the window, the door swung open and in walked Peeta carrying a white paper bag and two soda bottles.

"Hey…" he greeted me, he eyes inquisitive but not detectably angry.

"Hi." I shut his laptop closed and looked back at him sheepishly. "I-I hope you don't mind. I just borrowed it for a sec' to send an e-mail to someone back home."

Peeta put down the bag next to his computer and shrugged.

"Nah, it's cool. You're more than welcome to use it anytime." He balanced himself on the edge of the desk and casually leaned against the wall. "So, Haymitch says we both have the day off to recuperate tomorrow. But we're under strict orders not use the free time to do any vigorous training." I nodded in understanding. "You hungry? I grabbed a couple of the chicken pesto paninis from the restaurant – my personal favorite."

He opened the bag, releasing a mouthwatering aroma. I dug in with fervor, not realizing how famished I had gotten from the strenuous day we'd had. For a minute, we both sat in silence, savoring the taste of the sandwiches or the simple sensation of having food in our stomachs. I was in mid-bite when Peeta broke the peace.

"Gale?"

I stared at him in puzzlement. Or disbelief. Maybe even a little embarrassment.

"W-what?" I replied after swallowing my bite of food whole.

Peeta nodded in the direction of his laptop.

"That's who you were e-mailing?" His tone wasn't accusatory, but it still put me on edge. "I think that's his name, right? The quarterback?"

"Umm… yeah, how'd you know?" I asked, intensely picking at the lettuce that dangled from the side of my panini.

"Well, you two were inseparable. I just figured you were still together." Despite the casualness in his tone, his body language said otherwise. "Must be hard to be away from each other for so long."

I was taken aback by his sudden mention of Gale. For one thing, I didn't expect him to know who I had been e-mailing. For another thing, I didn't think he'd have any knowledge of who I was friends with back home after being gone for two years. Then Peeta's words finally registered.

"Wait, what do you mean 'still together'?" I asked, my eyebrows knitted. "Gale and I are just friends. Best friends, actually."

"Oh," Peeta said with what I thought was a masked hint of relief. "Sorry. Everyone back home just assumed you two were an item. You were always together and sort of gave that air of being untouchable."

"What?" I asked incredulously. "Well, people are ignorant gossips."

We returned to eating our meal in blissful quietness, save for the crumpling of wax paper being peeled away from our sandwiches. Peeta took a swig of his Dr. Pepper before looking back at me with his head cocked.

"Really? You two never had a thing?" He seemed skeptical of this fact. "Ever?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I fielded his awkward line of questioning.

"It's just hard to understand how a guy and girl who are as close as you two were could just stay platonic for so long without someone making a move eventually," he replied.

Well, I never said that.

Tell me what you think! (I was a teacher and an art major - I can even take constructive criticism!)