a/n: A lot happens in this chapter. Buckle your seat belts, kids. And, just fyi, this won't be the final chapter. I've extended the story. There will be another chapter after this, and the epilogue will follow. So, despite previous pronouncements, two more chapter after this. :)
The knock on the door startles Katniss, and she breaks away from Peeta.
His eyes are bright, his lips red, swollen, kissed, and she touches her hand to her mussed hair, looking away, shy. But she can feel his smile when he kisses her forehead, and she watches him bound over to the door. She isn't sure who she expects, but she shouldn't be surprised at who it is.
"Hello, my dear!" Mrs. Abernathy greets. "I'm terribly, terribly sorry to interrupt —" and Katniss glances over to see that Mrs. Abernathy appears far too thrilled to be sorry about anything. "But I've brought you some potpie for dinner," Mrs. Abernathy continues brightly, "because we can't have our beloved lieutenant as thin as a beanstalk! No, no, no," she clucks, "that simply won't do!"
"And how did you know that potpie was my favorite?" Peeta asks, grinning.
Mrs. Abernathy giggles. "Oh, you," she says fondly, cheeks pink. "I've missed you, sweet boy!"
He smiles, takes the food from her, and says that he missed her, too. She beams and leans forward to peck his cheek, murmuring something about "sweetheart" and "darling curls" under her breath, and Katniss bites her lip as Peeta seems to steer Mrs. Abernathy from the room, shutting the door.
He turns to Katniss and smiles as he sets the tray on the table, crossing the room in three strides.
And he takes her face in his hands to kiss her.
She laughs into his mouth. "No," she says, pulling away, trying to be sensible, "you should eat."
"I've been eating my whole life," he replies, peppering her face with kisses, his hands sliding down around her waist to tug her to him. "Haven't been kissing you my whole life. Doesn't seem right, does it?" He grins, and she laughs, breathless, as he presses his lips to hers, completely undeterred.
She puts her hands flat on his chest, pushing him gently towards the chair. "Sit," she says.
He sits. And reaches for her. She shakes her head at him, bemused.
She missed this, she realizes. The silliness. She missed it more than she would've thought possible, missed how silly he made her feel. But, still, she needs to be sensible. "At least shave," she tells him, "and let me look at your cuts. I have ointment." And, just like that, her giddiness dims. "You were sick, weren't you?" she asks. Sick enough to be in the hospital. "Terribly sick," she whispers.
His smile is sad. "I was sick, yes. I, um, I wasn't in the best spirits, and I caught camp fever."
"Camp fever?'" she repeats. "I'm not sure what this is, to be honest."
"It wasn't anything pleasant," he says. "Not uncommon, though. A lot of boys catch it."
She bites her lips. "And a lot of boys die from it, don't they?"
He tugs on her hand, and she lets him have what he wants, sitting in his lap. "I didn't," he says.
"What were your symptoms?" She needs to know what happened.
He sighs. "I was feverish, of course. And thirsty. I don't think I've been as thirsty in all my life. I was sure I would die from it. And they gave me water, of course, and whiskey, too, I think. But it didn't really quell the thirst." He frowns, distant. "My tongue was fat in my mouth, I remember. Furred, too."
She brushes her hand over his hair. "Furred?" she says.
"That's as best as I can describe it," he says. "I don't remember much on account of the fever."
She isn't sure what struck him, but she remembers the terribly feverish patients who used to be brought to her mother, and she remembers talk about fat, furred tongues. It was typhoid fever, she thinks. It doesn't matter, though, not really, not when Peeta musters his sweet smile for her. "I'm sorry," she tells him.
He shakes his head. "Don't be. I survived, and you came for me. Got me out." He finds her hand and intertwines their fingers. His nails are jagged and dirty, she notices, and she can focus on that. Spying the knife on the tray that Mrs. Abernathy bought, she reaches for it. "It wasn't too terrible," Peeta adds. "I don't think I was in the hospital for more than a fortnight, and I survived, didn't I?"
She takes his hand and starts to pare his fingernails. "Don't act like it wasn't terrible, Peeta," she says. "I'm not a child." She pauses. "I killed someone. Another someone. I didn't mean to, but. . . ."
"Would he have hurt you?" Peeta asks softly, trying to catch her eye.
She shrugs. "I don't know. I think so. But he was drunk, and it was dark, and — I don't know."
It's quiet. She wishes she hadn't said anything, yet she couldn't help herself.
"It's war, Katniss," Peeta whispers. "And you're right. It is terrible. But it's war, and you're not a killer. Just a survivor. Point Lookout was terrible. They bled me in the hospital, but it didn't do a blasted thing for me, and I — I was certain I would die. But I didn't. As feverish and as thirsty as I was, I recovered. I guess —" And she can hear the smile creep into his voice. "— well, I guess God must've thought it wouldn't be fair for me to die now that'd you finally fallen in love with me."
She looks at him, and he smiles, sweet and bright and genuine.
"Don't die," she tells him. It slips out, silly words she can't stop.
He kisses her, a sweet, soft kiss. "Never, not as long as I've you." Another quick kiss.
"Stop it," she insists, trying to be cross with him. "I've made you as insatiable as a little boy with sweet cakes. Let me finish with your hands." He chuckles, but he obediently holds out his hands.
And he lets her assess his cuts, too, before she makes him stand as she soaps his beard and starts to shave the dark blonde curls. "Have you heard anything from Madge?" he asks. She nods, and she tells him. Prim is fine. Her family is fine. Gale is fine. For the first time, the world seems kind.
He washes the soap from his face, and he beams at her. He looks younger already. Like himself.
She reaches out, touches his smooth cheeks. "Might I kiss you now, Miss Everdeen?" he asks.
She starts to roll her eyes, but he doesn't want for an answer. Honestly. Insatiable, she thinks.
But she presses closer, opens her mouth under his, and curls her fingers into his shirt. She doesn't understand it, the way she feels, the warmth and the wanting; it almost embarrasses her, how his kisses draw whimpers from her, how dazed he makes her feel, how she wants more, more, more.
He abruptly pulls away from her. "I should eat," he says, licking his lips, his cheeks flushed.
She blinks at him. "Okay. Yes, of course. You should. Sit." She turns towards the food.
He catches her arm, and she looks over at him. "How — how soon can we be married?"
It's almost like a plea, and she is startled. "I wouldn't imagine until after the war ends," she says.
He nods, but his eyes drop, and he seems disappointed. He doesn't release her arm. "Alright."
"Is that — is that okay?" she asks, frowning. "I don't much want to be married in Winchester."
He smiles. "No, nor do I. After the war, then." He kisses her forehead.
She feels a little unsettled, but someone knocks on the door, stealing her attention.
It better not be Mrs. Abernathy, Katniss thinks, because God bless the sweet woman, but —
Peeta opens the door, and Katniss stares for a moment. "I think we should talk," Cato says. He pushes past Peeta into the room, and Katniss doesn't miss how stiffly Peeta stands. They aren't friends. Clove follows Cato, and Katniss can't say she has any idea where she and Clove stand.
Are they friends?
Clove smiles, a slight, sly, guarded smile, and she touches Katniss on the hand.
Katniss is certain that's all the thinks for Cato's return that she can expect to receive from Clove.
Cato looks bad; he hasn't washed or shaved yet, the skin is stretched too thin over his bony face, and his left ear is bruised and coated with dry black, blood. He doesn't seem to care, though; he sits, looks expectantly at Peeta, and is as much the rude, arrogant bastard that Katniss remembers.
"I would rather spend some time with my wife," Peeta tells Cato, "something I would've thought you'd appreciate." He crosses his arms over his chest, and Katniss hasn't ever seen him look so unfriendly, his eyes cold, his face hard, his lips pressed together tightly with distinct displeasure.
But Cato is unfazed. "I was promised an explanation," he says. "I'd like it." His smile isn't a smile, and his eyes flicker to Katniss. "As I understand it, your wife saw that we were released from Point Lookout, but no one can bother to tell me how, exactly, she managed it. The orders came from Union general Sheridan, who I didn't think could be bribed. So. What did Mrs. Mellark do?"
"I don't see why it matters," Clove says, surprising Katniss.
Cato doesn't take his eyes off Peeta. "It matters."
"I found information that Sheridan wanted," Katniss says. "That's it."
Cato stares at her. His lip curls. "Did you spread your legs for him, too, you little Yankee twat?"
"Don't you dare," Peeta breathes, dark and quiet and furious, and Katniss touches his arm.
"I should've left you to rot," she snaps at Cato. She can't believe this. She saved his life, he was reunited with his pregnant wife, and he seemed grateful; after all, he smiled at her when he arrived.
He chuckles. "But you didn't," he says. "Instead, you made me out to be a traitor. Tell me, did you leave Glimmer Davis holding the bag, too?" He shakes his head, sneering. "She wasn't for the Union. No, she wasn't, but she found out that you were, and you saw that Crane shot her for it."
"And why do you care?" Clove asks, almost hissing.
Cato grits his teeth. "I care because I'm not Yankee scum, and —"
"And you wanted to die in some cracker crate in Maryland?" Clove spits, vicious. "I would've let you, but I didn't realize my husband cared as much for the Confederate cause as fools like Seneca Crane. Cared more than he does for his own life. I didn't realize my husband was spineless enough to want —"
Cato tries to interrupt. "Clove, don't —"
"Don't what?" she sneers. "I might not like Yankees anymore than you do, but I'm more concerned with how to survive this war than whether or not Jefferson Davis want to pin a medal to my chest, and I thought you were, too. And when the Yankees win this war — and don't bother to deny that they will — when the Yankees win this war, would you rather be another foolish Rebel with nothing to his name or someone who thrives in the aftermath, someone with respect and power?"
He shakes his head. "It isn't about that." He looks at Peeta. "I trusted you."
"Trusted him?" Clove repeats, incredulous. "Since when did you trust anyone?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm finished. Do what you like, but find somewhere else to sleep, you Nancy boy."
She stalks from the room, jerking her arm away from Cato when he tries to stop her.
"She saved your life," Katniss says. "She is the reason you were released."
Cato glares at her. "Don't tell me about my wife."
"Don't call mine filthy names," Peeta snaps. "Look, I'm sorry that you feel betrayed. But my loyalty was always to the Union, and I'm not ashamed. Think what you like, but you owe my wife your life. Don't forget it. And do as you like, but don't forget, either, that Winchester is under Union occupation, and it might not be very wise to tell them that you're actually loyal to the Confederacy."
Cato stares at Peeta for a moment, his eyes flicker to Katniss, and he scoffs.
He leaves, slamming the door shut.
It's quiet.
"I feel as though a hurricane swept through the room," Peeta says, smiling tiredly. "I hate that man," he murmurs. "I truly hate him, much as I would like to say I don't hate anyone. I hate him."
He sits on the edge of the bed.
"But you're right," she says. "He doesn't have any power as long as Winchester is under Union occupation. All he can do is sulk about how he feels betrayed. I don't want to think about how many men he must've betrayed during this war." He is as hypocritical as he is cruel, Cato Ableman.
He can't touch them, though. He can't.
They're safe as long as Winchester remains under Union occupation.
Peeta eats the potpie, and he is almost finished when Finnick knocks on the door, loudly warns that he hopes they're decent, and struts into the room with a whiskey bottle in hand. Katniss doesn't really care for whiskey, but she sips the drink and lets Finnick tell an exaggerated tale about how he met her. He sings the Union Yankee Doodle, reenacting how Katniss stole his rifle from him.
She rolls her eyes and tries to fight off the sleepiness that sweeps over her.
Her nightmare features dark, cold forests and dead bodies, heads dashed against trees, and Rue smiles at Katniss as she helps bury the body, but red lines her teeth and blood gushes from her mouth, and Katniss is helpless to save her, and she trips over the bodies, heads bashed, and —
And Peeta whispers into her ear that it is only a nightmare, his lips against her forehead.
He strokes her hair, and she takes a few deep breaths. They're in bed. He must've put her to bed. He is with her, right beside her, wrapped around her. She closes her eyes and presses closer, finds his heartbeat, strong and steady under his cotton shift. Peeta is safe, is alive, is curled against her.
She blinks, and the curtains glow yellow around the edges. It's morning, or it's about to be.
Peeta is asleep on his stomach, and she is tucked under him, his arm wrapped around her waist.
She smiles, shifting slightly to rub her eyes. Peeta doesn't wake. The room is still shadowy, and she should let him sleep. He must need it. He hasn't said much yet about the prison camp, not beyond the basics, but she isn't going to press for anything. He'll tell her what he wants her to know when he wants to tell it. She touches the small bump in his nose, skates her finger over his eyelashes, ghosts her thumb against the mole beneath his right ear. He caught camp fever, he said.
It's a miracle that he survived, no matter what camp fever is.
She twists, moves to press her ear to his chest, not to hear his heart beat, but to hear his lungs, to hear him breath in, breathe out. The sound is sweet and slow and steady, not rattling, not uneven.
He mumbles something, and she tilts her head. He smacks his lips, and his arm tightens around her. She kisses him softly, and his eyelids flutter. She presses kisses along his jaw, to his throat, and feels him swallow against her lips. His hand touches her hair, and she looks up, finds his eyes.
His eyes are sleepy but bright. "Morning," he breathes.
"Morning," she echoes. She kisses his collarbone.
He shifts, though, and she smiles when he kisses her, his breath sour with sleep, his hands warm on her skin. His kisses aren't light and soft like hers; he presses his tongue against her lips, and he draws her tongue between his teeth, sucking gently. She feels everything, hot and hungry and him.
His mouth is warm and wet against her jaw and her throat, stealing her breath.
He stops, head over her breast, lips against her heart.
And he starts to move away from her. Her leg catches his, and her fingers curl into his shirt.
"I can wait until we're married," he says, eyes soft. He smiles, kisses her cheek. "I can wait."
She doesn't understand at first, but, staring at him, the understanding comes.
He can wait to be together the way the husbands and wives are together. Don't kiss boys, her grandmother used to tell her, because kissing leads to necking, and necking leads to doing what husbands and wives do, to what you shouldn't do until you're somebody's wife. And he can wait.
She lowers her leg, letting him roll off her and onto his back.
And she moves to her knees, finds the edge of her chemise, and lifts it over her head.
He stares. "We're — we're not married," he stutters.
"I'm wearing your ring, aren't I?" she asks, and she puts his hand on her waist. His palm is warm against her bare skin. "And you're mine, aren't you?" she asks softly. "Only mine, always mine?"
He nods, surging up onto his knees to kiss her, mumbling against her mouth.
"Always," he breathes, "always, always, always."
She smiles, only for her breath to catch when she feels his fingers find the drawstrings on her drawers, pulling lightly, and her hands grip his shoulder for purchase as he starts to kiss his way across her bare skin, down her neck, nipping her collar bone, nuzzling her breast. She slips her hands from his shoulder to his hair, legs shaky beneath her, and he tugs her drawers to her knees.
He kisses her bellybutton, and he slides his hands up to hold her, to lay her against the bed.
She can't really breath; she watches him pull the drawers off. He tugs off his shift, and her eyes rake over the bruised skin, the bones that peak out. She reaches out to run her fingers lightly over the starved, abused boy that belongs to her, but he must notice her guilt, her anger, her sadness.
He catches her hand and kisses her fingers. He smiles, putting her hands on his waist.
She tugs down his pants. And she stares, letting out a nervous giggle before she can stop herself.
"Are you laughing?" he says, eyes searching her face.
She bites her lip, forcing herself to look at his face. "It looks like it's mad at me," she says. She tries to school her features, but she can't do it. "It looks ridiculous." She starts to shake with the laughter she can't suppress, and Peeta shakes his head at her, bending over her and kissing her.
"Some wife you are," he says, nipping her lip.
She holds his face. "I'm sorry," she says. "I think you're very handsome. It's very handsome."
He raises his eyebrows, and she bursts into laughter, amused with herself, but he kisses and kisses and kisses her, and his hands are suddenly on her breasts, his touch sending heat spiraling through her spine. She stares at him, and he smiles. "I think you're beautiful," he says, reverent, and her fingers slip into his hair as his licks down her throat, as he takes her nipple into his mouth.
She shudders.
"Is this okay?" he whispers, breath hot against her wet skin. "I've never —"
She nods, unsure how to say what she wants, but she finds his eyes, and she nods. "Don't stop."
She can feel his lips curl into a smile against her breast, and he kisses and bites and licks, and she gasps his name, arching into him, when he sucks; she doesn't understand the warmth in her belly.
He moves to her other breast, and his hands brush over her legs as he settles between them.
"K-kiss me," she mumbles, and he obeys.
Her hands skate over his shoulders. "Spread your legs," he whispers.
She nods, and she lets spread her legs himself, lets him bend her knees, and he holds himself over her. His eyes find hers, and she holds his shoulders. He lowers himself against her, and he doesn't take his eyes from hers as he presses into her. The pain is sharp, and the pressure makes her gasp.
He stills, though, arms trembling, and she digs her nails into his shoulders.
She used to think she understood the way that married people were together; she looked after little neighborhood boys, after all, and she saw the unassuming thing that hung between their legs. She imagined that unassuming thing slipped into women, and that was that. She didn't expect anything else, but she tries to adjust to the discomfort. She shifts, and Peeta grasps the sheet beside her head.
He pulls out, and she feels unsettled and uncomfortable. He slides in. Out. In.
It isn't anything like she expected, but —
The pain starts to fade, and he bends to take her breast into his mouth.
Oh, that's good. His skin starts to become slick with sweat, and the warmth is almost too much for her, twists her insides, frustrates her. She tilts her hips, and it makes Peeta groan against her breast; she tries to move with him, to meet his thrusts. It's awkward and strange, and she slides her hands to his hips. He stops. And she moves. He catches her rhythm, moves with her. A burn starts to spread through her, closer and closer to something she can't reach, and Peeta shakily, wetly kisses her.
His movements becomes jerkier, and he mumbles her name against her mouth, whispers how much he loves her, breathes how beautiful she is, says wonderful, sweet things that she can't really hear, and her name is strangled on his tongue when he finishes. He opens his eyes, looks at her.
Kisses her, soft and sweet.
She feels warm, melted, strange, and she can't take her eyes from his. She loves him, completely, desperately, stupidly, and she shouldn't. She shouldn't love him the way her mother loved her father, she shouldn't. It's reckless, loving somebody like that, but she can't care, not at that moment.
She loves him. "I'm yours, too," she whispers. He smiles.
The second time doesn't hurt as much, but she is left beyond frustrated when he is finished.
He fetches breakfast, and they eat in bed, the sheets wrapped around their shoulders. But the food is abandoned after they finish the biscuits, and the third time, as he moves in and out, the warmth builds and builds and builds, making her desperate for more, until suddenly she is consumed with it, her whole body clenching with the pleasure. She sinks into the bed, smiling into his kisses.
She runs her hand through his hair afterward, and he leans into the touch, letting out a sigh, a hum.
It makes her chuckle. He's purring, she thinks, his breath tickling her breast.
As morning passes into afternoon, they finally leave bed.
She dresses, and they walk outside, arms hooked; he buys her chestnuts, and they eat dinner with Mrs. Abernathy, who continues to pass plates to Peeta, insisting that he have yet another. She coddles Cato, too, who doesn't look pleased with anything, but Katniss can't be bothered to care.
Johanna Mason seems to frighten Mrs. Abernathy, who searches for ways to talk to Johanna, only to retreat at the curt responses she receives. Johanna is unsmiling, stabbing her food with her fork, her whole body tense and tight, a coil ready to spring into action. She isn't anything like Finnick.
Katniss is surprised that they are as close as they are, in fact.
But the woman is a loyal friend, Finnick says, and Katniss believes him. Johanna seems like the type that looks after her own. She is from Georgia, Mrs. Abernathy manages to learn, and she isn't married. Her only sister died when she was young; her only brother died at Antietam. And, no, she would not like another biscuit, but she would like to eat her food without having to talk, thank you.
Katniss writes Madge that night, and she tells her the abridged story. I'm safely in Winchester finally, she assures her friend, and she drops off the letter at the post office the very next morning.
She doesn't have any reason not to write. She doesn't have reason to hide her identity. She is safe in Winchester as long as the city remains under Union occupation, and she is almost certain it will.
"And what are you plans, sweetheart?" Mr. Abernathy asks. "To lounge around my hotel?"
She smiles, simpering. "And to enjoy your pleasant hospitality," she tells him.
"I think we should stay at the Capitol," Peeta says, ignoring Mr. Abernathy. "We don't want to risk being caught in the war for the Valley. I imagine the fighting to be worse everywhere around us."
Katniss nods. He is right. She is tempted to try to return home, because she doubts the men from whom she ran are still out for her blood; too much time has passed, after all, too many battles have been fought, too many men killed without reason, and no one who matters will bother to hound her. But the war rages around them, exactly as Peeta says. It isn't safe to try to travel through it. She can personally attest to that after these last months. It isn't worth the risk; she isn't about to let Peeta end up in another prison camp. And, besides, how much longer can the war possibly last?
It was never pleasant at the Capitol, however, and it hasn't suddenly become pleasant.
Everything in town is scarce, food and alcohol and medicine, and Katniss doesn't want to think about how much worse the situation must be for those who aren't living with the Union army. The army is plenty supplied, after all, and the officers are more than ready to share with sweet Mrs. Abernathy. And, as the weeks pass, Peeta starts to spend time in the kitchens, and he charms the servants into letting him bake little treats for Katniss, biscuits and hoecakes and oatmeal cookies.
He spends two weeks repairing windows around town for pennies, and he buys coffee grounds with it. He is immensely pleased with himself, making her laugh, but she eagerly accepts the gift.
Katniss hasn't had coffee in years, and the smell alone seems like an extravagance.
She kisses Peeta, tasting the coffee on his tongue, and smiles against his lips. "Thank you."
But December dawns cold and snowy in Winchester, and support for the Union is fading. The people in Winchester aren't as lucky as the Union army stationed in their town, as Katniss is. She hears whispers about Sheridan, about how he abandoned God for glory, about the towns he burns and the people he kills. "They say that Little Phil is as ruthless as the Butcher," she tells Peeta.
She doesn't want to believe what she hears about him, though, not when she owes him everything.
"Wait, who is the Butcher?" Peeta asks, frowning slightly. "General Grant?"
She nods. This is a war, she thinks, and war is destructive, war is deadly. The more towns that Sheridan burns, the more the Confederacy suffers, and the sooner the war ends. It's necessary evil.
But — "He won't — how far west do you think Sheridan will send his troops?" she asks.
And Peeta understands. "He won't leave the Valley," he assures softly. "The burning is strategic, and he doesn't stand to gain from burning into the west." He smiles. "I'm sure your family is safe."
"And yours," she adds. She doesn't really know anything about his family, but she asks about them, and she smiles at the stories he tells about his brothers. He draws more pictures for her, of his brothers and of the bakery, of the streets that raised them both, of the school and of the church.
And, of course, he draws pictures of her.
She leans against him, her chin on his shoulder, and starts to protest. "Don't draw me, Peeta."
She can hear his smile in the words. "I like drawing you."
"But I don't look like that," she says. "I'm not — I'm pretty, perhaps, but I'm not —"
He doesn't listen, of course; he turns, kissing her. "Don't try to tell me that my wife isn't beautiful," he says, smiling as he reaches out to brush her hair from her face. "I won't stand for it, sweetheart."
His nose nuzzles hers, but she draws away from him.
"Do you have to call me that?" she asks, making a face. "It's what Mr. Abernathy calls me."
Peeta chuckles. "And what term of endearment would you prefer?" he asks. "Honey? Dear?"
"I think Katniss sounds lovely," she replies.
He doesn't stop, grinning at her. "Pumpkin? Darling? Sunshine?"
She raises her eyebrows at him. "Because of my sunny disposition, is that it?"
"Little Robin?" he suggests, kissing her cheek, trailing his mouth along her throat.
She rolls her eyes. "These are becoming more and more ridiculous," she tells him.
He kisses her collarbone, whispering the words into her skin, and her breath catches despite herself when his kisses between her breasts. "Beautiful? Precious? Beloved?" And he remains amused with his silly little names as he pulls away the blanket, kissing her stomach, his hands running along her thighs. Her head sinks into the pillow, her hands curling into his hair. "My ladybug?"
"Call me that," she says, "and I will strangle you with —"
He puts his mouth on her, and her whole body arches off the bed.
His hands find her hips, holding her, as his lips move against her, as he —
He pulls away, head popping up from between her legs. "How about my huntress?" He grins.
"Peeta," she breathes, annoyed at his antics, yanking on his hair.
It makes him laugh. "I'll keep thinking about it, shall I?" he asks, and he pushes his tongue into her, one hand snaking up to rub her breast, the other running steadily over her thigh. Her hands slip from his hair, grappling for purchase along his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, until —
She melts into the mattress, breathless, and he looks up at her with triumphant eyes.
She shakes her head at him, her hands grazing over the little red marks she left on his shoulders, making her feel guilty, but he doesn't seem to mind as he moves to kiss her. "How about Kat?"
She glares at him, which simply makes him laugh. "It's Katniss," she says. "Only Katniss."
He cups her face in his hands. "Only Katniss," he echoes, adoration in the words.
But maybe because she can hear the adoration, maybe because he bakes her bread and draws her pictures and holds his heart in his hands, maybe because he is hers, she can let him slip the shortened name into conversations. She can indulge him. "Merry Christmas, Kat," he whispers.
And, when he kisses her sweetly, she breathes the words. "Merry Christmas, darling."
It's a good Christmas, and Peeta looks as pleased as a pampered child when he presents her with cinnamon rolls. She can't imagine how he managed to find cinnamon, but they eat half the batch in bed, and she pulls his upper lip between hers, sucking away the cinnamon glaze, smiling at him.
She recites A Visit from Saint Nicholas, and that's when he lets it slip.
"I can't wait until have children," he murmurs, sighing, happy.
But she stills in his arms. "Do you — do you want to have children?" she asks, hesitant.
He shifts to look at her. "I do. I thought — we're married, and —"
"We're not married," she interrupts. "Not yet."
"But we will be," he says softly, stroking her cheek, "and we're together as married people are. There isn't really any way to avoid children, not as long as we continue to —" He stops, flushing.
She isn't sure why she never thought about it, but he isn't wrong. Marriage leads to children.
"I never wanted children," she whispers.
He nods, waiting for more. He always knows when not to speak. Always.
She brushes her hand over his hair. "Do you want children?"
His eyes search her face. "More than anything," he admits, almost sheepish.
"Okay," she says softly. "I'll give you children." She shakes her head. "Heaven help me."
It's not like they can really avoid it, and if Peeta truly wants them —
He laughs, kissing her quickly, drawing away to stare at her, only to swoop in for another delighted kiss. She takes his face in her hands, deepening the kiss. But he pulls away, eyes bright.
"Let's get married," he says.
She raises her eyebrows at him. "I was under the impression we'd already decided to do that."
"No," he says, "let's get married now. Soon. Tomorrow!" He shifts slightly to sit up. "We can be married on Christmas, Katniss! And — and I know you wanted to wait for your family to see it, but we are together as though we are married, and we are married in our hearts, I understand, but we should be married before God, too —" He seems to force himself to calm down. "We can celebrate with your family after the war," he says, "but please, Kat, let me take you to a church."
She stares at him for a moment. It is becoming harder and harder for her to deny him anything.
"Tomorrow," she agrees, and he beams at her, leaning in for another kiss. She stops him, though, her hand on his chest. "Do you realize the fuss we will we cause when we reveal to everyone that we're not already married?" But that only makes him grin; she imagines he will probably revel in it.
As soon as the Christmas services are finished, they approach the minister.
He is startled at the request, but he agrees to the ceremony as long as they might have something to offer the church from their Christian hearts. Katniss hesitates, but Peeta doesn't. He tells the minister to wait a moment, and he starts hastily from the church, disappearing out the front door.
Katniss hears Mrs. Abernathy scream.
The delighted woman storms the church a moment later, her eyes wide.
"How come you never told me?" she exclaims, and she starts to talk with a ferocity Katniss didn't realize the human race possessed. But Mr. Abernathy ambles in after her, looking entirely unsurprised, and he sighs heavily to himself as he searches through his pockets for something to pay the church. Peeta thanks him, and Mr. Abernathy grumbles something under his breath. "No need to thank us, my dear, sweet boy," Mrs. Abernathy says. "After all, you're like our children!"
It happens that very afternoon. Mrs. Abernathy wants them to wait a few weeks, to let her have time to prepare a party for them, to find Katniss a beautiful dress, to make her a bouquet, but "we don't want to wait," Peeta says. "I don't think I can wait." And Mrs. Abernathy clutches her heart.
She cries during the short, simple ceremony, soaking her handkerchief.
Mr. Abernathy picks at his nails with his pocketknife, or he tries to, but his wife confiscates it.
Katniss smiles at Peeta as he slips the ring on her finger. "It really is mine now," she tells him.
She knows what he will say before he does. "It always was." And he is pronounced her husband.
Katniss isn't the least bit surprised when Mrs. Abernathy manages to throw something together for them that night. And it isn't entirely awful. The soldiers at the Capitol offer them moonshine, and Katniss is wary, but she toasts with the awful drink, dances with Peeta, and laughs alongside Johanna when Captain Finnick Odair makes an absolute spectacle of himself, a loud, rowdy drunk.
Her heart aches, though, as she leans against Peeta, feeling his chest rumble with laughter, and she remembers Prim. Her sweet, lovely Prim, her beloved little sister. She would've loved to be there.
Prim was always a romantic. Prim is a romantic, Katniss corrects herself.
And her romantic little sister will be thrilled with the love story that Katniss tells her.
The next two months pass lazily, and Katniss spends more and more time with Johanna, who is sharper than most anyone Katniss has ever met, and with Finnick, who writes his wife weekly with poetry. She receives a letter from Madge, overjoyed with everything that Katniss told her.
A second letter from Madge comes only a week later, surprising Katniss.
"She can't have already received my reply," she tells Peeta.
He shrugs, and she is distracted when she sees Clove, walking down the street, her hand resting on her growing belly. Clove sees her, and she nods, a mere acknowledgement. Katniss hasn't spoken with Cato or Clove in the months since the boys returned, but they seem to be faring perfectly fine.
Katniss is surprised, honestly, that Cato hasn't started any altercations, but she won't question it.
She remembers the letter that night, and she tears open the thin envelope in bed.
The note is short, making her frown at the scrawled writing. Katniss, I'm afraid that I write with unfortunate news. At the market this morning I learned from Mrs. Hawthorne that Prim is taken with consumption. I thought you would want to know. Is there any way you might come home? I've come from the Hawthorne house only this past hour, and Prim is asking for you constantly. I will keep you abreast of her health, and I pray for her and for you every night. All my love, Madge.
Consumption.
Katniss reads the letter twice, afraid she misunderstood. But she didn't, and she can't really breathe.
The last few lovely months seem to fall out from under her.
"What is it?" Peeta asks.
Her eyes snap to him. "It's Prim. She's fallen ill with consumption." The word sticks in her throat.
"Do you want to see her?" Peeta asks. "I'm sure your mother is looking after her, but —"
Katniss nods. "I need to see her." She climbs from the bed, but there is nothing for her to do. She paces, reading the letter a third time. The thin paper shakes in her hands. It's her hands that shake.
"As soon as are able tomorrow, we will start west," Peeta says, moving from the bed himself. His hands take hers, stilling them, and he holds her gaze. "We can be at her bedside within the week."
And she can only nod, letting him pull her to his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her.
She can't lose Prim after everything. She can't. It wouldn't be fair. And she almost laughs at her own thoughts, because nothing in her life has ever been fair. But she doesn't laugh; she presses closer to Peeta, curling her fingers in his shirt, and repeats to herself that everything will be fine.
It isn't as simple as to start west the very next day, though.
They'll have to head south before they turn west; the mountains are too snowy to pass over. She asks Finnick what the best route would be. He knows the geography better than anyone. "I can come with you," he volunteers. "I'm not exactly a terrible companion to have on the road, am I?"
She starts to tell him it isn't necessary that he come, but he doesn't let her.
"I'm not one to stay cooped up in Winchester until the war is finished," he says. "I'll gladly see you safely to your sister." And she can't deny his help. He is good company to have on the road, and she'll accept any help that will see her to Prim. They start to make preparations to leave at dawn the following day, but Finnick finds Katniss in the kitchen, eyes bright, looking pleased with himself.
"What is it?"
"The troops are headed southward," he tells her. "We can travel with them. Sheridan is indebted to you, after all; he'll let you accompany the troops as far up the Valley as you like. And, well, strictly speaking, ladies aren't welcome to break camp with the troops, but we can work around that. Offer to help with the ambulances, or to have Peeta steer a supply wagon. We'll be safe with the troops."
Katniss isn't exactly as excited as he at the news. "Are you sure we should travel with soldiers?"
"Afraid of seeing the elephant, are we?" Finnick asks, grinning at her. "Don't worry, little lady. The battle for the Valley is nearly won. It'll be nothing to push out surly old Mr. Early, and we can say farewell to the troops before they're even forced to do that. We can leave off when they reach Staunton; they'll go to battle, we'll go to the west. From there it'll only be three days to your sister."
She bites her lip. "Fine."
But she still needs to talk to Sheridan, and he isn't an easy man to find.
He isn't staying at the Capitol, but they head out to the campsite, where Peeta and Finnick charm every Yankee they see until someone finally points them in the right direction. Katniss recognizes Sheridan from afar, talking with another general, a startlingly young man with long, bright red hair.
Finnick grins. "Armstrong," he breathes, and he starts for the generals. "General Custer, sir!"
The young general turns, starting to chuckle when he spots Finnick. Katniss isn't sure whether or not to be glad at the clear recognition. "My favorite Texan," the general declares, happily clapping Finnick on the shoulder. "How are you keeping, Captain? Are you causing your usual trouble?"
"Always, sir," Finnick replies, grinning. "Always."
The general laughs, and he introduces Finnick to General Sheridan "as my dear, clever friend." His eyes travel to Katniss. "And who have you brought with you, old boy?" he asks, smiling as he holds his hand out to Katniss, arrogance in his every gesture. Finnick starts to introduce Katniss.
General Sheridan doesn't let him.
"Mrs. Mellark," Sheridan says, smiling at Katniss. "We've met," he tells Custer.
Custer raises his eyebrows. "Have you?"
"Our Mrs. Mellark is a fine Southern lady," Sheridan says, "and a finer Yankee spy."
Custer nods, and Katniss takes his hand, lets him kiss her knuckles. "I'm honored, Mrs. Mellark."
Sheridan looks at Peeta. "Might I assume this is your husband, Mrs. Mellark?"
Peeta holds out his hand. "Peeta Mellark, sir. I want to thank you for seeing me released."
"Think not on it," Sheridan says. "We can't have our spies imprisoned, can we? But why've you come to the camp, may I ask? I don't suppose I can hope you've any important information for me."
Katniss shakes her head. "I'm afraid not, sir. I've come to ask for your help."
"My help," he repeats, wary. Hesitant.
"It's my sister, sir," she explains. "She is sick. Taken with consumption. I received news only yesterday, but I am desperate to reach her as soon as I possibly can. Captain Odair told me that your troops were headed south, and I hoped I might be allowed to travel with you until Staunton."
Sheridan frowns.
"Is your sister in Staunton?" Custer asks. "General Early is in Staunton. I would say you might do better to wait for us to clear him out, and you could follow in our wake when we'd taken the town."
"No, sir, she is west. But we can't travel over the mountains. We won't be any trouble, I promise. I can help with whatever work is needed. My husband can steer any wagons. We're not asking for much, sir, only to stay safe up the Valley with your troops as far as to Staunton. It isn't four days."
Sheridan seems to consider it. "Very well. I'm indebted to you. As far as Staunton, you may come with us. But I would ask that your husband steer, and you stay with him. We can't afford trouble."
"There won't be any trouble, sir," she says.
"And I can't guarantee your safety!" he adds. "Come, but you're out as soon as any problems start, or we come to battle. I'm not looking after you, nor are my troops. Do you understand me, ma'am?"
She nods. "Perfectly, sir."
It was easier than she expected.
The rest of the day passes quickly. Peeta and Finnick help load supply wagons, and they're told to report at the camp at dawn the very next day. Don't be late, Custer warns them; the army won't wait.
Katniss can't really sleep that night, no matter how many times Peeta tells her that she must.
She is dressed before the sun is risen, and Peeta squeezes her hand as they start down the stairs.
Mrs. Abernathy is waiting in the lobby to bid them farewell.
"As soon as this war ends," she says tearfully, hugging Katniss and murmuring the words in her ear. "I will come to see you, do you hear? I will come to see you and Madge and your little sister."
Katniss nods. "Until that day," Peeta tells Mrs. Abernathy.
The Union army surrounds them as Peeta helps Katniss onto the wagon and takes the reigns; he is driving a single wagon in a long train. They must make an amazing spectacle, she thinks, the whole army, with the soldiers dressed in their finest, splendidly equipped, their horses as healthy as can be. "Early won't know what to do with himself!" Finnick declares, hopping onto the wagon.
Katniss asks about the red ties around many necks, and the closest soldier beams at her, his eyes shinning with pride. "Means we fight for Custer!" he declares. A few minutes later, as one, the whole parade surges forward, cavalry, supply wagons, ambulances, everyone excited for the road.
She isn't. The road is a means to an end, to her sister.
It seems unreal that Prim is ill, that after everything, Katniss might lose her to consumption.
She can't lose her to consumption. She can't lose her, period. She won't.
"The boys who fight for Custer are certainly proud," Peeta says. "I've read about him. They call him the Boy General. He is always written as very admirable. " He's trying to make conversation.
She isn't really interested.
Finnick, apparently, is. "I think he is among the better sort. But, of course, his troops call him the Iron Butt. The kid is a tough one. I'm surprised you haven't met him before yesterday, to be honest. He's been fighting with Sheridan in the Valley. He must never have come into the Capitol, I suppose, or into the town itself, for that matter. But, oh, Custer and Sheridan are good old friends."
They continue up the valley until nightfall.
The ground is muddy beneath them from steady drizzle, and it isn't easy work to set up camp, but Peeta and Katniss manage to pitch their own tent. Peeta helps Finnick set up another tent, but Finnick doesn't bother to go into it; he crawls behind Peeta and Katniss into theirs, grinning at Katniss and holding out his chew tin to Peeta. It's warm with the three of them cramped into one small tent. Katniss leans against Peeta, who starts to draw on crumpled paper from his coat pocket.
She smiles as the picture takes shape; it's them, huddled in the tent.
Peeta spits his chew into the empty tin, drawing Finnick with a devilish little smirk stretching across his face. "I think you've done him justice," Katniss says, glancing at Finnick, who demands to see it, tearing the paper from Peeta's hands. He tilts his head, squints, holds the drawing out.
"What's your assessment, Captain?" Peeta asks, amused.
"Very nice," Finnick declares. "I should have you draw my portrait for my Annie to swoon over."
He always says that. My Annie. It's sweet, Katniss thinks; for all his arrogance, Finnick is sweet.
"Be careful not to lose this pretty picture, Mrs. Mellark," Finnick says, handing Katniss the finished drawing. "We wouldn't want you to forget what my handsome visage looks like, after all."
And a devilish little smirk stretches across his face.
He doesn't end up in his own tent; he falls asleep in theirs, and Katniss doesn't begrudge him for it.
She wouldn't want to sleep alone, either, and the tent is warmer with three cramped occupants.
It isn't a pleasant night's sleep, though. Katniss is accustomed to the noise soldiers make in a hotel, the way the floorboards in the landing above creaks with their constant, heavy footsteps, the low murmur that seems always to exist, the rowdy ruckus that leaks from around every corner. But an army camp is something else entirely, louder and rougher, the ground under her too hard and cold.
Her nightmares are terrible, the worst they've been in months, but Peeta holds her tightly to his chest, cradling her. She abandons sleep, and she presses close to her husband, waiting for dawn.
It's raining out when the sun finally rises.
"Come on," Peeta murmurs, "let's grab a root. It'll be a miserable day, I suspect."
And it is. The downpour continues, more sleet than rain, soaking Katniss to the bone. She clenches her jaw, arms crossed tightly over her chest, and presses close to Peeta. The army remains in high spirits, despite having to trudge over muddy roads. They reach the North Fork of the Shenandoah, and several impatient soldiers drown, but the officers put a pontoon bridge over the river, and the entire winding parade crosses the fork before the day is finished. It isn't much further to Staunton.
The rain lasts through the night, but Katniss manages to sleep for a few hours, tucked warmly between Finnick and Peeta. She is eager to start out the next day. They'll be in Staunton before supper, and they can start west the follow morning. She can be home with Prim before Sunday.
The day doesn't pass as quickly as she wants, though.
A Confederate general burns the bridge over the Middle Fork of the Shenandoah, and a skirmish ensues. But Custer deals with it, thank God, and they stop for the night outside Staunton, the sleet almost unbearable. "They're preparing for battle," Finnick says. "Sending men to trap the Confederates in the city. Unless you want to raise your pistol for Lincoln, I say we split off now."
Peeta nods. "Tomorrow morning," he says, looking at Katniss. "The army will continue south to Staunton, but we can break off and pass the city. We'll be able to turn west before the day is done."
Katniss is tempted to find Sheridan, to tell him their plans, to thank him. But it will only bother him, she thinks, and she understands. The sooner he takes the Valley, the sooner the war will end. And they can't leave, as it turns out, not until they reach Staunton and deliver the supply wagon.
The rain stops, at least. And a battle isn't waiting. The town is empty. Evacuated. The Rebels left.
"But our boys will chase them," Finnick says, sighing. "Well, let's head out, shall we?"
Katniss shakes her head. "Stay," she tells him. "Custer would surely like your company. Help him round up the Confederates and claim the Valley entirely for the Union. We'll be fine, I'm sure of it."
Finnick looks torn. "I owe you, Katniss Mellark. I won't forget it."
She nods. "I believe it."
And he tips his hat at her. "All the best, little lady."
She rolls her eyes, and he starts to whistle Yankee Doodle as Peeta collects their things. They arrived in Staunton only an hour ago, but she doesn't have any reason to linger in the ghost town and every reason to continue on her way to Prim, who is waiting for her, who must be waiting.
She won't give up until she can see Katniss.
And Katniss can make sure her sister doesn't give up at all when she sees her.
Peeta pulls out his compass, turning slightly. He looks at Katniss. "Are you ready?"
She nods, and he presses a kiss to her temple. A few more days, and she will be with Prim.
They don't make it very far, though.
It isn't half an hour before it happens, in fact.
The shot rings out, and Katniss crouches on reflex, Peeta crashing to the ground with her.
She glances around, tense, ready to run. And her eyes land on the musket, pointed straight at her.
"Katniss Mellark," he says, drawing out her name. "I hoped we might cross paths."
How is this possible? It can't be.
General Snow. She doesn't believe it. But it is he, the same cold eyes, the same white beard, and she is trapped. She looks to Peeta, only for her heart to stop completely, because his face is crumpled with pain, and he is shot. Snow shot him, and his leg is bloody and twisted under him.
Her heart is suddenly pounding, not stopped, not silent, but frantic and panicked and terrified.
General Snow shot Peeta.
He is shot, his leg surely broken, and they are like treed prey, at the mercy of the cruelest man imaginable. Peeta tries to straightens as best he can, and his shoulder seems to jut out, as though to hide Katniss, as though to protect her. His eyes stay on Snow. "General," he greets, jaw locked.
He can't really be here. He can't.
"I must admit," Snow says, "I did not expect to have the chance to execute you." He looks at Katniss. "It seems I am a fortunate soul." He smiles coldly. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you coming into Staunton with the bluecoats. I was certainly glad I decided not to flee with Early."
"And why didn't you?" she snaps.
His eyes are somehow colder. "He is a coward. I did not wish to keep his company any longer."
"He fled without warning you, didn't he?" Katniss asks. "And you were left barely to escape."
"A blessing in disguise, it would seem," he replies. "I haven't forgotten what've you done, Mrs. Mellark, and I certainly consider myself very blessed indeed to have spotted you as I was leaving Staunton. I was especially surprised to see you leave, too. It made everything almost too easy."
Katniss doesn't cower from his stare. She isn't trapped in the Capitol. They aren't playing any games. "Too easy to what?" she asks. "Trap us? Shoot us? Execute us, is that your grand plan?"
Snow seems to consider her. His hand doesn't shake; the musket stays pointed at her heart.
"Crane was a fool. So easily convinced that you were innocent. That you were stupid. I should've told him otherwise. I should not have left Winchester without seeing you hanged. But I expected to return, and I thought I would wait until an opportune moment to stop you when the Yankees needed you most. Oh, I was very sure that you would not escape my wrath. And you shall not."
"I cannot believe we really haunted you the way you claim," Katniss spits.
His smile isn't a smile. "I do not easily forget those who betray me, Mrs. Mellark. Do you know that your father-in-law is unaware that you exist? Or, to clarify, that his son is wed. He was very interested to learn it. I'm delighted to say, in fact, the entire family was surprised at the good news."
"I don't believe you," Peeta breathes.
Snow looks truly pleased with himself. "Believe what you like, Lieutenant. But I assure that you that I was fortunate enough to visit your bakery. I was surprised to come across it, I admit. And pleased at the surprise. I'm afraid I don't think your family was nearly as pleased, however."
Katniss touches Peeta on the back, trying to look as though she is comforting him.
She doesn't risk lowering her hand to the pistol tucked into his belt, not yet.
"My family was innocent," Peeta snarls.
Snow nods. "Oh, yes, your sister-in-law assured me that they were. My only regret is that I was unable to discover your family, Mrs. Mellark." His eyes narrow at Katniss. "I will have to settle for killing you. But, first, I must ask." And he starts to sneer. "Why did you betray your country?"
"I didn't," she says. She trembles with rage, or fear, or whatever he wants to imagine, and her hand inches closer to the pistol. "I did not betray my country or my state. My state betrayed my country, and I stayed true to what was right. And I shan't be ashamed, no matter what you might to do me."
Her fingers brush the hilt of the pistol.
And she presses her thumb into Peeta's back, hoping he can feel the pressure, hoping he can understand. Do something, she means to say. Distract him. She needs a single moment to pull out the pistol before Snow can stop her, a moment when his eyes aren't trained on her every move.
"Stayed true to what was right," Snow echoes. "Don't be stupid. This is war. There isn't any right or wrong in war. There is power. And you might think you've won because Sheridan is about to take the Valley from Early, the idiot, but the fight isn't finished yet, I assure you, and I will kill every fucking Yankee in Virginia before I defer to Abraham Lincoln and break bread with slaves."
Peeta starts to laugh, scornful, the sound unnatural from his mouth.
Snow stares at him, lips tightening, and Katniss curls her hand around the pistol.
"I doubt you will laugh, Lieutenant, when I kill your wife. And don't bother to insult my intelligence any further, Mrs. Mellark; you're not going to be able to shoot me with the pistol."
And, without waiting another moment, he fires his musket.
She ducks, pulling out the pistol, and Snow misses, because another musket fired, too, and Snow is shot, staggering to his knees, aiming his musket at Finnick. Katniss doesn't think about it. She fires the pistol, hitting Snow square between his shoulders, and she fires again, a third time, hands shaking until Peeta covers hers with his own. "It's over," he says. "He is dead, Katniss. It's over."
Snow is sprawled across the brown grass, motionless. Dead.
"We need to get you into Staunton," she says. "To doctors." She staggers to her feet, turning to Finnick. He saved them, distracting Snow the way he did, shooting him, and he can help her to —
Finnick stares at her, his mouth open, his face white. His hands are on his stomach.
"No," she breathes.
Snow staggered to his knees, turning to Finnick, aiming his musket at Finnick —
Finnick pulls his hands from his stomach, and they're bright red with blood.
The blood seeps into his shirt, staining the dirty cotton, and Finnick seems to choke. He lurches on his feet, and she can't take her eyes off him. "Get him to help," Peeta tells her, the words pulling her into reality. "Don't worry about me, okay? Never mind my leg. Better my leg than his life. Go on." She nods, stumbling to her feet as Finnick sinks to his knees. He looks up at her.
"I felt bad," he tells her, his mouth rimmed with red. "Not coming with you."
He was shot in the stomach.
She surges towards him, grasping his shoulders before he can fall entirely to the ground. "No," she says. "No. It isn't far into town, and we'll have you with the doctors in minutes. Do you think can walk? I can help support you, or do you want me to fetch help? Stay, focus on Peeta, and I can —"
He shakes his head at her. "Texas," he murmurs. "Go to Texas, okay?"
"Finnick, I'm going to get help," she says. He slumps against her, though, unable to hold himself up, and she tries to slip out from under him, but he won't let her, his hand grasping her arm tightly.
"Go to Texas," he says, the words coming out slow, clipped, taking too much effort. "Find her. My Annie. Take the drawing. My boy. Dorian." He smiles at her. "Give it to him for — for me."
She glares at him. "No. I'm going to put you with Peeta, and you're going wait for me to —"
"Don't sass me," he breathes, "I'm the man — man who saved — who saved your life, woman." He tries to grin. He can't manage to do it, not with his usual arrogant ease and charm.
Katniss struggles to her feet, holding Finnick under his arms, and she drags him towards Peeta.
"Hold on, Captain," Peeta tells him. "Hold on."
But Finnick chuckles, the sound strange and wrong and choked, and Katniss isn't stupid.
It's over.
Snow shot him in the stomach. It's over.
She starts from the clearing, though, and she can hear him say it, say her name, Annie, but she doesn't turn around. She can't watch him die. Help, she thinks. She needs to find help for Peeta.
tbc.
a/n: That was a terrible place to end, I know. I need to finish my HG one-shot for the LLS fundrasier (see profile for details!), but I will try to do that as quickly as I can, and my goal is to get the next chapter up within a couple weeks!