Thank you Chelzie for polishing everything up.

Thank you readers for being patient.

Oh and last but not least, thank you Flyers, for showing up to help Bryz last night.

Find me on tumblr deliverustogirouxsalem where you can find previews and what not say hello to me.

"So I met your agent," Katniss tells me as she thumps up the stairs, "This was thrown at me."

She drops the box she's carrying unceremoniously at my feet. I got to her house from work before she did; usually, the person working the latest ends up at the other's house. Today, however, is our last day in America for a week. We have to be at the airport at close to 7am, so it just makes more sense to attempt to sleep here.

"When was this dropped off?" I ask. It's late and there's no way my agent is delivering anything past four. The fact that he's in Philadelphia and not Toronto, or Tahiti, or somewhere warm is amazing.

"Like… two? He was all uptight in his pinstripe suit. Handed me the box and said, 'Make sure he deals with this, my assistant will be by in the morning to pick it up.'"

I pull the flaps open. "Oh, God dammit… Babe, can you go into my carry on and get my silver and black sharpie?"

Katniss walks over to see what the package is for herself. "Ooo, magazine with your face on it."

She heads into the kitchen, flipping through glossy pages. "Oh… you kept your shirt on," I hear the zipper to my backpack, "From his first faceoff back in October, the eighteenth captain of the Philadelphia Flyers has made his mark in both the city of Philadelphia and the NHL…" she pauses, "Oh captain, my captain!" When she comes back, she has the top off her bottle of Captain.

"Oh, here I thought you were talking about me…" Katniss takes another swig, "So, sleep on the plane? My mom has the heat going at my house so I figured sleep on the plane, get to my place, then sleep again."

"Delly and Jake are going to be so disappointed."

I shake my head and pull out the stack of jerseys. There are a few chipped pucks from games and two sets of my gloves. All of this stuff can be auctioned off. "Sometimes, I think you're in more of a relationship with Delly and Johanna than me."

Katniss snorts and goes back to the rum. "Oh, I'm sorry, while you're running around the locker room in your boxers or a towel with your friends, I'm allowed to get down to my bra and underwear and compare breast sizes with my friends."

I barely close the eight on my autograph, "Wait, what?"

"Johanna's jugs are already getting big. We were… well, I was drunk and so were Annie and Delly, and well…" Katniss looks at the expression on my face, "Really, Peeta? You think I'd just take my clothes off and start fondling other women?"

I sign the next jersey, "Iunno, you get handsy sometimes when you're drunk."

Katniss slumps down, "I'm going back to my reading."

"Out loud? I want to hear what I said."

"Fine, where was I? Oh… With half the season behind him, Peeta Mellark is a front-runner for the Hart Trophy, leading his team and the league in goals and assists even after being sidelined for four games with a concussion in mid-December."

"We had a great beginning to December but could only stay on top for so long. I knew the second I stumbled on that check that something bad was about to happen. Thresh was skating way too close to me to miss my head."

I work through the stack as she continues reading the article out loud, "When the hockey club saw a huge facelift to their roster over the summer, rumors began spreading as to who would get the 'C' on their jersey. With a captaincy already under his wing, Gale Hawthorne was a front-runner."

"He turned it down," Mellark says, taping a new stick after breaking one at practice earlier in the day, "It was an awkward few days in his house. I had just driven down from Ottawa and both of us were going back and forth with Haymitch, the owners, and just everyone for a day and a half while arguing why the other person should get it. In the end, me telling everyone, 'Gale and Kimmo have been in the league longer' wasn't enough. But I know Gale and Kimmo have my back. The whole team, actually."

Katniss takes another swig.

"Mellark started his career in his hometown of Hearst, Ontario before the family moved to Ottawa where through the years, he became a local celebrity playing for the Gatineau Olympiques and for Team Canada, where the team won gold in the Czech Republic… blah, blah, blah you're amazing and there are no shirtless pictures in this!" She rolls up the glossy magazine and whacks my head with it, "Although, I did enjoy the chest hair poking out," she tells me while reaching into my shirt and scratching at my chest hair.

"Thank you… now, have you packed yet?"

Katniss shakes her head no, "And I'm taking my Captain with me!" she tells me, taking another swig. "And the booze. You think I can't masturbate to not shirtless pictures?"

"I never said that," I tell her as she wobbles to her feet.

"Well, I'll show you, Mellark!" she tells me while heading upstairs, the dog hot on her heels. I hear a loud thud a few seconds later.

"Ya fall?" I ask, going to sign the next jersey.

"Yeah…" she groans.

"Ya bleeding?"

"My Captain spilled on the dog…" she whines. "In the most innocent way possible," she tells me through her laughter. "Come on, baby, you're getting a bath…"

I get up to help her, afraid that she'll end up in the tub with the dog. Sasquatch doesn't seem to mind being washed, though Katniss and I manage to turn a simple dog bath into a fiasco. "Katniss, that's too much shampoo," I caution as she keeps squeezing Tresemme on the now demonic looking wet dog.

"It was a lot of rum," she says as I rub the soap into the dog's fur. Sasquatch just stands there either frozen by fear or just not caring. After a while, I'm not sure where the foam ends and the dog begins.

"Watch her ears," I caution as Katniss takes the showerhead and starts rinsing.

"I know how to wash a dog," Katniss sighs before grabbing the white conditioner bottle and going to town. "I just make mistakes sometimes…" she tells me before looking up, her cheeks bright red.

"It's alright," I tell her before kissing her cheek, "She has to look good for her first trip out of America."

Katniss rinses the dog again. "Can you dry her so I can pack?" she says once the conditioner is out of Sasquatch's fur.

Sasquatch and I exchange glances as Katniss stumbles to her feet. After the dog shakes, I throw a towel over her and listen to her groan and growl while I rub the water out of her fur. "Come on, you little shit eater," I tell her, "You're done for the night."

The dog scurries out of the bathroom and just stares for a second before bolting and running in and out of every room with no clear direction. I don't move, fearing I'll punt the poor thing out the window, so I sit and watch until Katniss starts drunkenly reading aloud again, only down in the living room and not where her clothes are.

Fifteen minutes later, when she's still pacing the room reading the article out loud, I have to physically carry her up the stairs.

"Don't come out of this room until you're packed or we aren't getting Wawa before heading to the airport."

"Bullshit!" she says while pointing at me and stumbling back to her nightstand where her computer sits precariously close to the edge.

She lifts the top and hits the play button, "Oh, I love this song!" She grins from ear to ear as Why Go by Pearl Jam starts playing.

"She's been diagnosed, by some stupid fuck!" she sings while pulling two suitcases out from under her bed. Sasquatch takes this opportunity to stop the running thing and curl up on the bed while Katniss dumps her entire underwear drawer on top of her.

"Do you have it from here?"

"She could just pretend, she could join the game!"

"You don't need all your underwear, babe."

"I'm picking out cute underwear and not cute underwear. Do you honestly think I wear those lace thongs all day? Nope, I always have a pair in my purse."

Well, today I learned.

She pulls out the drawer with her bras in it and dumps that out, trying to find matches when something very out of place tumbles out.

"What is this?" I ask, picking up the purple bra up by the strap. There are little fake pearls stitched into the straps and under the cup, her sorority letters are also on the cups and swatch of fabric connecting them.

She goes pale. "It's… it's nothing," she snatches the skimpy garment from me, "Just…" my question has completely thrown her off balance, "It was a highlighter party this frat was throwing. My sorority was invited and well… Prim was home for Spring Break… I dragged her along because she was sitting in her room, studying and being a good student. It was my last party as a co-ed, well, one of the last ones. She got a call from our Mom that Dad…"

Katniss bites her lip and sets the garment down. "He died a few weeks later…" she whispers, "I was trying to hook up with some nameless guy, and my Dad was fighting for his life…" We sit in silence through a few songs I can't even place.

Her computer starts playing Collide by Howie Day. "Come on, babe, dance with me?"

She looks up at me, tears clinging to her red rimmed eyes. "Please?"

"Okay…" she whispers. I hate knowing that my question brought back such bad memories, so I hold her close as the song plays and stroke her hair until I can't feel her eyes wetting my shirt anymore. The song ends and Bro Hymn by Pennywise comes on; it's a song that still holds a special place in my heart, but it's no good for slow dancing.

"I haven't heard this song in years…" I sigh as I hold her close. "Game three, Stanley Cup finals, or at least that's the last time I remember hearing it… we were in overtime."

"And you scored… I've watched your post game interview, you looked like a caveman," she tells me.

I kiss her nose. "I was just a kid, and I had the best fucking playoff beard on the entire team."

Katniss gets on her toes and drapes her arms over my shoulders, "I can't wait to see it again…"

Katniss spends the next two hours singing every word of every song her iTunes will play and when she shuts that off to listen to Preston and Steve, she barely makes it to the first commercial before coming downstairs, showered and ready to head to the airport.

Normally when the team travels, we have our own plane that's owned by the club; we drive straight to the plane, hand our bags off and go. Instead, we have to deal with security lines, though Katniss doesn't seem to care. I work to massage the tension out of her shoulder blades as we stand in the security line.

"You can see the two major differences between our countries," she starts, comparing our passports. Sasquatch paws around in her crate, yipping a little as someone makes an announcement over the intercom. I can barely hear it; I swear Philadelphia International only hires people that talk like they're playing fluffy bunny.

"What's that?" We move up a little in line to go through security. I sneak a treat into Sasquatch's cage; the only reason we can take her on the plane is because Katniss' shrink dubbed her an 'emotional support animal', which in stressful situations like flying puts her right up there with guide dogs. Fucking bitch gets a first class seat and everything!

"Yours is like, 'We really like maple leafs, did you know that?' Mine is, 'Look at this motherfucking eagle and this goddamn grain.'"

"Mine's also in French and English…"

"Well, that… How do you stay in America for so long?" she asks, "Do you have a green card?"

I shrug, "I don't know what that is. I'm here on a work visa, but if I want to retire early I could always stay in America on a fiancé visa."

She snorts, "Yeah, who are you going to propose to?" Katniss asks as she takes a step forward. She keeps her back to me, so I wrap my arm around her waist, tug on her braid and kiss her forehead, "I'll just get you drunk and take you to Vegas. Now give me my passport before you find a way to lose it and I get stuck in America."

"Flyers All-Star forward Peeta Mellark could not attend the 2012 NHL All-Star weekend because his girlfriend's dog ate his passport," she jokes, "I mean, I'm still going to Ottawa even if you're stranded. Delly would be pissed if I ditched her at our lunch date in two days." She backs up a little and bumps the bundle of hockey sticks I couldn't bring myself to check. Due to the sheer number of players with their own brand selection and length, it's a lot easier and less stressful for guys to bring their own gear, which is worth more than a baggage handler's salary.

"Katniss…" I sigh, picking them up. "These are like $250 a piece," I tap her on the ass with them, "Watch it."

She sticks her tongue out. "But are you going to be able to find your way around? Katniss, I don't know how I feel about you being in an unfamiliar city by yourself."

Katniss rolls her eyes at me, "If someone comes at me speaking French, I'll just stare blankly until they realize I'm American," I go back to rubbing her shoulders, "And if that doesn't work, I could just get Siri to tell me how to find my way home. Peeta, Ottawa has the street crime rate of Disney World. The amount of robberies they've had in the last year is less than North Philadelphia in the last quarter."

She leans back, "I'm a tough little chicky..."

"I know…" I kiss the top of her head, "But I still have to worry."

Katniss

I don't think airport security likes us. For one, I'm bringing a dog everywhere I go. Secondly, I might still be a little tipsy, and third, they seem really confused as to why someone is bringing a bundle of three hockey sticks through security.

After what feels like twelve eternities and an army of people who think I want to blow something up later, I'm done moving until we get on the plane so I pull out my computer. I barely find a wi-fi signal before passing out with my head on Peeta's shoulder.

I'm rudely awakened by Peeta when we have to board our plane. The after effects of the rum are almost too strong. After Peeta says a prayer for his sticks, I go to put his gear bag in the overhead bin. "Holy shit, what do you have in here? A small village?"

"Just pads and skates and like… ten or more pucks I stole…" I know he can tell by the look I'm giving him that he's being judged harshly, "Katniss, we have a lot of pucks. Like, if you left the guys alone for long enough, I'm sure they'd build a fort out of them. Okay, not that many, but they're not going to miss them. Oh, and my skates. They have my name on them."

I flop down in my seat and hunch over so I can remind the dog that she's not alone and going to a horrible place. She doesn't look too happy, although she also looks like I just woke her up from a nap. "I swear Sasquatch only cares if the doorbell rings, or if someone says cookie."

"Oh, you said the word," Peeta digs through his pocket and hands me a dog treat. "Can you take her out?" he asks as I break it up so she think's she's getting more.

"I mean, if I'm having a freak out because my boyfriend is taking me out of Philadelphia, I'd like to see them try."

Sasquatch ends up making an appearance when I can no longer feel the ground beneath my feet. I've never been this far from home, nor ever left the country. Hell, I've never even been in a plane before.

Luckily, I'm still exhausted from not sleeping and drinking my rum. I fall asleep to the sweet nothings of Five Finger Death Punch with one hand keeping Sasquatch in her preferred position, tucked in my hoodie, and my other holding onto Peeta's.

My nap is too short. I almost wish for more flying time before I have to shove the dog back in her crate and hope I look presentable. "How do I look?" I ask, standing up for the first time in a few hours.

"Like you just woke up," he teases, "But welcome to my home."

I stretch until my back cracks, "Your home is the airport?"

Peeta groans as he pulls down his equipment bag. "It sure feels like that from like September through May."

That switch in Peeta's head that makes him speak English seems to be off unless he's talking to me, and then his English only turns on when I stare at him with a blank face.

Getting into Canada is easy enough. They ask if we're here for business or pleasure; Peeta says business while I just stare slack jawed. "She's on vacation, sorry. She just woke up," Peeta says to the man.

Sasquatch is less than pleased to be fondled by the airport personnel, but that pales in comparison to the biting cold we face just while trying to get to our rental car. "What the fuck!" I gasp when it hits me.

Peeta, like the asshole he is deep down inside, just laughs at me.

"I hate you and your god damn country! We're going on a cruise over the summer."

Peeta leans across the armrest and kisses my cheek, "Just wait until you warm up."

I'm not sure what I'm expecting out of Peeta's house up here. He was barely an adult when he bought it and only spends about three months out of the year here.

When I finally start to feel warm, Peeta pulls into a shoveled driveway. There's about two feet of snow on the ground and I don't like it. His house is two stories with a stone front and white siding on the sides and I assume on the back as well.

"In Philly, the only streets that get plowed are Broad, JFK, and anything in Old City," I tell him, tucking my face into my jacket even though we're in a garage. The thermometer in the car says -5, not a temperature I'm okay with. "Here, they get the side streets and the neighborhoods."

"We know how to handle our snow," Peeta digs through his coat pockets and hands me his key ring. "I'm going to go around back and shovel some. I know my brothers didn't bother with that," he tells me once the bags are out of the trunk. "Do you mind? Oh, and I'm pretty sure my Mom went food shopping."

"Nah. I'm going to get the bags inside and try to get the dog to piss. Oh, I didn't bring dog food because I didn't want to carry it. And that's cute, your Mom loves you," I tell him while clipping the leash on to Sasquatch's collar and bringing her out into the bitterness.

Peeta taps my ass with the shovel. "At least you're honest, and your Mom loves you, too. Oh, Thom and Delly are actually coming today. They're stopping by later before heading to their hotel so Thom can babysit the rookies."

"Shouldn't that be your job?" I call after him, "You're the captain, after all," but he doesn't respond. This is the dog's first real experience with snow so after she does her business, she goes about sniffing every fucking thing and ends up looking like a cokehead with a mustache, "Come on, you little shit," I sigh, tugging on her leash.

Peeta's house has the same suburban look on the inside as it does outside. The downstairs is wide open with a half wall separating the living room from the kitchen and a well kept sitting room in the front. I start turning on every light I can, trying to make the home seem more inviting.

Sasquatch follows me everywhere until she finds the back door and barks at Peeta, who is making a path for her to go to the bathroom. "Hey, you ungrateful little shit," I call, "Watch your mouth," I tell her before I start snooping. My first target is the mounted radio under the corner cabinet. "What were you listening to before you came to Philly, Mr. Mellark…" I say to myself while pressing the on button.

It's a French radio station, "Yeah, pass," I say and hit the eject button. Peeta's taste in music is a little out there sometimes and from what I've learned, completely situational. Much to my disgust, a Nickelback album comes out. "We're going to have to have a long talk about this one," I slide the CD back in and switch the radio off.

Since I feel weird going upstairs to find his bedroom, I check to see what 'food shopping' means to Peeta's mother. Besides the usual, there's nothing too spectacular until I pull out an innocent looking red pitcher and pull off the top. "What the fuck?" I ask, looking at the bag inside.

I pull it out and try to figure out what it is. It looks like milk, but milk doesn't come like this, at least I don't think it does. There's no marking on it, so I'm stuck asking Peeta.

"Hey babe?" I ask once I'm kind of used to the cold bitch slapping me. He looks up from his shoveling and wipes sweat from his brow.

"Yeah?" he asks as the overly curious dog bolts. I'm not sure she's ever really seen snow.

"What is this?" I hold the bag by the seam and dangle it.

"It's milk, what else would it be?"

"Why?" I spin it, trying to get a better look.

He looks confused, "Because… cows made it?"

"No, why is it like this?"

"White?"

"No, idiot, in a bag. Wait, where's the dog?" I ask, trying to look past him to where Sasquatch is trying her hardest to turn herself into a giant snowball by digging at the hard icy layer above the fluffier snow. She starts growling at it and nipping.

Peeta takes off his glove and whistles for the dog's attention. "Come on, shithead. The snow did nothing to you."

After the dog runs into the house and I put away the milk, I get over my fear and start dragging our luggage up to Peeta's bedroom. There are four doors upstairs. One is definitely Peeta's man cave, though it's missing an Xbox; another is a bathroom and a sparsely furnished bedroom. Finally, at the end of the hall is a room with a king sized bed made of dark wood and matching furniture. There are picture frames covering almost every inch of the wall the headboard is against. Most are hockey pictures, a few are Peeta and his brothers fishing, and one team photo from last year.

On the nightstand on what I assume to be his side of this ridiculously large bed is a picture of Gale's three kids sitting on his back in the Hawthorne's backyard. His hair's shorter and the kids look like babies.

Around the other side are pictures of men I've never met but have seen pictures of before. I'm pulled from my snooping by a commotion downstairs. "You got a rat!" an unfamiliar male voice booms. I start to creep down the stairs to see Peeta with two of the guys I saw in the pictures upstairs.

"Oh, that's Sasquatch. She's mostly harmless unless you're a pair of socks or a pillow. She's my girlfriend's," Peeta says, picking her up.

"Speaking of which, where is your little American puckslut?" one asks when I hit the bottom of the steps.

My cheeks flush. At first I'm hurt, but then really quickly, I switch to being pissed. "Hi, I'm Katniss, go fuck yourself," I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest before turning my attention to Peeta. "Our suitcases are upstairs. I didn't unpack because I don't know where things go."

The one man pales; he has dark hair and fair skin, he's a little taller than Peeta but not built as well. The other could be Peeta's cousin for all I know, he has that sandy blond hair that's just a little lighter than Peeta's and his beard comes in with a rusty tint.

"Katniss, this is Marc-Andre and Alex. I used to play with them until they went to college. You'll have to forgive Alex," he says, pointing to the darker one. "He's a fucking idiot."

Fortunately, they both brought beer. Marc-Andre is holding a case of something with a flying monkey on it, while Alex has two PBR 12 packs.

"I'll take this," I say, relieving him of one of the PBR's. It's not Yuengling, but it'll do.

"Babe, just put what you're not going to drink out back. Whole country's an icebox."

I hug the twelve pack to my chest and sit on the couch. "Sure thing," I tell him, cracking into my first beer. "So who has an embarrassing story about Peeta to share? I'm collecting them."