a/n: We're nearing the end of the story, folks. Only 4 chapters left to go after this one, and then an epilogue. Thanks so much for reading.
March 1937, Frankfurt am Main
Katniss knocks on the front door of Peeta's flat.
While she waits for Peeta she fingers the letter from Uncle Haymitch that she stuffed in her pocket before leaving home this morning. She nervously adjusts the collar of her coat in a feeble attempt to keep Peeta from noticing that her collarbones are starting to jut out too sharply again.
But because of Mama's illness, she hasn't been able to visit Peeta and Prim in more than three weeks. And his blue eyes miss nothing. She knows he will notice.
Peeta opens the door moments later. When he sees her a broad grin spreads across his face. But he quickly schools his features. He knows he cannot allow his face to broadcast what he's thinking if there's any chance a neighbor might see.
Peeta is so much better at this than she is.
"Fräulein Everdeen," he tells her, calling her by her surname as he does whenever they are in public together. "Please - come inside," he says, slipping effortlessly into the formal voice Katniss knows she will never grow accustomed to.
She does as he bids her, brushing off the light dusting of snow that fell on her coat during the long walk from her home. She sets her broom and dust rags down on the floor in his entryway. Her props; part of her necessary costume for her visits.
Peeta carefully closes the door behind her. Katniss briefly notes that all the window shades in his home are drawn and the lights are dimmed. She steels herself, gathering her courage to tell him what Haymitch's letter says.
But before she can say anything at all, her back is pressed against the wall and Peeta is trailing kisses down her throat.
"Missed you… so much…" Peeta tells her urgently, their façade over now that they are safely inside, as he hungrily kisses up her neck with lips and tongue.
"Missed you too…" she whispers, deciding the letter can wait for the moment. She leans her head back against the wall to give Peeta better access. Without moving away from her he fumbles with the buttons of her coat. It slides off her shoulders and onto the floor, puddling at her feet by the door.
Peeta, wasting no time, scoops her up into his arms as if she weighs nothing at all and practically runs with her to his bedroom.
"What about… where's Prim…?" Katniss asks him, weakly, as Peeta gently sits her down on his mattress.
He kneels on the floor in front of her. His eyes are hooded and dark as he shoves the front of her dress up over her waist. "At a friend's house," he tells her. He's breathing heavily, and Katniss knows it's not from the exertion of carrying her to his bedroom. "Back in half an hour."
Katniss nods. They don't have much time, then. She whimpers as Peeta tears down her undergarments and spreads her legs.
"Katniss," he murmurs, reverently, running his hands over her thighs before dipping his head between them.
Peeta has not been inside her since that first time more than one year ago. Despite the fact that Katniss yearns to feel him moving inside her once more – despite the fact that his eyes betray how desperately he wants it too - they both know it can never happen again.
After all, he would not be able to marry her if he were to get her with child.
So they've become adept at pleasuring each other in other ways.
Katniss lies back on Peeta's mattress as he gently, slowly, strokes her with his tongue. Sound travels well in Peeta's home and she knows she needs to remain as quiet as possible in case Streu or Johanna is in the kitchen. She crams her hand into her mouth to ground herself, to keep from crying out, as he moves his mouth and the intense sensations wash over her.
Katniss cranes her neck a little so she can see him. The sight of her Peeta, kneeling on the floor, his eyes trained on hers and his face buried between her legs, causes her to moan loudly before she can stop herself. His eyes flutter closed at the sound and he moans a little in response, causing reverberations to rocket through her and inflaming her even further. She drops back down onto the bed and whimpers again, helpless. Her hands thread through his hair and she pulls, hard, involuntarily, drawing another, louder moan from him.
Without moving away, Peeta takes two fingers and slides them inside her. He pumps them in and out – slowly at first, and then more rapidly. And it's nearly more than Katniss can bear.
She wants to prolong this; she doesn't want it to be over already. But she cannot find the words to tell him. It's just been so long since she's been alone with Peeta like this – weeks; almost an entire month – and already she feels herself listing precipitously close to the edge.
When Peeta sucks the little pearl at the center of her into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it she falls to pieces.
"Oh God, Peeta -!" she cries out, loudly, past caring who might be around to hear, as her body convulses and the cresting pleasure consumes her.
A few moments later he crawls up her body and lies on the bed next to her.
Still trying to catch her breath, Katniss rolls over and kisses his mouth. She can taste herself on his lips.
"I love you, Peeta," she tells him, before kissing him again. She doesn't get to say it to his face very often anymore. She tries to do it frequently when they are together.
He nuzzles her neck and kisses her collarbone. Skims his fingers over it and frowns a little.
"I love you too," he tells her, his voice husky with desire. If he notices that she's lost weight since the last time they were together he doesn't mention it. He simply kisses her again, probing her mouth gently with his tongue.
Without breaking the kiss he takes her hand and gently brings it down to where his erection strains against the fabric of his trousers. His wordless way of asking her if it can be his turn, now.
As if she could ever deny Peeta anything he wanted.
Still kissing him, Katniss strokes Peeta through his pants for a few moments and then squeezes firmly. At his sharp intake of breath, Katniss breaks the kiss and moves down his body so that her face is level with the front of his trousers. She knows Peeta likes it when she goes slowly with him, and so when she takes him out of his pants she doesn't rush. She caresses him with her tongue, slowly, running the tip of it up and down his length as he chokes on his breath and begins fisting the sheets.
"Katniss," he whispers breathlessly. "Please…"
A moment later, Katniss hears the front door of Peeta's flat slam shut.
"Katniss?" Prim's excited voice rings out down the hall.
Katniss takes her mouth away and looks up at Peeta. No matter how badly she wants to stay with him right now they can't do this while Prim is here.
These infrequent visits are her only chance to see her sister, too.
Peeta tries to smile at her. His wordless way of telling her he understands. But he cannot keep the disappointment from showing on his face.
"Go on," he tells her. Smiles again, this time more successfully. "I'll just… um… join you girls in a few minutes, all right?" He props himself up on his elbows and touches her hair.
Katniss kisses him again – in love and in gratitude. She quickly adjusts her clothing so that she is decently attired once more and slips out of his bedroom to greet her sister.
"Katniss!" Prim squeals when she sees her. Katniss opens her arms as wide as she can and Prim runs straight into them.
An hour later, Johanna and Streu invite Katniss to stay for dinner. "I've made veal," Streu tells her with a smile so like his youngest brother's it's uncanny.
They always ask Katniss to stay for dinner when she visits. And as tempted as she always is to accept, she usually declines as politely as she cans. It grieves her to keep these visits short but she knows it's necessary. The longer she stays, the harder it will be to convince nosey neighbors that she is nothing more to the Mellarks than their housekeeper.
But she still needs to talk with Prim, and with Peeta, about Uncle Haymitch's letter. It cannot wait until her next visit, whenever that might be.
So today, she stays for dinner.
When Katniss sits next to Peeta at the dining room table his smile lights up the room.
To Katniss' immense relief, Prim is more animated than she has seen her in years. Gone is the anxious, terrified girl who had to be practically dragged to the bakery against her will three months ago. Over dinner, Prim tells her all about her new school and how nice everyone is. She is so excited she barely pauses to chew her food as she talks.
"And my chemistry instructor is incredible," she says, enthusiastically, through a mouthful of potatoes. "He says he'll work with me after school as often as I want. And he's always talking to me about what to expect when I start university. Even though that's still a few years off, and even though I'm a girl." She shrugs.
Johanna sets down her glass of water at Prim's comment, a look of mock horror on her face. "A girl? Going to university? Why, I've never heard such a scandalous thing, Prim!" Johanna laughs as if she's just said the funniest thing she's ever heard.
Streu shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Sorry, Prim," he tells her, sheepishly, as if he's in some way responsible for the shocking things Johanna says. He puts his hand on Johanna's arm and she swats it away, sticking her tongue out at him.
Katniss glances back and forth between Johanna and Peeta's older brother. Perplexed, as always, about the specifics of their… well. About the specifics of them.
She knows that Johanna lives here. And she knows that Johanna and Streu are together, the way that she and Peeta are together. Or, rather, in the way that she and Peeta would be together if it were allowed.
But Katniss also knows that Streu and Johanna are not married, and that confuses her. They can get married, so why don't they? It's certainly the normal thing to do when two people are in love. Whenever she tries to ask Peeta about it he just throws up his hands and says he doesn't understand it any better than she does.
After the meal, as Johanna and Streu begin clearing away the dishes, Katniss clears her throat and tries to steady her nerves.
She can't put this off any longer.
"We got a letter from Uncle Haymitch last week, Prim," Katniss says. She can't keep the tremor out of her voice. She takes the letter out of her pocket and places it in front of her sister.
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Prim says. She picks it up and begins to read.
It's in English, like everything Haymitch sends them. Prim struggles with the language almost as much as Katniss does. But the information in this letter could not have been clearer if Uncle Haymitch were here, in person, saying it to their faces in German.
Prim's eyes are wide as saucers when she sets the letter down.
"He wants us to move to America," she says, very slowly.
Katniss nods.
Peeta reaches across the table and takes the letter from Prim. "But that's nothing new, is it?" he asks. "He's wanted you to join him in New York ever since he left Germany."
"That's true," Katniss says. "But… he has a plan now, Peeta." Her throat is suddenly very dry, and she reaches for her glass of water with a shaking hand. "A plan to bring us over."
She watches Peeta nervously as he scans the letter.
When he's finished reading it he looks at her.
"He's working with three synagogues in New York to raise money for your family," he tells her, incredulous, as if she hadn't read the letter and didn't know this already. "They're… halfway to having enough money for the three of you to emigrate."
Katniss nods. "Uncle Haymitch sent another letter the following day. He explained why he waited so long to tell us. He wanted to wait until he felt confident he could raise enough money before telling us about this," she says. "In case he couldn't… make it happen."
Peeta stares at her, his eyes wide. "Katniss…" he begins. And then trails off. He takes her hand. "You… you have to let him do this for you."
Katniss' eyes fill with tears. She swipes at them with her free hand. "I know," she says, quietly. Of course she knows. The Germany her father steadfastly refused to leave five years ago – the Germany that was the Everdeens' home for generations – doesn't exist anymore. What's remains is no home to them.
They simply cannot stay.
The room falls silent. Peeta looks down at Katniss' hand in his own. He lifts it to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it. His hand is trembling.
Katniss glances at Prim to gauge her reaction. She had expected Prim to be overjoyed at this news. But her sister's face is unreadable.
"Peeta will come with us, of course," Prim says eventually, breaking the silence. It isn't a question. Her tone of voice is forceful, brooking no opposition.
Peeta's eyes grow wide again.
"My… my god, Prim. Katniss. I…" Peeta trails off and runs his free hand through his hair. He shakes his head as if to clear it.
Katniss strokes the back of his hand with her thumb. She silently thanks Prim for bringing up the point she had been terrified to broach with Peeta herself. Because it was one thing for Peeta to give up the mother he had always despised for her. It's another thing entirely to ask him to leave everything he has ever known and move across the world with her.
But how can she leave without him?
"Peeta," Katniss murmurs. He is growing extremely agitated, which in turn makes Katniss even more nervous. She kisses his cheek in an attempt to calm him. In an attempt to calm herself. "I want you to come with us." She nods at his incredulous look and kisses his other cheek. "I do."
He swallows audibly and looks her in the eye.
"We could get married in America," she tells him slowly. He cups her face in his hands at her words and she leans into his touch. "I could be your wife."
But Peeta shakes his head vigorously at her words, startling her. "Oh god, Katniss. I want to go with you! But… but I don't have anything saved…" His eyes are wild, now. Desperate. They bore into hers. "I can't ask your uncle to help me emigrate too! That would be taking money away from your family. And I can't ask you to wait here for me until I've raised enough for myself..."
Katniss pulls him to her and kisses him, fiercely, on the mouth, cutting him off. "So you want to come?" she asks, after pulling away. "Once we can save enough, you'll come?"
"Katniss, are you out of your head?" Prim cuts in. She sounds almost angry. "You really thought Peeta would choose to stay here when you leave for America?"
Katniss doesn't know how to answer that. Because part of her has been worried, ever since receiving Uncle Haymitch's letter, that even after everything Peeta has done for her and her family to date, this would simply be one ask too much.
"Katniss," Peeta tells her, firmly. "I hate this country. I have no intention of staying behind… if… if I can help it." He buries his face in his hands. "But I don't know what to do, how to do this… where to begin…"
She lifts his head. She puts her index finger under his chin and forces him to look at her.
"If you want to come with us, Peeta, we will find a way," she says, nodding, smiling at him. Trying to appear confident, even though she feels anything but.
The room falls silent once more. Katniss cannot hear any noise from the direction of the kitchen and wonders, briefly, if Johanna and Streu have been listening in to this entire conversation.
Not that she has anything to hide from them.
Peeta clears his throat a little, breaking the silence. "If… if we can make this happen, Katniss… I'll marry you the second we arrive," Peeta murmurs to her in a shaky voice. "I promise."
He pulls her to him and clutches her tightly. She wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his neck. Breathes him in.
Slowly, ideas come to them.
On Katniss' next visit, Peeta tells Katniss tells that Delly, his cousin in America, recently married a German-American businessman.
"His name is Thom," Peeta tells her, as he tangles his legs with hers underneath the table. "They met a year ago. In church. Anyway, I think he's rich." He smiles at her. Nudges her ankle with his foot. "It sounds like he is from her letters, anyway. So now Delly is too."
Katniss' heart leaps into her throat at his words. "Do you think Delly would help you?"
Peeta nods. "I do. We were close as children. Still are close, in fact. We write each other all the time."
And so before Katniss leaves for home that day, they sit together at Peeta's dining room table as he composes a letter to Delly, explaining the situation and pleading with her for any help she might be able to give.
Katniss knows Peeta is perfectly capable of writing this letter himself – he's always been so much better with words than she is – but he insists that she sit with him while he writes and asks for her input all the same. He has her look over the letter, twice, to make sure she approves, before he seals it up and puts it in the post.
"Now I guess we wait," he tells her, shrugging.
A week after they write Delly, Uncle Haymitch sends a letter in which he tells Katniss to sell the family home as soon as is practicable.
Katniss recognizes the wisdom in Uncle Haymitch's advice. Even though they are unlikely to get much money when they sell it – desperate Jews all over Germany are selling their homes and businesses for anything people are willing to pay them – every mark that selling it brings them is a mark they don't have right now. And will bring them that much closer to their goal.
But it's the only home she has ever known. The house she lived in with her Papa. And so despite the prudency of selling the house it still takes Katniss several weeks to work up the nerve to approach Mama about it.
"We don't need it anymore, Mama," she tells her one rainy Saturday in late April as emphatically as she can. Katniss is on her knees, holding her mother's face in her hands as she implores her to listen.
But Mama's eyes are vacant today and she doesn't respond to what Katniss is saying. Mama looks past her to a spot in the distance where Katniss knows, without needing to check, that there is nothing to see.
Katniss looks helplessly to Peeta and Prim. They came with her today, despite the risk their being here poses to them, because Katniss thought their presence might be able to convince Mama of the urgency of this plan.
"We'll be leaving Germany soon anyway," Katniss continues. "And we can move in with the Hawthornes as early as tomorrow. I asked them, and they said it was fine." Katniss glances at Prim and shakes her head an infinitesimal amount. Wordlessly instructing her not to correct her in this lie. "They'd be glad to have us, Hazelle said. She's already made room for me in Posy's bedroom, and you can share Hazelle's bed."
At this, Mama finally looks at her daughter. "But… but… where will your father sleep, Katniss?" Ilse Everdeen asks, her voice low and slurred, her eyes still fixed on nothing. "There isn't room for him at the Hawthornes' house."
Peeta comes up behind Katniss and places his hand on her shoulder. He helps her to stand.
"I think you're going to need to do this without her," he murmurs in her ear. He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.
Katniss looks over to Prim, who says nothing, her lips pressed together in a firm line.
One exceptionally warm day in mid-summer, Katniss lies with Peeta in his bed. After spending the afternoon kissing and touching each other they are little more than a sweaty, tangled heap of arms and legs.
"What do you think America is like, Peeta?" Katniss asks quietly, her head resting on his bare chest.
Katniss knows she needs to return home soon. But she is desperate to prolong her time here as much as possible all the same.
"Well," Peeta says, slowly, drawing out the word, seemingly lost in thought. He begins tracing invisible patterns with his fingertip on her forearm, raising gooseflesh and making her shiver. "I think… it's a place where people can be whatever they want to be."
"You really think so?" she asks.
Peeta nods. "I do. Prim won't have to hide anymore, for starters. She will be able to be Primrose Everdeen again, and a nurse, all at the same time. Maybe even a doctor, if she wants. I'll be able to own my own bakery and will still have enough money left over to buy a house." He tilts her chin up with his index finger and presses a kiss to her mouth. "A house for me and my wife to live in."
Katniss rolls on top of him, despite the warmth of the day and the fact that they only very recently spent themselves in each others' arms. "Can you paint a picture for me, Peeta?"
He threads his hands gently behind her head and pulls her down into another kiss. "Of course," he tells her. His eyes drift downward and he covers her small, bare breasts with his hands. "What do you want me to paint?"
"A picture of our house in America," she tells him, earnestly, choosing to ignore, for the moment, the sensations that run through her as he gently strokes her nipples with his thumbs. "The house that we're going to live in when you own your own bakery and Primrose Everdeen is a nurse and I'm your wife."
He tears his eyes away from her breasts and looks into her eyes.
"All right," he murmurs, nodding. "I will." He chuckles a little, and looks sheepish. "I've been picturing it in my mind ever since you brought over that letter from your Uncle Haymitch," he admits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "So it shouldn't take me long."
October, 1937, Frankfurt am Main
The loud noise that rings out through the bakery is so jarring – so out of the natural order of things for an early Thursday morning – that at first Peeta doesn't even register that anything has happened.
But then a woman screams, and he hears the loud noise a second time. And suddenly, Peeta realizes that something is very, very wrong.
He quickly wipes his hands on his flour-covered apron, mumbles some rushed instructions to Bertrand about the loaves still in the oven, and runs to the front of the bakery where the commotion is coming from.
When Peeta gets there his blood turns to ice in his veins.
He sees, immediately, that the loud noises he heard were gunshots. Two men wearing the uniforms of the Gestapo stand in the center of the customer area, pointing their guns at Albert, the young apprentice working in the front this morning.
There is nobody else in the room. Whoever screamed – it must have been a customer; as a rule, Herr Beetee does not employ women– has apparently fled the scene.
Albert looks terrified. He stands stiffly in front of the bread racks, his eyes wide, wild, and his hands sticking straight up into the air.
Peeta tries to speak but it is several moments before he is able to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
"What – what is going on here?" Peeta eventually manages. Beetee is feeling poorly today, and Peeta is in charge of the bakery this morning. He knows he needs to sound manly. Brave. To his immense chagrin, however, his voice is little more than a high-pitched squeak, and cracks in the middle of his sentence.
"We are looking for Herr Beetee," one of the uniformed men tells Peeta. He brandishes a piece of paper bearing a seal, but he's standing too far away for Peeta to make out what it says. "He's under arrest."
The other man points to Albert. "And this boy wasn't forthcoming with his boss' whereabouts." It comes out as a sneer.
"Herr – Herr Beetee, you mean?" Peeta asks in shock. He is thunderstruck. What could the Gestapo – the Nazi secret police; the force responsible for investigating cases of treason, espionage, crimes against the State – possibly want with Beetee?
Peeta's head spins as he wracks his brain for a possible explanation.
Could Beetee be involved in some illegal, or even seditious, activity that Peeta isn't aware of? Peeta has known for years that his own activities – housing a Jewish girl and helping her pass as a non-Jewish German; carrying on a secret love affair with a Jewish woman – would, if discovered, be more than adequate grounds for an officer of the Gestapo to arrest him and take him to a detention camp.
But Beetee? What could Beetee possibly have done to attract the Gestapo's attention?
"You can put your weapons away, gentlemen," Peeta continues, trying to remain calm, trying to mask his confusion, his fear, so as not to arouse the officers' suspicion. "Herr Beetee is not here."
The first man scoffs. "You expect us to believe that? He is the owner of this establishment, is he not? The business bears his name."
Peeta nods. "You are not wrong. But I'm his business partner," he lies. "Beetee is not young anymore, and I – along with the apprentices who work for us – conduct a good percentage of the bakery's day-to-day operations." That part, at least, is true, Peeta thinks to himself.
The men look at each other. "Let's search the premises," one says to the other.
He pauses a moment before turning to Peeta and saying, "Of course, you realize that if we find you are hiding Herr Beetee from us, the penalties you face will be the same as his."
The man does not elaborate further. But there is no need. The government makes no secret of the fact that if the Gestapo finds cause to arrest somebody, that person will be sent, post haste, to Dachau or another detention camp. There will be no trial. And the accused has no right to appeal the Gestapo's decision.
Peeta blanches at the threat but stands his ground. "You can obviously search this place if you wish to do so," Peeta says, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. "But I can assure you, gentlemen. Herr Beetee is not here."
The two men ignore his assurances and walk to the back of the bakery without waiting for further invitation.
As soon as they leave the room Albert falls to the ground. Peeta rushes over to him.
"Are you hurt?" Peeta asks the boy in a low voice. "I heard gunshots…"
"I'm not hurt, Herr Mellark," Albert says, weakly. "They shot their guns into the air to frighten the customers. And… and to frighten me."
Albert lifts an arm and weakly points upward. Peeta sees the two smoking black holes in the ceiling that the bullets made upon entry.
Peeta takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly in an attempt to calm himself down. He runs his hands through his hair.
"Did they tell you what they wanted with Herr Beetee? I didn't get a good look at that paper they showed me." Peeta's voice is barely above a whisper. Sound travels well in the bakery, and the last thing Peeta wants is for the officers to overhear this conversation.
Albert shakes his head. "They didn't," he whispers back. "They just… told me to fetch him. And when I said I couldn't, the officers fired their guns."
Peeta claps Albert on the back. He intends the gesture to be a reassuring one – both for Albert and for himself – but the boy is so shaken from what just happened that he falls over again at the contact.
"Um… sorry," Peeta tells him, sheepishly. Albert nods his head, wordlessly telling Peeta that it's all right.
"Why don't you go home, Albert?" Peeta suggests sympathetically. The boy is clearly rattled, and white as a sheet. He's unlikely to be of much use to anybody today, Peeta thinks to himself.
Albert thanks Peeta and walks slowly towards the front door. He takes a deep breath, opens the door and leaves.
A few minutes later, the two men re-enter the front room of the bakery, without Herr Beetee, their search of the premises apparently complete.
"Thank you for your time, Herr…" one of the officers begins, and trails off.
Peeta realizes he never gave them his name.
"Mellark," Peeta tells them. "My name is Peeta Mellark."
The officers look at each other, eyebrows raised.
"Mellark, you say?" the other officer asks, turning back to Peeta.
"Yes."
He scratches the back of his head. "I don't suppose you're related to Rye Mellark, are you? Handsome lad. Looks rather like you, in fact. He's our captain." He jerks his thumb towards the front door. "He's out there waiting for us in our vehicle."
At the Gestapo officer's words, the room begins to spin. Peeta finds himself suddenly unable to take in oxygen. He braces himself against the countertop with an arm so that he does not fall to the ground.
He opens and closes his mouth wordlessly several times but cannot speak.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Rye.
As Peeta struggles to come to grips with what the officer has just told him, both men, to Peeta's great surprise, have the decency to look concerned.
"Herr Mellark? Are you all right?" the first officer asks.
Peeta nods. "I'm… I'm fine," he mumbles, even though nothing could be further from the truth.
He swallows audibly before continuing. "No," Peeta tells them, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He closes his eyes. "Rye Mellark is no relation of mine."
The officer shrugs. "Ah, well. It's not a terribly common surname, so I thought I'd ask."
Peeta, still reeling, nods his head but says nothing.
"Herr Mellark," the second officer says. "I will be going directly from here to Herr Beetee's home. Captain Mellark will come with me. And Sergeant Schaub, here," he claps the other officer on the back, "will remain at the bakery, with you, in the event that Herr Beetee arrives here before Captain Mellark and I are able to locate him."
"It is your duty as a citizen of the Third Reich to do everything you can to assist in this matter, Herr Mellark," Schaub tells him. "You must allow me to remain on the premises until we get word from our superiors that I am no longer needed here. Just in case Herr Beetee returns to the bakery before Captain Mellark and Sergeant Schwartz have located him." Schaub looks at Peeta sternly, as if he expects Peeta to protest this heavy imposition.
But Peeta does not protest. How can he? Rye - the brother who threw bricks through the Everdeens' window all those years ago; the brother he has not seen or spoken to since leaving his parents home - is a member of the Gestapo. And Rye, with the help of the two gentlemen standing before him, will most likely be taking Beetee off to a labor camp before the day is finished. A labor camp where he will likely be worked and starved until he dies.
Peeta knows that no matter what he does or doesn't do in this moment, he is powerless to prevent this from happening. Fighting them will only result in his own punishment. It will not save Beetee.
Peeta sits down heavily on the ground. He puts his face in his hands.
"Of course," he tells them weakly. "I understand."