Getting this chapter right has taken weeks of hard work and frustration.This final version is actually draft 7 (I think), and I don't know how many times I've discussed it with my beta Lbug84. Thank you for your patience and support!

I know I promised you an explosion in this chapter, and you are getting it. Sort of. But it's not actually the explosion I was talking about earlier, the one that required you to trust me in that this fic is endgame Everlark. I'm postponing that one until the next chapter, so what you're getting in this chapter is a different explosion.

This chapter will answer some of the questions you have asked me about Peeta's past.

This chapter is long at nearly 8,000 words, but there is really no way I can split it, so you'll just have to bear with me. I considered posting two different versions of this chapter, one on FFN and one on AO3, like I did with chapters 7 and 9. I ended up deciding to post the same chapter on both sites, because this fic is rated M, and has been all along. If you started reading an M rated fic, I assume you did so thinking you'd be able to handle it. And if you can't, why are you reading this fic in the first place?

Trigger warnings: Drug abuse. Murder of children.

Thank you to Chelzie for prereading!

Chapter 14: Explode I

Katniss POV

I wake up; it must be the middle of the night. Disoriented, I take a look at the clock on the nightstand. It's three in the morning. Sighing, I slip out of bed to go to the bathroom. I listen for Ivy's slow, steady breathing. She's sound asleep.

In the hallway, I walk silently to avoid waking anyone up. I hear a door creaking behind me and turn around. It's coming from Peeta's room.

But it's not Peeta.

Cashmere doesn't see me at first; her back is towards me as she closes the door very slowly. When the door clicks shut, she turns around and her eyes widen in surprise. Her luscious hair falls freely over her shoulders. She's barefoot like I am, and wearing a cream colored silk nightgown which looks… fantastic. Of course.

I don't know what to do. If I had the strength, I would simply turn around and walk away. That would probably be the best course of action, but I don't. I'm frozen in place. There is a hollow feeling in my chest. I just stare at her – and she stares right back at me, but I can't read her expression.

Cashmere walks towards me. The guest room she's supposed to be sleeping in is behind me, but instead of walking past, she stops right in front of me. Now that she's closer, I see that she has dark rings under her eyes, and she looks tired. It's the first time I've seen her look anything but perfect. "Been up all night?" I ask. I wonder where that snarky remark came from. I'm surprised by how steady my voice sounds.

She smiles wryly. "Yes." Her shoulder brushes mine as she walks past me. "He's all yours."

"Wait."

She turns around and meets my eyes. "I didn't sleep with him, Katniss." Her voice is a whisper.

"But I know you have before." My mouth is dry. I'm whispering, too. I don't want to wake the children, and I don't want anyone to overhear this conversation. Peeta, least of all. I suspect he's awake. Cashmere did just leave his room.

She chuckles darkly, but she doesn't smile. "Yes." She pauses, studying me. I'm wearing an old oversized t-shirt that used to be Gale's and a pair of sleeping shorts. Both are washed-out and worn. My hair is mussed from sleep. Still, I straighten my back and refuse to look away. "Be good to him. He deserves it."

She turns around and instead of going to her room, she walks downstairs, leaving me in the hallway. Speechless.

Peeta and Haymitch follow Cashmere and Finnick to the train station. Arrow is excited at the prospect of seeing a train up close, and Peeta asks if he can come with them. I reluctantly agree. When I see how much it means to Arrow, I don't feel as though I can say no. I hope not too many Town – or Seam – housewives will see them, though. If the old hags see Arrow and Peeta together without me being present, it certainly won't seem like I am just Peeta's housekeeper.

Although I'm not just Peeta's housekeeper anymore, am I?

Letting Peeta take Arrow to the train station was probably a really bad idea. Still, I feel relief that the two victors have finally left. I feel like I can breathe more freely already, even though Finnick and Cashmere have only been out of the house for ten minutes.

To avoid thinking about the gossip and my confusion over what exactly my relationship with Peeta is, I busy myself by cleaning. It is my job after all. I strip the sheets off the beds in the guest rooms first, and then I find myself pausing outside of Peeta's bedroom door before I turn the knob. It's hard to look at his bed, knowing that Cashmere was probably in it last night. And our conversation in the hallway after? What was that? She said she didn't sleep with Peeta, and I suppose I believe her. Still, just knowing that she was in Peeta's bedroom makes me feel sick.

Before Finnick and Cashmere came to visit, Peeta and I were headed somewhere that is both scary and quite possibly wonderful. And now? What happens next? What are we to each other, exactly?

I know where this is headed. My body knows it very well, and has for some time. I want him, which, considering the circumstances, is probably bad enough. It's dangerous to be with a man you're not married to. It would be a disaster if I got pregnant. Still, women keep taking that chance. I've seen it happen many times. I never understood why any woman would sleep with a man she was not married to, or at the very least in a serious relationship with, though – at least not until now. This is why. This overwhelming need to be close to a man, no matter what society tells you is proper or acceptable.

But deep down, I know that it's not just a physical need, and that's perhaps even scarier. It hasn't even been a year since I lost Gale. Yet here I am, falling for another man.

What's worse, Peeta is not just any man. He's a victor. He has a life in the Capitol that I know very little about, a life I don't quite understand. There is a darkness there, but I don't know what it all means.

Clearly, cleaning doesn't help at all. I can't stop thinking, stop worrying.

Ivy is napping when I hear Peeta's heavy steps in the hall. He stops at the doorway, watching me as I finish making his bed. "Where's Arrow?" I ask him.

"He wanted to help Haymitch out with the geese. I said it was okay...Wasn't it?" he asks nervously when he sees my scowl.

I want to tell him to stop making decisions regarding my child, but I hold my tongue. I try to tell myself that it's hardly a big thing. Arrow is only in Haymitch's backyard. "I'm sorry," he says, looking guilty now. "I didn't think."

I'm suddenly angry, and it doesn't help that I'm confused by everything that's happened this last week. I don't know what to do, so I do what I do best: I walk away. I'm stopped by Peeta's voice.

"Katniss." I stop, but I don't turn around. "Look at me, please." I reluctantly turn around, and he comes towards me. "I know you saw Cashmere last night. She told me." I really don't want to think about their conversation. "Nothing happened with her. You know that, right?"

"It doesn't matter," I mutter.

I try to walk away again, but his hand curled around my arm stops me. "Yes, it does." I look down at his hand touching my arm, refusing to meet his eyes. With one finger under my chin, he forces me to look up at him. "It matters to me, okay? I had a nightmare, and she was just checking in on me." He takes a deep breath. "I told you that Cashmere was my lover, right?" I nod. "I didn't tell you everything. She hasn't just been my lover. She has also helped me survive."

I frown. I don't understand.

His hands move up to rest on both of my cheeks, holding my head lightly between them. He won't let me walk away from this unpleasant conversation. "She's not a threat to us, Katniss." He leans a bit closer, and for a second, I think he's going to kiss my lips, but he simply kisses my forehead.

"I don't understand," I tell him, my voice strangled. "How could Cashmere… help you survive?"

Instead of answering, he releases me. "Where's Ivy?"

I narrow my eyes. He knows very well that she's napping. His obvious attempt to change the subject makes me angry. Why doesn't he trust me? Why doesn't he help me understand?

"Peeta… look at me." He complies. His eyes meet mine as he straightens his back. He looks flushed and uneasy. Scared, even. "You said she wasn't a threat to 'us'. I need to know. What exactly are we?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "I just know that we are something that Cashmere and I have never been."

I hear the door slamming, and I know that Arrow's home. I try to pretend as if nothing's happened when Arrow comes into the room. Peeta has already disappeared into the kitchen. As I look at my son, who must have grown at least two inches since he moved into this house and started eating properly, it's impossible not to think about his father. I can already tell that Arrow is going to be just like him – tall, dark, handsome. Girls loved Gale. They are going to love Arrow, too.

"The train was so big, Mama!" he says, his eyes wide and excited.

"Did it whistle?" I ask him.

"Yes! Really loud! And Finnick showed me his suite before the train left. Everything was so shiny. And it had a bed!" He goes on and on about the marvels of the Capitol train. My mind wanders as he speaks, and I answer my son automatically.

I expected things between Peeta and I to go back to what they were before Finnick and Cashmere's visit, but they don't. I realize now it may have been silly of me to think that.

I also know why.

As the reaping gets closer, Peeta becomes more distracted. He's quieter, and sometimes when I talk to him, he seems so far away. It's not just him – Haymitch is also drunker than I've ever seen him. I try to imagine what it must be like to have to choose between two tributes, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, you can save one of them - only to see them both die. To bring them home to 12, their caskets in the last car of the train - if there's anything to return home at all, that is. Knowing that you have failed… Year after year, it's the same.

No, I can't imagine what it must be like. Not really.

This is part of the Peeta that I don't know - the Capitol Peeta. Capitol Peeta doesn't bake, he doesn't laugh, and he doesn't play with the children. Capitol Peeta is pushing me away, and I don't understand.

Peeta hasn't actually left yet, but I can see that he's mentally preparing himself to go. He's already started to change. This is what he was like just before he left for the Capitol the last time, too – only now it's worse.

There are a few embraces between us. He hugs me from behind in the kitchen, his lips brushing against my neck. But as I tilt my head the side, allowing him better access, he pulls away. When I turn to face him, he refuses to look at me.

Haymitch is drinking heavily and doesn't come over anymore, and Peeta and I find ourselves alone once the children are in bed. I reach out my hand and drag him to the couch, where I kiss him and run my hands over his chest and back. I think it might be more to distract him than anything else.

But it's not like it was before. It is neither heated nor sweet and exploratory. All the touching and kissing does is leave me empty – and what it does for Peeta I simply don't know. It's not only that I'm sexually frustrated – what's actually even worse is that Peeta doesn't really seem to be here with me. There's something almost mechanical about the way he moves. I open my mouth, my tongue seeking his, trying to reach him. He pulls back abruptly and opens his eyes. He's short of breath, and his grip on me is a bit too firm as he holds my hips steady.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he murmurs as he gets up from the couch. "I…" His voice trails off.

I furrow my brow. "What's going on, Peeta?" I ask him.

"Nothing. I'm just… tired. I really need to go to bed." The dark rings he usually has under his eyes have gotten darker lately.

I consider asking him if he wants me to come with him to his room, if only to help him sleep. I haven't forgotten how well I slept that night he found me crying in the bathroom and carried me to my bed. Peeta didn't leave me. He held me, kept me safe. I also remember how he said he didn't have any nightmares that night, and I'm pretty sure that the nightmares must be behind his pale, haggard look.

But... if I let him into my bed, I'm fairly certain we won't just sleep. What would it make us? Would it change us? I was getting ready, but this Peeta - Capitol Peeta - with whom I currently share a house, is different. He's more like the way he was when I first moved in. He's dark. Distant. There's a sort of quiet desperation in his eyes that I think he tries to hide from me, but he doesn't succeed.

Still, I want him. My fantasies are back too. It's almost scary that they are even more intense than ever, despite seeing how much Peeta is struggling. Hardly a night goes by without me desperately trying to stay silent as my back arches and I imagine what it would be like. What he would be like, the sounds he would make. I've already felt him hard against me, in the kitchen that night. What would he feel like without the constraints of our clothes? What would I do to him? What would he do to me?

I thought that he wanted me, too. I think he still does, but he's slipping away from me. What are they doing to him in the Capitol?

xoxoxoxoxx

It's the night before the reaping. It's always very unpleasant. To add to the tension and fear already permeating the district, there are several hours of mandatory viewing. It's always the same. Caesar Flickerman leads us through a three-hour show to warm Panem up for this year's Hunger Games.

Watching the reapings and the Hunger Games has always been terrible, of course, but it became even worse after I became a mother. I didn't truly understand the magnitude of the terror the Capitol is subjecting the districts to until Arrow was born.

Five years from now, Arrow will be eligible for his first reaping. How am I going to survive it?

Tomorrow will be Posy's last reaping. I wonder how many times her name is in that bowl. I know she's taken out tesserae, but I don't know how many. I suspect she has had to take out far too many though. Posy, who never even got to meet her father. At least Gale had a few months together with Ivy. Even though she won't remember him, those months were still precious.

Posy will get married in the fall. She and her miner boyfriend haven't dared to set a date yet, though. She will have to get through tomorrow first.

I am expected to watch the show, so I do, but no one can force me to actually pay attention to it. Peeta hasn't said a word since the show started. I stare into space, trying to block it all out. It usually works, but this time my attention is caught by footage I've seen before.

It's Peeta. It's an old clip, from the reaping. He's standing next to Madge. Beside me on the couch, Peeta takes a deep, shaky breath.

"Peeta Mellark is one of the Capitol's most beloved victors, and this year marks his 15th anniversary. Can you believe it's already been 15 years since this handsome young man became a victor?" The audience in the Capitol studio cheers at Flickerman's words. "We have dedicated a full hour of tonight's show to Peeta Mellark, to celebrate the anniversary and to show that sometimes, a victor can come from the most unlikely of places. Being in my position, I'm not supposed to have any personal favorites among the tributes, but I have to confess that young Peeta caught my attention from the very beginning. Who can forget his interview?"

The audience cheers again. I look at Peeta. His jaw is clenched. "Did you know they were doing a special on you?" I ask him.

"No."

How odd that they wouldn't even tell him. I reluctantly turn my attention back to the TV, where they show footage from his interview. 16-year-old Peeta Mellark couldn't possibly have any previous camera experience, but he's a natural. He talks and laughs with Flickerman as if he's been on TV all his life. They joke about Capitol showers and how Peeta smells of roses. I wonder how he did it? I'm sure I'd be scared stiff if it were me up there on stage, on live television. I'd make a complete fool out of myself.

Flickerman likes to talk about girlfriends and boyfriends, at least when the tributes are in the older age range and good-looking. Peeta, at 16, was both. When Flickerman asks him if he has a girlfriend, Peeta hesitates, then gives a somewhat unconvincing shake of his head. I remember that. Peeta was so popular in school. He was handsome, funny, kind, a wrestler, and had lots of friends. I knew a lot of girls liked him, too. I found it hard to believe he didn't have a girlfriend.

Clearly Flickerman does, too. "Handsome lad like you," Flickerman says. "There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

"Fuck," Peeta mutters next to me. I look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Sorry," he says quickly. "I just… I really hate seeing this."

I nod. It's not hard to understand why. I almost miss Flickerman's next question. "She have another fellow?"

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," young Peeta says. I remember this very well. Everyone was speculating about who the girl was. I didn't really pay any attention to it myself, but it was hard to miss all the gossip, even for me. There weren't really that many girls to choose from – a town girl who was both popular with the boys and single? Most people seemed to think it was Delly Cartwright, but I always found that unlikely because she wasn't that popular. Some even suggested Madge. The latter didn't make any sense, though – if he were in love with Madge, how could he possibly ask her out if he won the Hunger Games? No, the girl he loved didn't go to the Capitol with him.

"So here's what you do," Flickerman says enthusiastically. "You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"

"I guess you're right," teenage Peeta says with an endearing, shy smile.

But whoever that mysterious girl was, she must've turned him down after he came home to 12. I never saw him with a girl after he returned as a victor... Not that I had much time to look. Peeta didn't go back to school, and when I wasn't at school or in the woods, I was with Gale.

They air highlights from the 74th Hunger Games, starting with the usual massacre at the Cornucopia. It is no better or no worse than any other year. It takes only a minute or two for me to lose count of the dead. Nine? Ten?

The only Cornucopia murders I can really keep track of are the ones that stand out. Like the boy from 4, because the careers usually survive the Cornucopia. Then there is Peeta's first kill. He gets into a fight with a male tribute over a large knife. I don't know which district he came from, and asking Peeta about it right now is not an option. Peeta, being a wrestler, quickly gets the upper hand, and the boy ends up with the knife in his stomach. From the corner of my eye, I see that Peeta is scowling, his jaw still clenched. But he doesn't look away from the TV.

The careers predictably secure the Cornucopia, the way they do almost every year. Only in the 74th Hunger Games, a boy from 12 is among them, which is highly unusual.

Young Peeta Mellark has a shallow cut on his forehead from his fistfight with the tribute he killed, causing blood to stream down his face. He presses a bandage against the cut as they all inspect the contents of the Cornucopia. It's a small group, but everyone knows the future victor is probably among them. It's Peeta from 12, both tributes from 1 and 2, the girl from 4 and, also surprisingly, the boy from 3.

I remember now. They needed the boy from 3 to reprogram the landmines.

Peeta stares, transfixed, at the image of the younger version of himself, who has just killed his first tribute. Then, abruptly, he gets up, murmuring something about having to go to the bathroom.

I force myself to continue to watch TV while he's gone. What I see is confusing. This blond boy, with blood on his face and desperation in his eyes, is so young, but already a killer.

The boy with the bread. A career.

The two images don't fit. I find it hard to combine them in one person. Is this really the same man I've gotten to know these last few months? The man who brought me a dress from the Capitol, and later kissed me passionately in the kitchen? The man who plays with my children and makes me cheese buns for my birthday?

Peeta's in the bathroom for too long. I stand, ready to go check on him to see if he's okay, when he finally returns. I immediately see that he's… different. His eyes look glassy, and something about him just seems off.

Did he take some of the pills he's hidden inside a pair of socks in his sock drawer? He probably thinks I don't know about them. Why else would he keep them in his sock drawer? I've only seen him drunk before, never high, but I know he's taken drugs in the past, in the Capitol. Is he high now?

He must be. Dammit.

The careers always get a lot of screen time. Cato, an 18-year-old blond boy from 2, was the bookmakers' favorite to win that year, and aside from Peeta, they focus on him quite often during the recap. He seems to get along well enough with Peeta. Cato is the natural leader of the group, but it's clear that Peeta is also quite influential. When Peeta talks, the others listen, and they often follow his advice - even though technically Cato is usually the one who makes the final decisions.

The cameras, however, catch all the things that Cato doesn't. How Cato consistently underestimates Peeta. How Peeta overhears much more than Cato thinks he does. Cato is planning to keep Peeta close until the end, because he considers the strong baker's son a favorable ally – although not as powerful as himself. That's where he's wrong. Cato may be both strong and skilled, but it quickly becomes clear that he's not as smart as Peeta.

The camera also catches how Peeta sabotages the landmines that Hal, the boy from 3, rewired. As a result, Glimmer, the girl from 1, is killed as she unwittingly hops through the minefield. Cato thinks Hal was responsible, and kills him in retaliation.

I look at Peeta out of the corner of my eye. The Hunger Games must have been important in shaping the Peeta that I know. No one can escape from something like that unscathed. But I still don't quite comprehend what it must have been like for him. I think you have to have been in the arena to fully understand.

The careers work their way through the other tributes. Aside from Thresh, the male tribute from 11, it doesn't seem like there are any other strong competitors out there. Thresh is hiding in some high grass, only emerging when provoked, and only killing when necessary. Madge has teamed up with the girl from 11, Rue, and they are doing surprisingly well. Unlike most of the other teams, they find enough food to feed themselves. It is mainly thanks to Rue, but even though Madge is less skilled at finding food than her younger partner, she is more resourceful than I thought she would be. The two girls use the mockingjays to communicate with each other when they are searching for food or scouting separately, which is a stroke of genius. They find a cave, and they use it as a base for their food gathering and scouting.

That cave eventually becomes their downfall. The camera catches yet another thing that Cato doesn't – that Peeta has seen Madge and Rue in the distance, and that he is trying to protect them by drawing the careers away. Unfortunately, the place where he thinks the girls are hiding is only the place where Rue and Madge want the careers to think that they are hiding. Instead of leading the careers to the place where Rue and Madge have set up a trap for them, Peeta unknowingly – in a stroke of incredibly bad luck – leads the careers straight to the girls' actual hiding place.

Madge and Rue aren't spotted immediately, because they are waiting at the site of their trap. But Cato understands what he's found, and they hide out near the cave to wait for the girls' return. It takes hours, but eventually Madge and Rue do return. It's hard to keep the tears away as I'm forced to watch this scene again. Peeta is still staring straight at the TV, his face not betraying any emotion.

At least the end is fast. Cato doesn't consider Rue or Madge important enough to draw out their deaths. He kills Madge while Marvel, the boy from 1, kills Rue.

After the girls' death, the recap goes directly to the next kill. But I know that something happened afterwards that I've never been able to forget. Something they have quite conveniently chosen not to show tonight.

After Rue and Madge were murdered, the careers were about to leave the site when Peeta said that he wanted to go back and check to see if the girls had any useful weapons on them. The others argued that they had all the supplies they needed in their pile by the Cornucopia, but Peeta reasoned that they might have gotten some sponsor gifts. The others just shrugged, so he went back. The hovercrafts had had time to pick up Madge's body, but not Rue's. When Peeta returned, the hovercraft retreated. Instead of looking for useful weapons or food, Peeta plucked a flower, closing Rue's little fingers around it. I remember the tear that rolled down his cheek as he looked at Rue's face. The youngest of all the tributes. A child. They were all children, of course, but it was impossible to forget Rue.

She reminded me so much of Prim.

But we don't see that. Instead, the recap goes straight back to the action. Lux, the fox-like girl from 5, is like a shadow, too smart for the careers to get to her. She has stolen food from the career's pile by the Cornucopia, but after the incident that killed Glimmer, the careers have started leaving a guard by the Cornucopia when they go to hunt down other tributes, because clearly, the landmines can't be trusted. As a result, Lux is starving, and she's getting desperate. She follows the careers – in this case, Cato and Peeta. They don't even notice her. Lux is smart, but she's out of luck. She's too busy following the two boys to look closely at the ground. She steps in a hive of tracker jackers, and we see her die a terrible death. No one is officially credited with her kill. Cato and Peeta are smart enough not to follow the sounds of her terrible howls as she is stung repeatedly and soon dies, but I can see how young Peeta clenches his jaw, drying the sweat from his brow.

Of course, everyone knows that the tracker jacker hive wasn't there by accident. Tracker jacker hives are up in trees, not down on the ground, and no one would be stupid enough to think that it accidentally had fallen down from a tree. No, this was the Gamemakers' way of adding some action to the Games. I suppose they didn't find Lux all that interesting anymore, after she couldn't steal food from under the careers' noses anymore. She would simply hide in the woods, without trying to kill anyone, and she was too smart to be caught by the careers. Where is the fun in that?

One by one, the few remaining competitors are killed. When Cato kills Thresh, what follows next is predictable: the careers turn on each other. Cato planned to kill Peeta. The audience knows, because we heard him discuss his plans with Clove. What Cato doesn't know is that Peeta also overheard that conversation and as a result, he is prepared. Peeta slips away from Cato, planting a knife in Clove's back in the process. Then he is gone, hiding in the woods. As Clove bleeds out from her wound, Cato kills the rest of the careers.

Cato and Peeta are eventually forced together by mutts, which are chasing them to the Cornucopia. The Gamemakers probably wanted to end the Games with the showdown of the century.

The end is violent and painful to watch. Cato and Peeta are on top of the Cornucopia. The endgame is a fistfight between two strong, blond boys. Even though Cato is just as strong physically, Peeta the wrestler has the upper hand, using his experience from the ring to push Cato off the Cornucopia, down to the mutts.

I remember that night. It was a mandatory viewing, of course, and most people were out in the town square. No tribute from 12 had been among the final two since Haymitch Abernathy won more than two decades earlier. The Gamemakers decided that should Peeta win, showing all of 12 celebrating in the town square would be good for ratings. So we were all there, along with Peeta's parents and brothers. We sat there for six full hours while we listened to Cato's screams and howls until they were only whimpers. Through that impossibly long night, Peeta sat with his back against the cold metal of the Cornucopia, mostly with his eyes closed and his hands covering his ears as his body shivered.

I sat close to Gale that night in the square, hiding my face against his chest while he stroked my back. When I looked up at him, his face was hard, like a mask. There was hatred in his voice when he whispered terrible things in my ear about the Capitol that I hadn't ever heard anyone say out loud before. Not even when we were outside the fence, alone in the forest, would the things he said about the Capitol be that bad.

I shivered too, but not from the cold. I shivered out of fear that anyone would hear his whispers. I knew Gale could be executed immediately if the Peacekeepers found out.

When I'm brought back to reality, the sun at last rises over the arena. Cato is still alive, if only barely. Peeta, who for hours has been forced to listen to the sounds of Cato's suffering in the darkness, gets up on unsteady feet. In the morning light, he looks at the tribute, his former ally, who now resembles a lump of flesh more than a human being. Yet Cato is still alive, the mutts continuing to tear at his body. The mutts have spared his eyes, and the gazes of the two boys lock. Cato opens his mouth, or perhaps more accurately the hole which used to be his mouth, and it sounds like he tries to say the word "please", but it's hard to say. Peeta draws his knife, and without hesitation, he throws it, hitting Cato straight in the throat.

Finally, it's over. Peeta, the new victor from 12, the first in 24 years, blinks against the morning sun. He doesn't look happy or triumphant, he simply looks dazed.

Peeta seems to relax a bit more on the couch beside me as they move from the 74th Hunger Games to selected highlights of other Games. They focus mainly on the Capitol favorites, the ones they love the most. Finnick Odair with his trident is, of course, one of them. It's strange to see him on TV now that I've actually met him. And Cashmere – she looks so young. Even covered in blood, badly injured after the final fight, I'm surprised to see an innocence in her eyes that she doesn't have anymore. Diamond, the girl who won last year, gets her share of attention, too.

We sit together for hours, Peeta and I, without a word. When the show is over, I'm emotionally drained.

Peeta stares at the TV screen, which is now filled with some kind of commercial for a useless Capitol product that will never come to 12. "I'm sorry, Katniss," he suddenly says, and there is something weird about his voice. It's distant, as if he's not really present. When his eyes meet mine, his pupils are too small.

"About what?" I ask him.

"I'm sorry for being such a fucking coward," he answers.

"What makes you think you're a coward?" I can think of a lot of adjectives to describe the Peeta Mellark I just saw win the 74th Hunger Games, but coward is not one of them.

"Madge."

Not Madge again. I don't want to think about Madge. "I'm not sure why you keep saying you killed her," I say slowly. "You were trying to protect her, to draw the careers away from her and Rue. It's not your fault it turned out the way it did. It was just… bad luck." I pause. "You know Madge and Rue never stood a chance, right?" It's painful, but it needs to be said.

"I know. But it doesn't… doesn't help. I'll always be responsible for their deaths. Their blood can never be washed off of my hands." His fingers close around a glass of water, but he doesn't drink.

I don't answer. I look down.

"Katniss, look at me." When I don't immediately react, he repeats himself, his voice sharp now. "Look at me! I was credited with four kills, Katniss. You've seen them all. Add Hal, Madge and Rue to that count, and maybe Lux, too. Do you still think that I'm not a murderer?"

My answer is an almost whispered "yes," but it's not as immediate as it should've been. I know he notices my slight hesitation by the way his shoulders slump and the way he looks down, refusing to meet my eyes.

He's slipping away from me again, but this time I won't let him. I need to do something to bring him back to me, so I do. I kneel on the couch, lean towards him, and turn his head towards me. The kiss I press against his lips is soft at first, but I quickly I deepen it. He relaxes in my arms and I take that as my cue. I move to straddle him and, through our clothes, I feel him grow hard underneath me.

I know we shouldn't. Not like this, not our first time. Not when he has that hazy, distant look in his eyes. Not when his speech is slightly slurred, when he's hurting so much. When we said we'd go slow.

But we've been tip-toeing around this for so long. The heat flaring in my belly and his ragged breath tell me there's no stopping this, not anymore. He runs his hands up my thighs, under my summer dress. I feel him tug on the fabric as I lift my arms, allowing him to undress me.

I struggle with Peeta's t-shirt while he concentrates on my bra. It's old and worn, like everything I own, and I wish I'd had something new and sexier for him. With laces, perhaps, like the women in the Capitol. Peeta seems mostly interested in getting the bra off, though, and he expertly unhooks it and throws it on the floor without even giving it a second glance. He holds me close, pressing our bare chests together as he moves us. Moments later, I'm underneath him with my back pressed into the cushions of the couch. Peeta's hands move down to the hem of my panties, and he pushes them down over my hips. I don't hesitate, either. His jeans and boxers are next, both gone in the flurry of clothes being thrown all over the living room.

I relish the feel of him, hot and hard, against my thigh. His hands seem to be everywhere, all at once. My back, my belly, my breasts, my thighs. Everywhere but where I want them to be the most. But his cock is there, grinding against me, where wetness is building rapidly.

He sits up, pulling me up with him. He reaches behind my back with both of his hands and unbraids my hair. I don't understand why he'd do this now, even as his cock pulses against the skin of my belly, but I let him. He combs his fingers through my thick, black hair, and then tangles both of his hands into the tresses near the base of my neck, securing me.

Then I understand.

Peeta likes to be in control.

He holds me in place by my hair as he deepens the kiss and lowers me back down on the couch. It's strangely exciting to be held, controlled, like this by him. My hands roam over his back down to his ass, and I'm rewarded with a gasp and a shudder that vibrate through his body.

Peeta's hand finally slides down between my legs. I open eagerly for him, moaning into his mouth as his fingers find my slick heat. He pulls away and looks into my eyes. We both breathe heavily as his fingertips slowly explore me.

"You're so wet," he groans, and I'm unable to answer. He catches my clit between his thumb and index finger, pressing lightly but firmly. I muffle my scream against his shoulder. Whatever I have fantasized about doing to Peeta - touching him, tasting him, feeling him writhe under me - I'm unable to do any of it now. My world quickly contracts until all that exists are his fingers, gliding and touching. When he slips a thick finger inside of me, all I can do is whimper, "Please." I don't even know what I'm begging for anymore.

Too soon, his finger is gone and I groan in frustration. I watch as he grabs his cock with his right hand, and for the first time I get a good look at what has been pressed up against me. My breath hitches. He's hard and long and thick around. I want to touch him, to taste him, but there is no time as he slides the head of his cock over my clit, again and again, using my desire as lubrication. Already, I'm close to the edge. Just when I think I can't stand it any longer, he slides the head of his cock further down, through my folds, teasing my opening.

"What do you want?" he whispers in my ear and he tugs on my hair.

"Inside me..."

The corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly, so mischievously. There is no hesitation. He slides into me and quickly buries himself to the hilt. My fingernails dig into his shoulders as I stifle my gasp against his neck. It's been so long, and he's big. His first few thrusts are gentle, but then he quickly builds up speed. Soon, it's hard and it's fast. It's not quite what I expected, this first time, but looking up at his face, at the closed concentration I see there, I know that this is just what he needs right now. I can feel myself drawing closer to the brink with every stroke, and my hips move to meet his, matching his furious pace.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he mumbles. He face twists in pleasure and I watch him, learning his expressions, seeing how he bites his bottom lip as he gets closer, and relaxes as he slows his pace. He doesn't want this to be over so soon.

I want him to use me, to find peace and pleasure in my body. But the thought of him filling me serves as a reminder, too. And tempting as it is, I know it can't happen. "You need to… pull out," I manage to say in between gasps. My hands have found his hips, encouraging him to go faster. "When you…" He snaps his hips against mine, going even deeper, and I struggle to complete my sentence. His hand tugs on my hair again, pulling me in for a deep, crushing kiss.

I tear my mouth away from his. I'm close. Dammit, I'm so close. But this is too important, I need to focus. "You can't come inside of me," I tell him.

Something passes over his face just then, something I can't identify. It's not ideal, but it's the only option that we have. I'm not quite sure how people in the Town deal with this, not to mention what they do in the Capitol.

He nods, not missing a stroke. "Okay."

He tilts my hips, finding a new angle. With every stroke, he hits a spot inside me that I didn't even know existed. I'm close. So close. "I'm going to..."

And then I do. I come hard around him. My eyes are shut and I'm high on him. He speeds up, going impossibly hard and deep. Then, abruptly, he pulls out of me, and I feel him spill on my belly. He collapses on top of me, with no regard for the hot fluid between us. He buries his face in my hair, which is now tangled, sweaty and everywhere. We are both panting, both shaking with aftershocks.

He doesn't say anything, and neither do I as we both try to catch our breath. But his weight on top of me soon grows uncomfortable and I squirm underneath him. He sits up. His skin is flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded. He looks exhausted. The TV is still blasting in the background.

I look down at the mess we've made. "I guess we should clean up," I say with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. I've thought about this so many times, yet the reality of it now, after, isn't quite what I'd thought it would be. What happens now? What does he expect?

Peeta quickly dries off the worst of the mess on our bellies with his t-shirt. Then... he hugs me. We hold each other, gently dragging our fingertips across our still exposed skin. We don't say anything for a long time.

Peeta's breath quickens and when I meet his eyes, he's opening and closing his mouth, searching for words. I raise my eyebrows, encouraging him to speak. "Will you sleep in my bed?" he asks quietly.

I nod my head yes. Ivy's asleep. If she wakes up during the night, I'll hear her through the wall. Besides, it's about time she moved into her own room now anyway. She'll be alright. "Of course," I whisper.

We walk up the stairs together, leaving our clothes on the living room floor. He leads me to his bed, holding the sheets up for me, encouraging me under them. He briefly goes to the bathroom; I hear the water running in the sink before he joins me. I try to switch off the light on the nightstand, but he stops me. "Leave it on," he says. Something about the look on his face, the tightness in his jaw makes me simply nod and say okay, even though I find his request odd.

His arms close around me, his knees fitting perfectly behind mine. Within minutes, he's fallen asleep.

Despite my own exhaustion and the hormones, not to mention Peeta's warm body next to mine, I can't sleep.

I think about 16-year-old Peeta, his face covered in blood. About Rue's hands and the flower.

I think about Posy.

I think about all of the parents who are lying in the darkness now, sleepless, fearing for the lives of their children. Five years from now, that's going to be me.

But tonight... I'm here. We're here, in the afterglow of our first time together. It's a bittersweet feeling.

The Peeta I just slept with was upset and drugged. This was probably a mistake. He's leaving in the morning. He's going to the Capitol. Behind me, Peeta tightens his grip around my waist and mumbles something in his sleep. His slow, even breathing is soothing.

Calmed by his tightened grip on me, my body finally calms. Minutes later, sleep claims me as well.

Okay, so… I think I deserve a review after this chapter. lol

The title of the next chapter is "Explode II". That's where you're going to have to trust me. This story is endgame Everlark, but it's going to be a bumpy ride.