A/N: So here it is! The first chapter of Catching Fire! After a bit of a break I'm ready to jump straight back into the action.

Also, I saw the movie. It was awesome. Though there wasn't enough Peeta for my tastes :P Honestly, I think the people that made the movie are Gale shippers. Blech. Though I don't really blame them. Liam Hemsworth (the guy that played Gale) is way too hot. He almost converted me. Almost. Then I learned he's dating Miley Cyrus. Yeah, needless to say, I'm a Peeta shipper again.

I don't own anything to do with The Hunger Games!

Catching Fire

Part I

"THE SPARK"

1

Noon. They will be here at noon.

At noon, I will have to face the cameras. The reporters. The style teams, the stylists. Even Effie Trinket.

At noon, I will have to pretend that I have a life that is not really real. That I'm part two of the happy couple, madly in love. But it's not true. It's not real. I wish it was, but it's not. Only a few days after the Games ended did Katniss, part one of our star-crossed lovers team, told me just how fake it all was. That what we had was all for the cameras. It was all for survival. It was all for the Games.

The Hunger Games. Of which I am now a Victor.

Yay me.

Note the sarcasm.

Being a Victor isn't all it's cracked up to be. Yeah, there's the new fancy house, bigger than my family's bakery two times over. Living in the Victor's Village. The big ovens in the kitchen. Running water. Twenty-four seven electricity. All the flour I could want. And the paints, oh the paints! I'd never painted before in my life, but now I can afford to pick it up. And I'm good at it, I love painting. It calms me like nothing else. It's the best thing to come out of winning the Games. For me, personally. There was parcel day, too, where everyone in Twelve got packages of food. Seeing all those hungry children's faces as they received food to feed their families, to know would get enough to eat each month for a year, made all of it worth the trouble.

But nothing is free. It has a cost. A hefty one, at that.

First off, there's the nightmares. Nightmares of watching my twenty-two fellow tributes die, some by my own hand. Nightmares of losing Katniss. Of watching her die. You wouldn't think it'd be that bad…after all, nightmares are just dreams, they're not real. Or at least, some of them aren't. But it's wearing, so, so wearing to not get restful sleep, night after night after night…

Then there's the estrangement from my family. Ever since they declined moving into the Victor's Village with me, ever since I got back from the Capitol, it's like I'm a whole other person. It's like I don't belong in that bakery with them anymore. I don't fit into that life. Their life. It's almost like I've been placed above them, actually, literally been placed above them; and I hate it. Because I don't feel like I deserve this fancy house, after all I went through to get it. After all the terrible things I did in the name of survival. Katniss's survival, of course. Not mine. My survival was never part of the plan. It was pure luck.

Well, not entirely. I survived because of those nightlock berries. Those deadly berries that Katniss poured in my hand. That we both were fully prepared to swallow. The berries, Katniss and Haymitch now tell me, which has not earned us any favors among the people in power.

And then there's Katniss.

Katniss, who I have been in love with since I was five. Katniss, who I was willing to die for. Katniss, who I thought loved me too. And Katniss, who has not spoken to me since the cameras left and who dropped the star-crossed lovers act the minute we could.

And there's been an icy coldness between us ever since.

I'm not talking about the snow and ice on the ground between our houses.

But now, we will have to pick it back up again. In just a few hours. At noon. When it's time to start the Victory Tour. As if sending kids to the slaughter every year isn't enough already, they force us to treat the horror like a celebration. We will travel round to the Districts, and look down into the faces of the families whose children we've killed. Those people who really loathe us. Our reminder and the people of the district's reminder that the Hunger Games never truly go away. That the capitol has us in it's power, and there's nothing we can do about it.

Snow starts to fall, collecting in little drifts on the windowsill. Like a prettier, cleaner version of the coal dust that settles on everything in 12. But it won't be pretty for long. When it finally settles it will turn a mushy gray color from the coal dust. Nevertheless, it's a reminder that I have things to do today, and my moping time is over.

I stand up, almost falling. I catch myself on the back of the chair. Even after months, I'm still not used to my leg being gone. I stand up sometimes, and forget I'm missing a leg. I'll fall if I'm not wearing the prosthetic. I'll just go to take the next step, and there's nothing there to catch my weight.

I walk to the kitchen, shiny and new and never used by anyone before me. It's big. Almost too big. The distance I have to walk to get from counter to counter is not something I'm used to. But the oven is nice. The oven makes it easy to bake, because I don't have to start a fire first. The electricity does it for me. But sometimes I miss the work. That's when I go over to the bakery and help out there. My father tells me I'm always welcome. He loves having me around again, especially considering he never thought he'd see me alive again after the reaping. But my mother and my brothers, that's a different story. My brothers are indifferent. My mother, now…now I can honestly say I think she hates me.

I get out the ingredients to make some bread, and as much as I try to push it out of my head while I work it worms its way in there anyway. Though my mother has long been a source of both anxiety, anger, sadness…and a lot of other confused feelings, now things are a lot simpler. Because she has a reason to hate me. She hates that I won the Games. Well, maybe not that I won, because when they announced our Victory I'm told by my brother that he actually saw her tear up and she had to leave the room.

But I never saw it. And as far as I'm concerned, if I didn't see it might as well not have even happened. Because now she treats me with a cool, sneering indifference. It's not like she'll flat out kick me out of the bakery, but it's the little comments she'll slide in that let me know how she really feels. Like, "Oh, I see you've decided to join us commoners for a while." Or "How's that fancy house in the Victor's Village?" and maybe the worst, "How's that girlfriend of yours?" These are just a few examples, paraphrased into nicer words. Sometimes they're a lot more vicious. Particularly the ones about Katniss.

I slap the dough onto the counter, a little harder than I meant to. Flour puffs up and hits me in the face. Annoyed, I wipe my face on my sleeve, and start to knead the dough angrily. I think irritably that it probably isn't so much my semi-relationship with Katniss that's got her hating me, although that's part of it. I think it's more to do with that I told the whole of Panem she was not my father's first choice for a wife. Because ultimately, all her motivations are selfish. And the way she was portrayed on national television was not one that encourages a positive reputation. I'm told she's become quite the source of gossip in town.

It's funny, really, because though Katniss and myself is all people in the Capitol can talk about (aside from getting their hair done and what to wear and what meal they'll stuff themselves with next, etc. etc.), it was an act that was quite clearly seen through in District 12. Gossip about us has long since died out, especially since we've barely exchanged two words with each other since the cameras left and everyone in town knows this. The hotter topic of conversation is Katniss and Gale.

Gale. Just his name leaves a bad taste in my mouth. She's spent more time with Gale in the woods than she has with me since we've returned. And that's saying something, as they can only meet every Sunday now that he's gone to work in the mines. I almost feel sorry for him. Because I've never had to face the prospect of working in the mines. But I've been down there before. We take annual field trips at school. I hate it down there. It's dark and stuffy, and the place just seems haunted by misery along with the dead.

I put the dough in shiny new pans, set them aside to rise. While I wait, I make cookies. These are quick and easy and out of the oven in fifteen minutes. I put them aside to cool and place the soon-to-be bread in the oven. Then I start to frost the cookies. I make them extra-pretty today. They're for Mrs. Everdeen and Prim and Katniss, though I don't plan on dropping them off while Katniss is there. I frost a different flower on each cookie. This effectively clears my head. A primrose on one for Prim, a pond lily, a tiger lily. I start to make a white rose but it gives me the chills halfway through and I scrap it because it reminds me of President Snow. I hastily start to create a hibiscus flower.

When I've finished I pause to admire my handiwork. They look so delicious that I sneak an unfrosted one. I'm allowed to do that now that my livelihood doesn't depend on them. It tastes as good as it looks. It only took a few days for me to get used to fresh bread on a daily basis. I never plan to go back to eating stale now that I know what it's like. My family won't ever have to eat stale bread again, either. My mother won't take my money, but my father doesn't question it. He knows he's doing me a favor by taking it. It'd be even more difficult to live with myself than it already is if I let my family eat stale bread while I practically gorge myself in comparison.

I take the bread out of the oven, let it cool while I carefully package up the cookies. Then I wrap the two loaves of bread in cloth. I put my coat on, tuck the lot under my arm, and head out the front door.

I have to be careful on the ice, as I'm in danger of slipping with my leg. I walk in the thin layer of crunchy snow as often as possible. Thankfully the trip between my house and Katniss's is relatively short. I knock on the front door and Prim answers.

"Peeta!" she says, grinning at me and giving me a hug. I grin back and return the hug. In the short time I've gotten to know her, Prim and I have gotten on fabulously. She's one of those people that you can't help liking, that you can't help but automatically love. And I'm told I'm one of those people you can't really hate, so it's natural that we've become friends. Seeing Prim has become one of the few joys in my life, because she's so full of life and young and happy. And I can understand perfectly why Katniss volunteered for her. Because if there's one place Primrose Everdeen does not belong anywhere near, it's the arena.

"How are you, Prim?" I say as she invites me in. She's been let out of school early for the event today.

"Good, excited," she says. She seems slightly distracted and eyes the snow on me wearily. "I'd take your boots off if I were you."

"Why?"

"Because—"

"Don't you dare take one step on my clean floors, Peeta!" says a voice. I look around to see Mrs. Everdeen rushing to me, holding out an arm to stop me from trodding snow all over her immaculate floor. She must have been cleaning all night for the cameras.

"Don't worry," I say. "I just came to drop off some bread, and a surprise for Prim."

"Oh!" exclaims Prim excitedly. "What is it?"

I hold out the package of cookies for her and she opens them. Her face lights up when she sees them.

"They're so pretty, Peeta!" she says. "Too pretty to eat!"

"No. They're made for eating, looking pretty is an added bonus," I say, laughing. "Don't let them go stale!"

She hesitantly raises her hand, and as I expected the first thing she goes for is the primrose. She doesn't eat it, but admires it instead. I rewrap the rest of the cookies and give them and a loaf of bread to Mrs. Everdeen.

"The other one's for Haymitch. Wish me luck," I say. She laughs at this, because really, when you go over to Haymitch's house you need all the luck you can get. She leaves to go put the food in the kitchen. Prim and I have a good-bye hug, and she surprises me when she gives me a light peck on the cheek.

"What's that for?" I ask her.

"You looked like you needed it," she answers. And I can't help but smile at her smile. Prim then pulls me down a bit to her level so she can speak in a quieter tone. "The tour could be your opportunity to fix things with Katniss, you know."

I sigh. I'm hardly looking forward to pretending to be in love as is. I don't know if when I kiss her again, it will even feel the same for me because I know she's faking it for the cameras. How can I possibly do this, pretend we're desperately in love when we're not? And I know I'll be picking up all the slack, because our lopsided relationship has, since the moment I announced I was in love with her on national television, rested on my shoulders to survive. So we could survive. And it has to continue, I can't give it up. Because I'm not stupid. I know we're in danger for our stunt with the berries. I can't continue to be the heartbroken wreck of a man I have been. I'll have to suck it up to keep us both safe. But in private? It'd be a bit hard to do, considering we can barely look at one another.

"I don't know, Prim. I don't know if it's fixable. She doesn't feel the same way I do. She's just doing it for the cameras."

"Then just be friends," she answers easily, as though she was expecting this.

"How can we just be friends when we have to act like we're in love?"

"When there aren't cameras around," says Prim. Then she looks at me anxiously, puts a hand on my arm. "I hate seeing you two like this. Promise me you'll try, please?"

Anyone who knows Prim knows it's almost impossible to say 'no' to her. So I find myself nodding.

"Okay, Prim."

"Better get that bread to Haymitch," she says. I nod again, and open the door. The blast of cold air hits me and goosebumps rise on my exposed skin. I'm at the front steps when Prim calls my name again. "Oh, and Peeta? Enjoy your tour."

The short walk to Haymitch's house is a bit trickier than my walk to the Everdeen's. There's more ice. I slip twice and nearly fall the second. When I arrive at the end of the sidewalk I see the light, small tracks of footprints and I know exactly who I'll find inside. Even though seeing Katniss is the last thing I want to do right now, we might as well get it out of the way before everyone arrives and we're on camera.

The front door's open, so I just walk in. It's not that unusual when you live in a neighborhood with only five residents. The stench of Haymitch's filth hits my nose and I wrinkle it in disgust. The place seems even filthier than usual compared to Mrs. Everdeen's sparkling clean house. I stomp the snow off my shoes at the door, though a bit of snow will hardly make any difference with the litter of wrappings, broken glass and animal bones on the floor.

"…should have asked Peeta," says an all-too familiar voice. I swallow hard, and force myself into the confrontation.

"Asked me what?" I ask, entering the room. Katniss is perched on the window sill, ready to make a quick exit. Haymitch is spluttering, and he's soaking wet. His knife that he sleeps with is clutched in his hand and I understand why Katniss is at the window. I walk to the table, set the bread on top, and hold out my hand for his knife.

"Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," says Haymitch, passing over his knife. I smirk at this, imagining Katniss dumping water on Haymitch to wake him up. I'm only sad I missed seeing that. Haymitch takes off his filthy shirt, revealing an equally soiled undershirt, and rubs himself down with the dry parts.

I pick up a bottle of white alcohol on the floor and douse the knife with it to sanitize it somewhat. Just being in Haymitch's house makes me feel filthy and I'm not about to put anything so disgusting in good food. I wipe the blade clean on my shirt and start slicing the bread. I hand the heel to Haymitch, and turn to look at Katniss properly for the first time. My stomach twists unpleasantly and my heart starts to race when our eyes meet.

"Would you like a piece?" I ask her.

"No, I ate at the Hob," she says. Her voice is stiff and formal. "But thank you."

"You're welcome," I say, just as stiffly. This is more awkward than I thought it'd be.

Haymitch tosses his shirt somewhere into the mess. "Brrr. You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime."

I frown at him. He's right, of course. We both know that. It goes without saying. So the fact that he has said it irritates me

"Take a bath, Haymitch," says Katniss, and swings herself out the window and drops to the ground. I watch her walk to her house before turning back to Haymitch. He really is filthy.

"What?" he says, seeing my look.

"She's right. You do need a bath." He rolls his eyes. I set the knife back down on the table. "Eat that," I say, pointing to the bread. Before he can say another word I'm out the door.

The second I step into the street I know something is wrong. For one, it'd be hard to miss the shiny black car parked just outside the gates of the village. It goes without saying that this is no one from District 12. That car is from the Capitol.

And seeing as how no one in our team is supposed to arrive till noon, it's a good bet to assume this is not any of them. Besides, this seems too off. I feel a slight touch of fear. The car door opens, and a man in a dark, straight black suit with sharp angles steps out. I watch as he walks up the street to Katniss's house. Then he spots me watching him.

"I think it's time you went home now," he says. I notice the bulge on his hip that his clothes do not quite cover. My heart begins to pound. What is this man in a suit with a gun doing outside Katniss's home? Why are there people from the Capitol here? Is Katniss in danger?

These are questions I do not get any answers to, because the man has just pulled back his jacket, his hand twitching towards his gun…

And I don't need to be told twice.