Merry Christmas! I was determined to get this one out (I know I owe you guys). I stayed up last night–not for Saint. Nick, but to finish this chapter! So! Sorry I missed an update for all of my jewish followers–happy late Hanukah! I mean, I lighted the menorah each night but it didn't occur to me to post for y'all. I'm a bad jew. Eh, whatever. I'm agnostic anyway. Still get the presents from both religions though ;)

KATNISS

I gently close the door, standing in the center of my room. The complete silence is oppressive, nothing like the comfortable silence of before. Memories rush to fill the space in my mind, boring into my head.

I spin to the bathroom, turning the shower to make some noise. I'd taken a shower before dinner, but stepping into the hot jets still helps soothe the developing aches. The shampoo shoots out, filling the room with the scent of mint. But it's too sharp compared to the herb I gather at home. Too potent. Chemical. The unwanted images flood my mind again, and even turning the water to near scalding can't ward off the memory.

"There you go, Catnip!" Gale's face is flushed, a mix of the drinks, dancing, and bonfire heat.

I knock back a glass of Ripper's liquor, feeling it warm the path to my stomach. There's the strange sensation of freezing cold on my right, and burning hot on my left. I face the pit, trying to heat my hands without going too close. There have been past incidents. Alcohol and a raging fire. There's a reason we do this in the meadow; no stumbling drunk will accidently light the town on fire. The coal coated wooden houses are just waiting for a spark.

"Come dance!" Gale shouts, trying to speak above the singing and cheers.

"I'll stay here a bit! Warm up!"

"C'mon! You just had a drink–I thought there was hope!"

I just smile, swaying to the chanting around us. It's the first day of spring, but the weather hasn't seemed to catch on yet. I still wake to frosted ground and freezing temperatures. Still, tradition's tradition, so the Spring Bonfire is held.

Gale grabs my arm, tugging me into a twirl without much effort, then holding me close. His mouth dips to my ear, allowing me to hear him without any shouting. "Really, Katniss. Have some fun. Talk to new people, dance with a guy, maybe more…"

I snort, unused to the brazen suggestions. But everyone seems to… let loose during the bonfire. It's a break. People can shed the responsibilities for a night.

"You work hard. Just relax for one night. Do what you want. Have fun, Katniss. It doesn't have to be deeper than that," Gale says. As if he's reading my thoughts. His eyes settle on me, serious for the first time tonight. Pressing the flask into my hands, there's a silent question. Will I take his advice?

I lift it to my lips, draining the little that's left. A smile spreads on Gale's face. "Why don't–"

"Katniss!" Mage shouts, running up next to me. "I–oh," she steps back at Gale's glare. "Sorry, I didn't know you were with him…"

"What's the problem with me?" He snarls, stepping forward.

"Nothing! You just, don't like me, so I–I don't know!"

"What she means," I grab Mage's shirt, "is you that act nasty to her, like now." I pull her away from the edge of the pit. "So she tries to avoid you. I'll be with her for a second. Don't wait up."

The Seam eyes that I share are angry, a muscle twitching in his jaw. But he turns, stomping away.

I get why he hates the merchants, but he shouldn't. Mage is nothing but kind to me, she can't help the fact her father is the mayor. I face her, ready to apologize.

"It's fine." She cuts me off, sounding resigned. But then lights up a moment later. "I love this song! Will you partner with me?" Without waiting for an answer, she drags me off to the line of dancers starting the first steps. It's a fast song, dominated by the fiddle some miner is playing. We link arms, her childish excitement infectious, causing a grin to spread on my face.

Spin, stomp, clap, twirl, I fall into the steps easily. Step back, forward, switch to the left, and I'm partnered with another girl. My age, though I don't recognize her. Spin, stomp, clap, twirl, the fire glows in the dark, the only thing recognizable while the world spins. It goes on for a while; I switch with more people than I can count. Back, forward, switch, I get a glimpse of an older miner, with a gap toothed grin as he spins me. I laugh, continuing the dance.

It feels weird. To let loose. Strange, to shed the worries that are constantly on my shoulders–if only for a night. I feel lighter, as if I've dropped a crushing load. I feel good. It feels good to dance and laugh and spin. I can sense people's eyes on me. Wondering about this uncharacteristic change. But they don't matter right now.

The last switch takes place, my partner pulling me back for the final step. I glance at the hand grasping mine–pale skin. A merchant. The music dies out. I glimpse soft blue eyes, so different from most here.

Peeta Mellark looks down at me, a half-smile on his lips. I'm not that surprised he'd be here. He's always been friendly with the Seam. He does trade with me, after all. Still, his mother would probably… I don't know what she'd do if he was found out. Beat him in some way or another. He tries to hide it. Unsuccessfully. Bread and a black eye run through my head, but the image leaves as quickly as it comes.

The fiddle starts up again, accompanied by a woman's voice. A slower song. A partner one. But there's no swapping of pairs.

"You want to dance?" I ask him.

The shock that crosses his face almost forces a laugh out of me, but I push it down, knowing he'd find it strange. There's hesitation. "Yeah. You mean, like, together?"

"No," I tease, "I thought we could dance to a partner song on opposite sides of the pit." I take his hand, starting the motions. He relaxes a bit, but still makes sure his touch is light.

The woman's voice grows stronger. It's a song I like, though it's sad. About a miner and his daughter. He dies. I've always tried to unsee the connections between my own father and this story, but I can never distance myself. It's always him and me. Still, I'm comforted by the fact I haven't yet followed the daughter's end.

"...down the shaft while she went to her school..."

We move together, so different from the line dancing. Closer to the theatrical ballroom stuff on the Capitol TV shows. But it's less...formal. No dramatic bowing, no proper placement of limbs.

"...a spark, a boom, and a siren wailed…"

Couples all dance to their own liking. Everyone finding their own pace.

"...she ran to her father, still buried in earth…"

My eyes are level with his chest, shirt stained with soot or coal. Dirtier than what I usually see him in. Probably an old shirt, to ensure his mother wouldn't take notice of any new, unusual marks. It's stretched, a rip at the hem. Definity older.

"...hours and hours but he did not emerge…"

My gaze drifts down to the worn boots, caked with dirt. I let my eyes travel back up, running over the creases in his jeans, the rip in his shirt, towards the blond curls. His face is slightly red from the fire's heat.

"...and her tears fell down that mining shaft…"

The final lines approach as he finally relaxes, letting out a barely audible sigh. I press a bit closer, his arm winding around me.

"...she jumped down to join him, buried until this day…"

The woman's voice dies out in one long note, leaving me staring up at him. I watch his throat bob, hear a slight catch in his breath. "You want to sit down?"

I nod, letting him lead me away with our still linked hands. His steps seem more hesitant than normal. He always seems… so self assured. Confident.

We settle on the ground a bit away from everyone else, against a rundown shed hidden in shadow. Peeta stretches his legs out, attempting to get comfortable on the hard, packed ground. I let my head drop against the old paneling.

Our breaths sync up, only audible due to the distance between the crowd and ourselves. "Did you bring something for the pit?" I ask.

Everyone is going through hard times–we're at the end of winter. But we'll try to scrape up one thing to bring: a broken chair to burn, a full flask, even collected coal dust in an effort to bring something. Together, we all pitch in just enough to get a roaring bonfire. Usually. Some years, when we truly can't spare a thing, it's more of a small campfire. But it's a good year. I wondered what he'd be able to bring without his family noticing it's absence.

"Yeah. One of the slats for the pigpen broke, we meant to get rid of it. I broke a bit more off the end. Don't think she'll realize."

I hum in acknowledgment, lost in thought. There's a minute of comfortable silence before I break it. "Do you think other districts have bonfires?"

He turns, looking at me with amusement. "What do you mean?"

"Do they celebrate like this? With–" I gesture to the pit "–community fires. Or whatever."

"I don't know," a smile spreads on his face, "I think fire is kind of a District 12 thing. You know, coal."

I snort, the sound a bit abrasive, but it seems to make his smile grow. "You mean, like, Six has train joyrides? And Eleven has a community feast–actually, that sounds really nice…" My voice drifts off as I imagine the Seam coming together to feed one another. Unlikely. Most can barely spare a chunk of wood for the bonfire; no one would part with precious food at a time like this.

"That's not exactly what I meant," he says softly, "I was just saying that the bonfire is our thing."

It occurs to me that he's saying 'ours'–but it's more of a Seam thing. Not many merchants would come and sully themselves with the coal caked miners. Some are on good terms with us–but they're looked down on by most townies. I don't even know how Peeta got here–who invited him. But the fact that he's lumping himself in with us doesn't make me recoil. It makes me...pleased.

I put my hand on his shoulder, turning to find his face closer than I'd intended. Cautiously, he wraps his arm around my waist. His eyes stay on mine–searching for something. What? When they drop to my lips, I realize.

I curl my fingers into his arm, acutely aware of the hand on my waist. I can't say I'm not attracted to him. I am. But that doesn't matter when he's a merchant–one who buys my game. He's attractive, and that's that. Why would I ever pursue such a thing?

But Gale's voice sneaks into my head.

"Just relax for one night…"

"Dance with a guy, maybe more…"

"It doesn't have to be deeper than that…"

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling his lips down to mine. Again, he's so hesitant. Slow. Gentle. I push closer, but he doesn't react, still kissing me softly. When I bite his lip, the message seems to get across.

It becomes rougher, lips moving harder and our bodies pressing closer. He breaks away, kissing down my jaw to my neck, lips roaming over the exposed skin. When he sucks on a spot below my ear, I can't help a small moan. The arm around me tightens, drawing us closer–the other hand tangled in my hair, gently tugging my head to the side.

I can feel a heaviness, a tightening in my stomach. Lower. I grab at his curls, letting our lips collide again. Feeling the kiss deepen, his tongue sliding to mine.

I let out another moan.

He freezes completely. Drawing back abruptly.

Cold air rushes to fill the space.

Different emotions cross his face in an instant. Surprise, concern, what I think is disgust–I don't know. The heated feeling is gone, the alcohol a weak replacement for what was warm a moment before.

"Peeta–"

"I–Katniss–I shouldn't–" he rubs his neck, taking a deep breath. "Where's Gale?"

"Gale?" I blink, trying to clear my head. "What the hell does Gale have to do with this?!"

He's pulling at his hair at this point, already disheveled from my hands. "I'm sorry–I shouldn't have done that–"

"Is it because I'm Seam? Really Peeta?" I haul myself up, trying to push away the hands that hold me steady. He releases me when I'm on my feet–by his own choice, not because of my efforts.

"Of course not–you know me, Katniss, that's not it. But I don't want to kiss you when–"

"HEY!" Gale strides towards, and I see Peeta's shoulders fall at the sight. Relief? Disappointment? "I've been looking for you." He grabs my arms, forcing us a few steps back from Peeta.

"I'm fine, I–we were just…"

"I know." His voice is sharp. "C'mon. He grips my shoulders, hands a bit too tight.

Peeta steps forward, mouth open for a moment, "I–you know–"

"Yeah," I say. "No hard feelings." Gale pushes us back to light, forcing my feet to move.

I glance back, just once, to see him staring after us. Hands in pockets, head bowed.

My fingers are pruny, and the mindless washing has left my skin a bit raw.

I turn off the water, watching it slow from a trickle to a drop. Just standing there, enveloped in the hot steam. With a loud sigh, I pull on a new set of clean clothes. The ones I'd shed have already been taken away by an Avox.

There's no need for socks in the thickly carpeted, temperature regulated room. I put on a fuzzy pair anyway.

The window is set to my green forest. I stare at the screen, eyes unfocused.

The morning after that night, I'd tried to understand what had happened. He was telling the truth–it wasn't because I was Seam. I mean, he was at the bonfire. It wasn't that. No, it had to do with me. I had been sure of it at the time. That he'd just...realized he didn't want to kiss me. It was a mistake. For whatever reason, he didn't want to. Either he remembered how surly I usually am, or didn't want to mess up the trading relationship, or, more likely, just wasn't attracted to me. We were both having fun, in a good mood, things started, and he realized he didn't want it.

I'd sat on my bed, running my hands through Prim's hair. Turning that thought over, studying it, seeing how I felt. And I wasn't offended. Or embarrassed. I mean, maybe a little, but self-consciousness had no place in my life. It shouldn't have one. I wouldn't let it.

The next time I went to their backdoor, he answered my light knock. Tried to bring it up, but I cut him off. "I understand. I'm sorry. No hard feelings, ok?" He tried to start again, but I pushed past him, taking the loaf and dropped the squirrel in replacement, walking out the back without listening to his words. I didn't need a long explanation. I got it.

And so we ignored it. It was awkward at first, but melted away into a distant memory. We didn't bring it up. But his teasing, which he dished out indiscriminately, bothered me. Was it normal for him to act like that with others? Yes. But it was rude for him to keep making those little comments, compliments, while I knew he felt differently.

I was sure, at the time, that his problem was with me. That the compliments were made in jest–but now I'm not as sure. He just said he was serious. And he's not cruel–I don't think he'd lie about that for his own amusement. But how could it be true if his actions had shown otherwise?

Ok, a lot of things to say. So I'll make a list.

1) For anyone wondering/worried that this is just a throwaway backstory for tension–it's not. It be relevant till... the cave, probably. You'll see what I mean in a bit. This incident will color Katniss' perspective on the things/declarations/etc. that Peeta does.

2) What do you think? I wasn't sure how clear I made it. The reason Peeta actually pulled back is right there. But it's not explicit, so tell me in the review what your theory is; I want to know how I did in my vague/but not too vague writing. And no peeking at others reviews before you write yours! I really need that feedback. I also may give the explanation with Peeta's narration before Katniss finds out. Not sure. LKM what you think.

3) Remember those edits I talked about? I think I updated Chapters 1 & 2–still working on the rest. The gist is this: Katniss and Peeta were amicable, not on bad terms back in Twelve. That's the big one so far.

4) I've been trying to look at my writing and critique, but...it's kind of hard to do my own! There's always that thing an author does that makes you wince, even if it's a great story. Like they use a specific adjective/verb/adverb way too much(ex: sighed, velvety...you know), or constantly use a weird word/turn of phrase (orbs for eyes. STOP.). If you have any for me, please say it! I notice I do a lot of explicit narration on people's facial expressions–is it too much? Any feedback would be welcomed.

5) Characterization... I've been clear I'll stray from the books in this, and have done so already... but just want to clear up my thinking process. Peeta's hot, Katniss thinks he's hot, but she shoved that down because it's not a useful emotion, and it's not like that would ever go anywhere. She's got that independent streak we all love her for. However, she's clear that this night... 'doesn't count, and why shouldn't she have a little fun, just once?' The liquid courage definitely helped her follow through on that. I hoped I made it clear that that little 'reflection' at the end–where she's like 'I wasn't bothered, just annoyed' was a bit of a lie to herself. She's a teenage girl. Even if she doesn't really care about her appearance, and didn't have actual feelings for him, doesn't mean she wouldn't get a bit insecure. Not at lot, just a bit. It's AU... but I hope it isn't too OOC. Hopefully it's realistic. What did you think before you read it, and what do you think after this explanation?

6) Reviews! Thank you! I hadn't gone on here for a hot second (and then realized I should probably get this thing done)–I'd got 3 reviews that boosted this last minute motivation (See: HungerGamesFan36, Yali Page, and a guest. I really appreciated it!)And another new reviewer–Delenaismyobsession. To my punctual followers, Fire1, owlthewriter, and C Stark22 – love y'all. - - - And on the topic of reviews, I'm looking back and realizing I asked a lot of questions for you everyone to review. But I'd appreciate it if you'd try.

Alright, I think that's it!