I never dreamed

That I'd meet somebody

Like you

They never warned him. With everything he had been told and taught about his life as a victor, no one ever warned him that he might fall for a client. He keeps replaying the way it felt to hold her in his arms, the way she clung to him like she never wanted to let him go. He didn't understand her tears, but her eyes shone with so much pain and sadness. He understands that. He had hesitated, his mind and heart warring at whether he should comfort her and what that would mean. His heart won out. She had fit perfectly in his arms, small and strong and fierce. It brought back feelings in him that he hasn't had since he was a child: desire, longing, and the smallest of flames inside him that has the potential to burn bright and hot if given oxygen to breathe and room to grow.

He doesn't know what to do. And he refuses to sleep. He knows if he does she'll be woven into his twisted nightmares. He'll have to watch her die a hundred times in a hundred different ways. He can't deal with that tonight.

He stays up with Haymitch who watches him carefully, a look of disinterest on his face even as his eyes follow Peeta's movements around the room. It's been this way since Peeta walked through the door flustered and anxious and unable to hide any of it. This wasn't the typical sullen and withdrawn or angry and raging reaction that he usually displayed after returning from a client. This is different and Haymitch is worried. He hasn't said a word and he most likely won't, but he thinks something is going to happen. He's afraid he'll find Peeta nearly dead on the floor again. They sit together; Haymitch pretending to read and drinking far less than usual and Peeta lost in thought as his mind goes over and over the time he's spent with Amy.

The hazy light of dawn begins to crest over the mountaintops. Haymitch snores softly next to him, having finally fallen asleep with his book open across his chest. There's one thing he can't get out of his mind. One detail that has thrown him more than any other: cookies. Not just any cookie, a snickerdoodle cookie. The exact same cookie that he used to be in charge of baking. The same cookie that always left him smelling of cinnamon. The very same cookie he used to sneak to Seam children and one very special Seam girl in particular because he knew it was her favorite.

He thinks of Katniss Everdeen, really thinks of her, for the first time in years. He had closed that part of his heart off after she died. He thinks of her dark hair in a braid over her shoulder. He thinks of her iridescent gray eyes and the way they changed from the color of storm clouds to the color of early morning mist when she smiled. He thinks of her voice and the way her laugh would echo like a song through the meadow as she played with her sister.

He shifts in his seat. Memories of his childhood and the last several nights stampede through Peeta's mind making his pulse race. He can't see straight. He can't breathe. The hairs on his arms stand on end. Every nerve ending in his body is on fire.

Can it be possible? Or is he trying to project a childhood love onto her because she's shown him kindness because they have similarities because they like the same fucking cookies?

He shakes his head. He's restless and frustrated. He needs to see Amy again. He needs to figure out a way to ask her directly. She's going to think he's crazy. It can't be possible. He saw the charred bodies. He went to their funeral. He watched the coffins being lowered into the ground. He visited Katniss's grave. He did it for years!

This is insane.

A soft knock on the door tears him from his thoughts. A white envelope slides into the apartment from under the door. He runs to it, tearing the card out. He exhales, the breath leaving him in a rush. Another appointment with her tonight. He paces the living room trying to make sense of it all. He can't. None of this makes sense. He looks to Haymitch who he knows always has more information than he lets on.

He approaches cautiously, slamming the book shut with a loud crack. Haymitch jolts in his chair, eyes wide and a fist ready to swing.

"What the fuck? I was finally getting some decent shut-eye," he bellows.

"What do you know about Amethyst Acrum?" Peeta questions, desperation leaking into his words.

"I know that her father is the head of the Department of Energy and that she must be loaded if she can afford several nights with you," Haymitch says with an exaggerated yawn.

"Is she from the Capitol?"

Haymitch stares at him warily. It's a penetrative stare, his eyes clearer and more alert than Peeta has seen in the past year that they've known each other. Haymitch grabs him by the shirt collar, pulling him down so quickly that Peeta barely has time to catch himself on the arms of the chair.

"Don't think for a second that those rooms in the palace are the only ones with an extra set of ears, boy. Choose your words carefully," Haymitch whispers in a voice so low that Peeta has to strain to hear him. Haymitch's breath hot and harsh against his ear. He releases Peeta's collar.

"I heard her family is from a small village on the outskirts of District One. Her father worked his way up to his position with the president. I don't really know the girl," Haymitch says in a full, apathetic voice.

He's lying. Peeta is sure of it. He has so many questions, but he can't ask them here. He'll have to wait until they're home, until he can take Haymitch to a place where he knows they won't be overheard.

He feels like he could burst out of his own skin. He squats to the ground in front of Haymitch, holding his head in his hands and trying desperately to remember what it feels like to take a full breath. He mourned Katniss. He sat in the heartbreak of losing her. He let her go. He tucked her away for safekeeping in the back of his mind and the depths of his heart. Could she have been alive all this time?

He thinks of the way Amy has never wanted anything from him but his time. The plain way she dresses. The chessboard and the recognition on her face when she thought of his brother. The green pen with the etching that reminded him of the feathers on an arrow. The melodic and familiar sound of her laugh and the way it made him feel the same as the first time he heard Katniss sing. The snickerdoodle cookies. And the way she has always made him feel like he was home.

All the pieces start to fit together in his mind and it becomes so obvious and clear that he nearly shouts it out loud. He wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Haymitch's fingers wrap around his wrist and Peeta looks up into the man's tired eyes. The look in Peeta's must be enough for Haymitch to know that he knows. Haymitch bobs his head once in confirmation and brings his finger to his lips. His eyes drill into Peeta's with a stern warning. It's a secret and Peeta needs to keep it that way.

Amethyst Acrum is Katniss Everdeen.

He spends the car ride to the palace and the elevator ride to the fifth-floor daydreaming about what he will say to her, how he will find a way to say it and what her reaction will be. Will she run into his arms and let him embrace her again? Will she slide her palm against his and allow him to know what it's like to hold her hand? It's a strange sensation walking down this hallway with hopeful anticipation making his body hum to life instead of the dread and despair that usually accompanies him.

He stops outside of the door to the room. The blue of his eyes reflecting in the gold number plate on the wall, the pupils fat with anxiety and elation. He inhales deeply, pressing his trembling fingers into the sides of his legs. He knocks and enters. What greets him on the other side of the door is not what he expects.

She's dressed much more provocatively than he's seen her before. In fact, she looks a lot like the other Capitolites who have purchased him. They think that showing up wearing next to nothing is what he wants to see, or maybe it's part of the illusion for them, part of the fantasy.

She's in a black dress that looks like it has been painted on her skin with a low scoop exposing most of her back and an even lower neckline. The dress is long, nearly sweeping the floor but a split in the fabric that ends near the top of her thigh exposes her bare legs when she moves. She has on the same heels as the first night they were alone together in this room. Was that only four days ago? It feels like another life to him now.

There's a resolution to her stance, a fortitude that he hasn't witnessed before. His mind swims with questions and he searches her face for answers. Without a word, she stalks towards him slowly, silently, like a predator approaching its prey. On instinct, he backs into the closed door behind him unable to muster any of the usual boldness he's learned to use in these rooms. The closer she gets the more he can see the trepidation in her eyes and the wobble in her lips. The closer she gets the harder it becomes for him to think clearly because he can see it, he can see the details he failed to notice the first few times: the shape of her nose, the freckle below her left ear, the unwavering set of her jaw.

She draws even closer, her chest heaving, her eyes looking anywhere but at his. He's breathless and light-headed, his pulse drumming in his veins so hard he can feel his neck brushing the collar of his shirt with each beat. When she is only inches away and his hands shake with the desire to reach out and touch her, he remembers where he is, what he is supposed to say, who he is supposed to be.

He inhales, hoping the tremors he feels aren't evident in his voice. "You look stunning tonight. What would you like me to do for you?"

She pauses at his words, her gaze focused on the floor, an almost repentant look on her face. Then, she pounces, pinning him to the door with her body. He doesn't know what to do, his hands hovering close to her hips, but not touching. He can't tell her to stop. He can't tell her to wait. He can't ask why she's doing this. He's never been able to utter those things in these rooms. His mind races trying to figure out a way to change this, to talk to her. Her body presses tightly against his, her palms flat on the door by his head. He can feel how much she's shaking. He can feel everything. She fits perfectly against him. He can't think. And her lips are on his neck and his cheeks and finally his own lips. Chaste, quick, unpracticed kisses.

As a boy, he had dreamed of what it would be like to kiss her. As he grew older and imagining what it would be like to kiss pretty girls crowded his thoughts, it was always her lips that his mind went back to leaving him wondering what life would have been like if he hadn't lost her. He didn't want to kiss her like this though, not rushed and forced and unsure. He doesn't even understand why she's kissing him. She's made no moves like this on any of their prior appointments in this room, unless –

She's worried. He's never heard Finnick speak of anything other than sex of some sort taking place in these rooms and he's never experienced anything other than that, except with her over the past few days. It's odd behavior and he's sure people have noticed. They've noticed her purchasing him repeatedly. They've noticed her dressed plainly and whoever is listening has noticed that they've done nothing but talk. She's throwing herself at him not because she wants to, but because she thinks she needs to.

Her hands slide from the door to his shoulders and her fingers find the buttons of his shirt. Her lips latch onto his neck as she struggles to work the button free with shaky fingers.

"Wait – wait. Let me," he says, his hands moving over hers on his chest. Her mouth falls away from his neck. Her fingers fist the fabric of his shirt. Her shoulders shake and she quietly whimpers. He gently places his thumb and forefinger on her chin, lifting her head to face him. Her eyes, which stay focused on the buttons of his shirt, are glassy with unshed tears, her face covered in shame. He leans close bringing his lips to her ear. Her breath hitches. Goosebumps rise to the surface along her arms. He doesn't know what he's doing, but he can't take seeing her like this. Whatever comes next, they'll figure it out together.

"Don't cry. Please, Katniss," he whispers so softly, the words hidden in his uneven breaths. He waits, his lips still grazing the shell of her ear. And he hopes. He hopes he's not wrong.

She freezes, tensing under his hands. Pulling back, her wide eyes finally find his, her mouth opens in shock. He can't help it. The smile spreads across his face all on its own. He couldn't rein it in if he tried. She backs away, dropping all pretenses, and stares at him like she's done the worst possible thing, like she's exposed herself to everyone, like her secret has been discovered. Maybe it has. If he's figured it out, then it's possible others have too. It's also possible they haven't, and he can fix this. If she trusts him and follows his lead, he might be able to keep her secret safe, keep her safe.

Moving forward quickly, he snatches her wrists, pulling her to him again. "Trust me," he mouths then drops to her feet. "You seem nervous Ms. Acrum. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," he says, his flirtatious lilt shaky, but he hopes no one will notice. He unbuckles the clasps on her shoes, pulling them from her feet. He looks up at her and after a moment she nods.

She clears her throat, sucking in a deep breath. "I thought I told you to call me Amy," she replies a bit mechanically, but with enough arrogance in her voice to pass as a Capitolite. "No more games. No more drawings. I expect to get my money's worth from you tonight."

Good girl. He bites his lip to hide his grin. "Of course," he says rising to his feet. "But first, I know of a way to loosen those nerves."

He grasps her fingers and leads her across the room to a door he isn't sure she's even noticed. Inside is a well-appointed bathroom. It's small by most wealthy Capitol standards, but it has a large tile shower and a massive soaking tub. Shower sex is one of the more frequently requested scenarios and he's been made to use these facilities in other rooms numerous times over the past year. He doesn't know if this will work, but he hopes it might. He has so many questions and is eager to speak freely with her. He drops her hand and yanks the handles on the tub faucet, turning and doing the same to the sink and shower. The roaring sound of running water fills the room.

He turns slowly and looks at her. She stands near the door, her arms wrapped around herself, her toes peeking out from under the hem of her gown. Her purple irises a mixture of emotions. He can see that she's uncomfortable, tense, and upset. He wants to fold her in his arms, tell her how he's thought of her every day since she left, how much she meant to him, how her secret is safe with him, but in the confines of this bathroom filled with so much noise that they won't be overheard he can't bring himself to move.

They can be who they are in here with no need to act or pretend. But who are they? She is a stranger to him, someone who touched his life in such a profound way but that he barely knew as a child. He is a murderer, a victor, and a whore. Still, the feelings that have grown within him for the past several days are real. She's real. She's alive.

She takes the first step, closing the distance between them until their bodies are only inches away from each other. She speaks in a quiet voice that he has to strain to hear over the cacophony of sound.

"How did you know?" she asks, her words laced with fear and apprehension.

"The – the cookies," he stutters, his voice sounding foreign. Too high-pitched, longing seeping into every syllable. "You said your favorite was snickerdoodles and I couldn't let that go because I've never let you go…not really. And – and the more I thought about it – about you – the more it started to click. I asked Haymitch and he confirmed it. And, oh my god, Katniss…you're alive. I – I can't believe – "

"Haymitch Abernathy? He knows about me? Did you ask him in your apartment? That entire building is bugged!" she exclaims, her eyes flashing with anger.

He throws his hands up in innocence. "We were discreet. I promise! Haymitch made sure of it and he didn't say anything about you out loud that people don't already know." He can't help himself. His fingers touch the tips of her purple hair. "Who are you? Where did you go? How did you get here? Why are you here with me right now?"

Her posture sags and as his fingers entwine with the ends of her hair, she tells him. She tells him about a rebellion that never really died, about a family that never really did either, about how his performance during the Games struck a chord in the districts and there have been uprisings and unrest, and about how she was given this mission by the leaders of the rebellion to get to know him. To earn his trust. She asks about Twelve, the Seam, the town, his life. Was he happy? Does he think he could be happy again? They whisper with their heads bent close together. The steam from the running water clinging to their skin. Beads of condensation run waywardly down the mirror and walls. He wasn't supposed to find out who she really was, and she doesn't know what they have planned. She only knows that he is important and that she wanted to help save him.

She says the last part softly and looks at him with wild eyes. "You saved my life once and it's a debt I never thought I would be able to repay and I – I couldn't let whatever was to happen in this room with you…I couldn't let it be with someone else. I needed to be the one."

"Why?" he murmurs. "To repay a debt?"

The faces are close together now. So close that her breath fans across his lips when she replies. "I couldn't let anyone else hurt you. Not Snow for his own personal gains or the rebellion for theirs. It had to be me here with you because – because I guess I never really let you go either. When I saw you reaped and watched you survive the Games it was like I was there with you. I couldn't sleep, I barely ate, I didn't want to miss any of it out of fear that you would die, and I wouldn't be there. You deserved to have someone there with you."

His heart jolts. His chest constricts. "You were. You always have been. Through all of it. I would close my eyes and see yours or I would think about dying and wonder if I would be able to see you again, if death would lead me back to you."

He doesn't know how long they've been in this bathroom. It feels like no time has passed, but he knows better. They will need to leave soon. No matter how much he longs to freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever, he knows he can't. He brushes his knuckles softly against her cheek. Her eyes flutter close, moisture from the humid air beading on her upper lip. Sweat trickles down his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

"Will I be able to see you again? After tonight? The next time I come back to the Capitol? Will they allow you to buy me again?" he asks, his eyes searching her facing achingly for an answer he knows she won't give.

She stares up at him with sad, wistful eyes. "I don't know. I don't know what they plan to do or if we will be able to see each other again. I'll try. The next time you're in the Capitol. I'll ask. I'll make sure they know."

He bows his head because he knows it won't be possible. Now that he knows who she really is, the rebellion won't risk Snow finding out. They won't send her again. His lip quivers and he looks away. He just got her back and now he will lose her all over again.

"Peeta?" Katniss whispers, her fingers reaching up to brush his damp hair behind his ear. "Can I kiss you?"

He turns back to her, eyes glassy, breath ragged. No one has ever asked him that before. He's never been given the choice or wanted a kiss more. He nods.

Her tongue darts out to graze her lips. "I've never kissed anyone before. I don't really know what I'm doing. It's my first real kiss," she murmurs leaning closer to him, the heat of her lips warm against his.

"It's my first real kiss too," he sighs against her mouth.

He can feel her hesitancy mixed with desire. He knows that feeling. He feels it too, but he's waited too long for this – a kiss that he never thought he would be able to have – to be hesitant. His mouth swoops in on hers, his hands framing her face, fingers weaving into the hair at the back of her head. She leans into him; her hands climbing his chest to grip his shoulders and pull him closer. Tendrils of steam rise around them caressing the goosebumps that erupt down his arms. He licks the seam of her mouth. She grants him entrance, a small moan forming in the back of her throat as their tongues touch. A shudder runs through him. He slants his head deepening the kiss, his hand sliding from her face to her hip. Her movements are clumsy and unpracticed, but she quickly catches on. The noise from the water disappears from his ears. He can't hear anything, see anything, feel anything, but her. A sound like a half-groan, half-growl rumbles in his chest when her fingers find the back of his head, tugging lightly on the ends of his hair. He feels surrounded by her. The taste, the smell, the noises he pulls from her, the softness of her body against his. He knows that this will be over too soon. In an instant, her lips will be gone, and he may never hold her like this again. So, he relishes it all, devotes it all to memory. He paints the moment in his mind. A piece of her, of them that he will never lose. In all the kisses he's had to give, or he's had taken from him, they've never made him feel this way. This kiss wipes away all of the others. This kiss makes him feel alive. It makes him want to live.

He replays the kiss over and over on the train, what he wishes he could've said or done differently, the way she looked after, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her dark eyelashes fanning her cheeks. The way she was reluctant to leave. He has to make sure he sees her again. He'll talk with Haymitch and find out what he knows. He wants to be a part of this rebellion too. If it is like Katniss said and his appearance in the Games have started uprisings, then it shouldn't be hard for the rebellion to accept him or use him how they need. He won't be able to walk away from the prostitution, which is gut-wrenching, but knowing that she's there for him is enough to get him through this. It can't last forever. He'll make sure it won't.

As soon as the train arrives he makes his way to the bakery. Katniss has taken up a lot of his thoughts, but he still hasn't forgotten about what he said in his interview and the punishment that is sure to follow. Surprisingly, he finds that nothing has changed aside from Rye's announcement that he and his wife are expecting their first child. Peeta smiles at his brothers and father. He congratulates Rye's wife and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looks at what's left of his family and it's like waiting for a bomb to go off. He doesn't know whether to warn them or what to even warn them about. His interview had been heavily edited by the time it reached Twelve and they have no idea what he's done, how much danger he's put them in.

When it all becomes too much, he makes his way back to his massive, empty house. The rooms smell stale and unused. Dust lays thick on all the surfaces. He thinks about what it would be like if Katniss were here with him. There would be life in this dark, musty, cavernous home. She would've caught something in the woods for dinner and come walking through the door with it. He would wrinkle his nose at the bloody creature and she would laugh and tease him. The kitchen would be well-lit and warm and smell of baked goods. The furniture and rooms would look lived in and smell of them: yeast, dill, cinnamon, sugar, wildflowers, and pine.

He exhales and shakes the thought from his head. But he doesn't miss the look on Haymitch's face when he walks through the door to find the surfaces clean, the kitchen well-lit, Peeta's forearms dusted in flour, and the smell of fresh bread floating in the air.

Haymitch still stays and watches him, worries about him. Peeta desperately wants the chance to talk to him and decides to accompany Haymitch on his next walk to the Hob. Surely Snow isn't eavesdropping on the entire district and they can find a safe space to speak freely away from Victor's Village.

He doesn't get the chance before everything changes. He stands with Haymitch in his living room and watches the president's announcement. He sees the white card with the embossed 75 imprinted on one side. The breath he is holding leaves him in a rush of air, like a punch to the gut, as he hears the word's the president says.

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels of the true power and glory of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from a pool of all eligible district citizens ages twelve through eighteen regardless of prior Hunger Games victories or other exemptions. There will be no volunteers."

As the words leave Snow's mouth, he knows. This is his punishment. This is how Snow intends to do away with him, to quash an uprising and end a rebellion. He will return to the arena and he won't be alone because Snow knows about Katniss. Peeta is sure of it. His punishment isn't to die in the Games as he should've done the first time. It's to lose her completely because Katniss will be reaped, and Snow will make sure that her death is slow and painful, and he will make sure that Peeta is there to witness it.

A/N: The next chapter is in Katniss's POV and will include the reaping.

I hope this lived up to expectations. I rewrote this chapter so many times with Peeta learning about Katniss in several different ways, but ultimately, I realized that Peeta is smart and if he is given enough clues he will figure it out on his own. So, I went with that.

I'm posting this a little earlier than I expected to because I'm still on vacation and internet isn't the greatest. I hope to have the next chapter up by Sunday when I'm back home and away from the chaos *I mean complete relaxation* of vacationing with two small children.

Thank you all so very much for reading!

The lyrics at the top are from Wicked Games by Chris Issak.