Chapter 8: Would You Like to Stay for Dinner?

The morning of the 71st Victory Tour, I hike up the slight slope just beyond the fence to find what looks to be a mini-version of Gale standing beside my hunting partner. Our little guest appears to have been bundled up a bit too much, a threadbare muffler wrapped around his neck and reaching up nearly to the tip of his nose.

I frown in bemusement while I turn up the collar of my own worn hunting jacket. "Gale? What's this all about? And which one is it?" I sometimes slip up on telling Gale's two little brothers apart – much to Prim's annoyance, though I have a feeling it's due to a little crush on Rory Hawthorne more than anything else.

"It's Vick," Gale states.

"I'mmmm Vimmmmmmm!" Vick indignantly tries to call out from under the scarf, though much of the cloth muffles him.

"We're taking him with us," my hunting partner explains.

I arch a surprised eyebrow. "Why? Need I remind you the last time we brought one of your brothers into the woods?" Just after the Games last summer, Gale and I decided that in order to shake off the queasy post-mortem effects of this year's arena, we should attempt to teach Rory how to hunt. It was a disaster.

"That was Rory. Vick might take to it better. We'll make a hunter out of you, boy," and he playfully ruffles his hair. It's an affectionate side that Gale rarely shows anyone, and while it is nice to see, the point still remains.

"If Rory couldn't hack it, Vick won't! The kid's only 7!"

Vick yanks down his scarf so that his mouth is visible. "I won't always be!" he feels the need to remind me. Then he stares up at me with adoring eyes.

There is an awkward pause as I smile down at him, feeling the urge to pat him on the head. I've never had a boy crush on me before, and certainly no one this little. I wouldn't even know the first thing about reading any of the signs – the signs that a boy likes you; Delly and Madge say there are ways to tell. But Vick is pretty obvious about it, and considering that it's schoolboy puppy love on his part, I have to confess it's adorably sweet.

If only Peeta were so obvious…. I shake my head to clear it. What am I saying? Peeta probably doesn't have a crush on me at all! Still…. there was that moment just after the Reaping last summer when I was sure….

I put it out of my mind, marching for the treeline determinedly. If we aim to make a hunter out of another Hawthorne, I personally think we have our work cut out for us…. unless Vick is anything like Gale, rather than Rory, and becomes a natural. I'm inclined to doubt this. "Keep up with me, boys!" I call over my shoulder. I can hear their treads following me into the woods, and amidst this undercurrent of peaceful sound, I swear I hear Gale whispering to his baby brother, "These Everdeen girls are going to be the death of us."

We start small, with simple snares. When Vick actually manages to make the slip knot snare I show him on only the second try, I start to breathe a little. Maybe this won't be a pointless exercise after all…. The morning's still young, though….

We work our way up to tracking scat and prints. The trail we're following actually leads us to a badger, ruffling in the dirt by a hole that must be his den.

I turn to Gale. "Give me the bow."

He frowns but does as I ask. When he sees me guide Vick's hands around the bowstring, he weakly pipes up, "Are you sure about this?"

"I am," I state, smiling down at Vick encouragingly. My confidence in him causes him to beam. "Now," I whisper in his ear. "Line up your shot. String it." He does near perfectly.

"Aim just below his head." He adjusts, wobbling slightly, and I correct it. "Exhale."

"You mean breathe? Why would I do that?" Vick asks, not quite sotte voce, and Gale shushes him. The badger pauses in its digging, but then resumes after a moment.

"To center yourself. Healthy breathing calms you down," I explain. "Re-check your aim. And…. release."

With me guiding him, the arrow flies truer than it otherwise might have, but even then, I'm not doing much. The arrow's tip pierces the badger's skull and it falls forward.

I beam. "Very good, Vick! We'll make a hunter out of you yet!"

Vick is jubilant. "Thanks, Katniss!" Then, because we're huddled so close, he cheekily dives in for a kiss. I turn my head so he gets my cheek, chuckling.

Moving apart, I feel Gale lean into me and whisper, "I think you've got an admirer."

I wipe the kiss off my cheek when Vick's back is turned, even while I swat at Gale. "Shut up," I mutter.

Gale's eyes dance with amusement as he checks the pattern of the sun. "We'd better head back. Mandatory attendance will be in the Sqaure in the next few hours."

We cross the Meadow and the fence, heading for the Hob. Gale and I let Vick have his victory by announcing to Greasy Sae that he felled the badger. When the old stew lady hands him a more generous amount of coin than she otherwise would afford to let go, Vick seems stunned as he weighs the currency in his hand.

"Can I keep it?" he excitedly babbles to his brother.

"Some of it," Gale compromises. "Coin like that could be put towards something really useful that we need."

As the Hawthorne boys debate what to do with their new windfall of cash, I feel a presence behind me. "Someone seems to be having fun…" a voice murmurs low in my ear.

I spin around, tucking my braid behind my ear to find it is the handsome, redheaded Peacekeeper who arrived on the train about a year ago. I've seen him haunting the Hob and the Square since then, but we've never spoken.

The Peacekeeper must take my startled reaction for fear, for he laughs and raises his hands in supplication. "Relax. I'm just posted here. No one's cracking down." The dealing we do in the Hob is technically illegal, but Cray has largely let the black market flourish unchecked. This is probably because he likes to sample the wares we traffic in, never mind how they might have been obtained. "One of my buddies tried to arrest someone here for poaching, and Cray actually made the point to discipline him."

I smile in amusement at the story. "You fresh cadets will learn our ways soon enough."

"I'm beginning to come around to that opinion," the Peacekeeper smiles brightly. I have to admit, I like his smile. It's quite lovely. He throws out a hand. "Darius Freeman, Peacekeeper."

I shake. "Katniss Everdeen…. occupation yet-to-be-determined."

"Aside from huntress, I presume?" I nod slowly, still wary about even so much as admitting what I do to feed my family. "I've heard about you. From some of the veteran boys. Just never had a chance to come up and say hello."

I curl into myself shyly. "Thanks," I mumble. I peer at him curiously. "Aren't you a little young to be a Peacekeeper….?"

"Catnip!" I turn to see Gale watching my exchange with Darius Freeman and frowning, leery.

"Gotta go," I turn back apologetically.

"Maybe I'll see you around. Then I can tell you just what I'm doing here, what with my youthful looks you just pointed out." Darius winks at me and saunters away.

As I hurry back to the Hawthorne boys and we leave the Hob, Gale hisses low to me, "What did he want?" His tone is distrustful.

"Just to say hello. He made a point of telling me he wasn't casing the joint for a crackdown," I shrug.

Gale isn't assuaged. "He seemed awfully friendly," he frowns hard. "Be wary of officers like that, Catnip. They tend to want to get fresh with district women."

I laugh. "I think I can handle myself," I assure him. And I can – if my forced Reaping Kiss with Rafe Cronin taught me anything, it's how to stand up for myself.

There is a stream of people coming down the cobblestone streets, making their way to the Square. Gale, Vick and I join the throng, gathering in the open-air space which is only punctuated by two small stages erected in the middle. With a pang, I notice Rooba, the butcher, standing on one with her husband. On the other is Eva Marsh's family.

"Poor Rooba…." Gale shakes his head. "Did you know her boy?"

I nod. "We were…. acquaintances," I say guardedly. "Same year in school." I've never told Gale about Rafe kissing me untowardly the morning of last Reaping – he'd probably fly into a worse rage than Peeta did. My heart warms as I recall the protective anger Peeta felt towards me.

"Katniss!"

I turn. Speak of the devil.

Peeta has nudged his way through the crowd to stand behind us, smiling brightly. I grin back. "Hi, Peeta."

Gale is making that stupid face he does whenever he has to interact with Merchants. "Mellark," he nods.

"Hawthorne," Peeta nods cordially back. Then he glances down. "…. Small-ish Hawhorne." Though covered up once again by his muffler, I can almost feel Vick's frown.

I nudge my friend gently. "Shouldn't you be up there?" I point to the platform holding Rooba.

He shakes his head. "Nuclear family of the tributes only," he murmurs. "Even if we were required to, Mom would probably make a big stink about it." Behind me, I can sense Gale following the conversation with interest.

"You're related to Rooba?" he asks of Peeta suddenly.

"She's his aunt. Weren't you there with us that day Peeta joined us in the Hob?" I frown at my hunting partner. Gale bristles but doesn't say anything further.

A hush falls over the crowd, and then Mayor Undersee introduces the Victor of the 71st Hunger Games. Last summer, the thin girl who comes out would have been the last person I expected to take the Crown.

Johanna Mason is openly sneering as she reads some bullshit about honorable tributes that I know she doesn't believe herself. As she mentions Rafe Cronin's name, a jumbo screen replays my classmate's death in gruesome detail. Haymitch had been remarkably prescient in his lecture almost two years ago: Rafe was nothing but cannon bait. I watch all over again as the little 13-year-old has his neck snapped by the monstrous boy from 1. Back in the summer, still smarting over an unwanted kiss, I had felt a kind of sadistic relief at seeing Rafe meet his end. Now, I just feel sad, and a little angry, as I find myself glaring at Johanna, the Victor. She may not have killed him, but even so….

I feel a warm palm press against mine as Peeta searches for my hand. Without any discussion, I almost naturally lace my fingers through his. Coming only up to our chests, Vick notices the exchange and his eyes narrow into jealous slits. He's definitely frowning now. I resist the urge to giggle.

The replay of Eva Marsh's death is more brutal. She had actually made the Final Eight, with Johanna, about half of the Career pack still intact, and maybe two or three others. I had thought that if she outlasted the trio of surviving Careers, Eva might actually become a Victor and give us a badly-needed win almost in a walk. Now, as I watch, Johanna pops out of the darkness and hacks Eva's limbs off in a bloody fight. I had nearly screamed in utter shock when I realized who was killing her. This was the moment that everyone finally saw Johanna's true colors: she was not the sniveling weakling she had made herself out to be since the Reaping.

The Mandatory attendance ends and the crowd begins to disperse. It isn't until we've reached the edge of the Sqaure that Peeta and I realize we are still holding hands. We drop the connection with embarrassed smiles. I feel myself tuck my braid behind my ear again.

"I'd…. I'd better find Primrose and Mother. They should be here."

"Katniss!"

I turn back around at Peeta clutching my arm, to see that he's blushing. "Would…. would you like to come over tonight for dinner?"

I cock an eyebrow. "With your family?" I know his mother doesn't like me very much. And actually, that wasn't the question I wanted to ask: Like on a date? Is this a date?

Peeta seems to be thinking similar to me, for he turns even redder. "I'd make sure my mom behaves herself."

I tilt my head as I study him, sizing him up. Finally, I nod. "Yes. Pick me up at seven." And I dash into the crowd to find my mother and sister.

I'm curled into myself so much, I feel almost like a ball, my hands folded in my lap, my head bowed, very subdued. I am trying to be as ladylike as I can, for I can feel the Witch's judgmental eyes on me like those of a hawk.

I had spent way too much time trying to pick out what I was going to wear. It's not like I have many outfits to begin with, and even less that are nice, but Primrose had helped me and insisted that I look my best in my blue Reaping dress. The Witch would have probably had a fit had I shown up in my hunting jacket, pants and boots.

"So….. Katniss…." I lift my head at the Witch's question, resisting the urge to wince. "What do you… want to do when you come of age?" I can sense the passive-aggressive tone the way a bloodhound senses fresh meat.

The Baker chuckles. "Now, Miriam, she and Peeta aren't even 14. They have a few years yet to figure it out." He sends me a kind smile, and I smile weakly back. Seated next to me, Peeta sends me a smile of his own, tinged with mortified apology.

The dinner finally ends, the Witch not even staying to help clear the dishes. Peeta's brother, Rye, nudges my shoulder.

"Can you come to dinner every night, Everdeen? The look on Mom's face alone was worth more than the meal!"

"Oh, so you want us to have a shouting match over dinner guests every night?" Leven thwaps Rye upside the back of the head. Beside me, Peeta is cringing again. Finally, he asks:

"Papa, can I walk Katniss home?"

"Of course, son. That's the gentlemanly thing to do." He winks at us both. "Don't dawdle, now. Have her home by a reasonable hour."

Peeta holds the door for me, ushering me out into the cold. He even plucks a coat from the rack on our way out and drapes it over my shoulders. I smile at him softly. It's a nippy night, being the middle of winter and all, but with him here, I hardly feel the cold.

"Did your family really have an argument over my coming here tonight?" I murmur to him quietly, feeling bad.

"More like it was Mom throwing a tantrum and the rest of us just yelling at her," Peeta snorts bitterly, kicking at a snowdrift. Next second, he howls in pain and hops around; I think he kicked a snow-covered rock by mistake. Even as I giggle, my heart twinges in concern.

"Are you OK?"

"It's not funny!" he grits through his teeth at me. Sighing, he walks on his left foot slowly, waiting for the ache to fade. "As I was saying, Mom's been in rare form all week. She wasn't happy that I invited you without permission, and so the rest of us just tag-teamed her, I guess."

I feel pink staining my cheeks. "Thanks for sticking up for me," I mumble. "Next time, why don't you cone over to my place for dinner?"

He grins at me, amused. "Is this about repaying debts again?" His tone is teasing.

"No," I find myself answering quite seriously. "It's because I want to. Have you over for dinner, I mean," I mumble.

We pause in the street for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes. Suddenly, the spell is broken by music and raucous laughter coming from across the way. We've stopped near the Hob, the old warehouse alive with lights.

"Is the Hob open this late?" Peeta frowns to me.

I gasp. "Oh, it's the New Year's Eve party!" I cry. I completely forgot that was tonight. Traditionally, the Seamers throw a party here to counter the function the Victor attends with District 12's elite in the Justice Building. I grab Peeta's hand and drag him behind me. "Come on!"

A fiddler is playing a lively tune and people are dancing when we walk in.

"There you are!" We turn to see Gale come dashing up. "Where have you been? And where are your Mom and Prim? Taking the night off?" He falters, pulling up short when he sees who I'm with. "What's Mellark doing here?"

I frown, hands on his hips. "His name is Peeta, and we just happened by. He was walking me home from having dinner…."

Gale frowns deeply. "He had you over for dinner?"

"Yeah. What's it to you, Gale? I don't know where your good mood ran off to, but you'd better go find it. It's probably with Vick somewhere."

Gale flinches at my harsh tone. "Vick's home, asleep," he mutters.

"Too right! This isn't any sort of place for a little one!" Darius Freeman's boisterous voice bellows towards us, followed by the rest of him. He's swaying slightly, and looks a little tipsy. He grins widely at me. "Well, if it isn't the lovely Miss Everdeen!"

Peeta nudges me slightly. "You know this guy?"

"He's one of the good ones…. I think," I whisper to him.

"Darius Freeman, Private First Class, at your service!" Darius juts out a hand to Peeta.

"Sir," Peeta shakes.

"And who might you be?"

"Peeta Mellark."

"Pleasure," Darius beams, his blue eyes scanning the room.

The four of us stand around awkwardly for a moment. It is Peeta who finally breaks the silence, when he actually turns to Gale and ask, "So, I hear you and Katniss were trying to teach Vick how to hunt. And it seemed to go well?"

Gale blinks, taken aback at Peeta's conversational tone. "Uh….. yeah. Better than I imagined, actually. We…. we'll need someone else to do the trapping in a few years, once I graduate and start work."

"Down in the mines?"

"Uh-huh."

I watch with mild fascination as Peeta and Gale lean against one stall, actually managing to carry on a proper, if slightly stilted, conversation. Left somewhat to ourselves, I turn to Darius and smile weakly.

"So….. you didn't answer my question from earlier. How come you're here, and not waiting to see if you'll be Reaped?" The man before me can't be older than 17.

Darius grins. "District 2, where I'm from, does things a little differently in regards to the Games. Every child is technically still eligible to be Reaped, but really, we undergo rigorous testing to measure our aptitude once we start school. People who test well in certain areas might be recommended to the Games Training Academy; others might be enrolled into the Peacekeeper Academy. My scores weren't high enough to be put on the fasttrack to be a Career, but I did test well enough to begin basic training as a Peacekeeper. Minimum age for deployment is 17; this is my first tour of duty."

I smile, intrigued. I didn't think Darius would openly discuss the Career training academies, which here in Twelve, have only ever been talked about as rumors. Training for the Games is technically illegal, but Districts 1, 2 and 4 always send in ruthless tributes anyway.

"How long will you be here for?"

"Unless something unforeseen happens, five years. I have to give at least twenty years to the State before I can retire."

"Well…. we're glad you're here." And I find, strangely, that I mean it. Darius isn't at all like the other cadets I know. He's friendly – maybe a little boyish, but he genuinely seems to want to help keep the peace here in Twelve.

"60….. 59….. 58…." People around us are beginning to shout. Midnight is near.

"Gonna kiss anyone when the clock hits twelve?" Darius murmurs to me.

I glance to him, startled a little. I feel my cheeks burn. It is a tradition to kiss someone when the clock hits midnight on New Year's Eve. I resist the urge to scowl at the thought: why does every tradition here in Twelve have to involve kissing? "Oh, I, uh….."

"It's up to you," he shrugs. "But, full disclosure: I have the best set of lips here in the district." He gives my braid a flirtatious flick with his palm. I twist away, almost shyly, and shock myself when I actually giggle a little.

"N-no, thank you," I stutter, smiling weakly. "I'm…. I'm a little bad at it. Kissing, I mean. I'm…. I'm sure you're not, but…." My voice trails off when I notice how both Peeta and Gale are watching us funny. Gale's eyes are black as coals and in slits; Peeta's forehead is creased with how hard he is frowning. I turn back to Darius. "And…. I have to go, actually." I jerk my thumb lamely at the door. "But it was nice to meet you, Darius. Happy New Year." With that, I practically lunge for Peeta and tug him back into the snow.

We walk the rest of the way to my house in silence. When Peeta finally drops me off at my door, I smile warmly at him. "Thank for walking me home," I murmur.

"You're welcome," he grins, scratching the back of his neck. "Hey, was that Peacekeeper looking to get a kiss from you?"

"Just for New Year's. Not a big deal," I shrug. "Just…. wasn't in the mood."

"Because of Rafe?" he asks gently.

I gulp, my grey eyes sparkling. "Partly," I whisper. The other part is something that I couldn't even begin to voice. The part that tells me I would much rather prefer to be kissing Peeta instead on New Year's Eve…. and at…. any other time, for that matter.

Peeta cocks his head. "Really? What's the other part?"

I'm as red as a cherry now, and not from the cold, as I duck my head down. When I lift it, I see that Peeta has stepped quite close to me. Before I can say anything….

His lips press into my forehead, then sweep down to ghost lightly over my cheek. "Good night, Katniss," he whispers. Then, he turns and hikes off into the flurries.

My skin is tingling from where his lips touched, as I gaze after him, my emotions a jumbled mess and my heart frolicking like a doe. "Good night…" I whisper to the wind.