Chapter 1: Tears Wash Away the Soot

I stumble away from the Justice Building, the streetlamps the only light piercing the dark night. I had gone slowly on my long walk from the shafts to the seat of District 12's government after being let off from my shift in the mines.

I had never wanted to work down in the mines. Not since the death of my father down in those very same depths when I was 11. For several years, I did all I could to avoid having to descend into that place of my nightmares. I hunted out in the woods beyond the district fence, to provide for my baby sister and my emotionally depressed mother. Making huntress my occupation brought in good game – and often coin with it, for I not only managed to feed my family, but a good portion of the Seam as well. It might have been a dishonorable profession at best (at least I didn't have to resort to becoming a whore, like all the girls at Head Peacekeeper Cray's door), an illegal one at worst, but the authorities looked the other way. Thus, I was able to elude the potential of donning a headlamp. A healthy fear of enclosed spaces (Primrose has a fancy medical term for it – claustrophobia) only helped matters. With hunting, and not mining, as my living, things worked out – for a while.

But then, last winter, just before the 3rd Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games, District 12's Peacekeeper Barracks were purged from top to bottom and replaced with new leadership. The new Head Peacekeeper, Thread, was ruthless and didn't take to poaching as kindly as his predecessor. The Hob black market where I used to deal in game was burned to the ground. The fence I used to wriggle under was restored to power, electrified twenty-four hours a day, every day. I might have been able to still traverse the fence if I leapt high and shimmied over on an overhanging branch, but Thread thought of this too – all trees on the opposite ends of the fence with branches that extended over were chopped down.

Suddenly, overnight, my only means of providing for my family was cut off. It only took a few weeks before starvation set in. A more desperate girl would have swallowed her pride and turned to prostitution, selling herself out to Cray. But I wasn't about to do that. I will never marry and I will especially never have children that the Capitol could send into the Games. I already have enough to worry about with my sister still having four Reapings to go. I at one point considered volunteering for the 76th Games during my last year of eligibility (the Quarter Quell twist from the year prior was such that it left me and Prim exempt) – perhaps I could make a go of it and become the Victor, seizing the riches so my mother, sister and I could get out of the Seam. I had the hunting skills to do it, but even so, I only had a 1-in-24 chance of coming back alive, representing a district that had only won twice in the past three-quarters of a century. Besides, if I died, I would be abandoning my family, damning them to destitution, if not death. So, this past summer, when I turned 18 and another girl was Reaped, I stayed silent.

I was too cowardly to sell my life to the Capitol. I was too proud to sell my body to a Peacekeeper's bed. But it turned out I was not too proud to risk my greatest fears and trudge forward to the Foreman's office and enlist as a miner. Taking tesserae to protect Primrose has only gone so far, and it means less now that I am aged out of the Reaping, and couldn't volunteer in my sister's stead should the worst happened even if I wanted to.

The pay in coin is by no means handsome, but it is about the same that I used to make bartering in the Hob on really good days. And coin like that can go far in buying meat from Rooba, the butcher. New shoes for Prim.

Or fresh bread from the Bakery.

I am trudging, still exhausted from the backbreaking work I went through down in the tight darkness, the tesserae sack hanging limp in my fist. I nearly come to a complete stop at the entrance to the alley which I know leads to the back loading dock of the Bakery. I lift my head from under my mining headlamp to stare into the gloom. I used to trade squirrel there with the Baker, a kindly man; some days, it would be his youngest son – the really strong and handsome one – who would greet me.

Suddenly, a flood of golden light illuminates this rear alley, and I stumble back from the edge of its glow, trying to keep to the shadows of this district and my shame. I don't retreat far enough, though.

"Katniss?"

The Baker's youngest boy – Peeta (who pauses after dumping out the trash in a silver bin) – drifts closer when our eyes happen to lock. He smiles hesitantly. "Is that you? What are you doing out here?" It would be hard for anyone to realize it is me under the soot and coal dust that still covers my face. Only the diminished and slight curves in my body would give it away.

I am inexplicably drawn into the light from the Bakery's back loading dock until Peeta and I are standing quite close. There is a SLAM as the bakery's rear door finally closes shut on a timer, plunging this boy and I back into darkness, broken only by the stars above and the light from my headlamp.

I can't bear to look at the kind face of this boy – my same age, shared classes together in school, though we've never spoken outside of the perfunctory questions when I was still trading. Still, I do make eye contact, though just barely and enough to marvel at how blue his eyes are, even in this dim light.

I can tell from Peeta's expression that he's recognized my attire. His face has fallen in sympathy, and something else I can't place. It might be deep concern, though the fear is unusually high for it to just be something so gentlemanly. "Didn't know you had gone into the mines."

I feel the sting a tear blazing a track of pale skin from under my dusted face, washing away a miniscule amount of the soot. "Haven't… haven't been able to hunt game in over a year. There's barely any tesserae! Little water, too…"

Peeta looks crestfallen for me, which makes me bristle. I don't need his pity! Then:

"Would you like some bread?" I register his hand holding out a fresh loaf. I can feel its warmth from here; he must have just gotten it out of the oven. I don't have the energy to shake my head, as much as I might want to. I don't take charity! But then Peeta is pressing the loaf into my hand, and I scoop it against my chest.

I start to cry harder now, more tears tracks washing the soot from my face, though not nearly enough. "You shouldn't be so kind to me!" I weep, shaking my head. "Not with how I've failed!"

"You haven't failed…."

"Yes, I have!" I cry, gesturing to myself, my work attire of rags and a dented helmet. "I never wanted to work in the mines! They take very few women to work the tunnels as it is! But I enlisted because I didn't have any other choice!"

"Katty…."

"Low and nasty apparel, and I…."

I feel electricity suddenly surge into my fingertips as Peeta takes my hand not cradling the bread in his. "Katniss, you are not a failure, no matter what you have to do to take care of Prim. I've…." And a blush creeps onto his neck. "I've been watching you since school, and you wanna know what I saw? A girl I respected. I still do."

I gaze at him, gawping. And then suddenly I feel large, strong arms steal about my waifish waist and his warm, firm lips are on mine.

My mouth falls open as I gasp in shock, the split granting entrance to Peeta's tongue so it can twine about mine. I feel his calloused hand reach up to cup my cheek, tilting my face up and back as he kisses me again, deeper this time – tilted so far that my helmet flops off my head and plops into the dirt behind me. The bulb from my headlamp winks out, so that only the stars illuminate our stolen kiss. My one palm goes slack so that my tesserae sack falls from my grip, to join the helmet abandoned at my feet. Stunning myself, I don't push Peeta Mellark away. Instead, my fingers curl into fists along his planed, toned chest, gripping the fabric of his tunic as I clutch him close and kiss him back. My lashes flutter as my eyelids swoon shut and I let out a purr of pleasure at my first kiss.

"Mmmmmhmmm…."

When Peeta and I finally break apart, I stagger back out of our hurried embrace. Through my swollen and very kissed lips, I splutter out something that might be a Thank You, before turning tail and running.

I would have left my mining helmet lying there in the dust if I didn't nearly trip over it in my retreat. And I'll need it for work tomorrow, anyhow.