Chapter 3: Training and Interviews

"Who do you think the kids' mentor is over there?"

Gale and I are in the woods, tracking some scat – we think the droppings might belong to a raccoon, which would bring a fine pelt from the game alone. It's the middle of the morning the day after the chariot parade. I barely refrain from scowling at my hunting partner's question. With Prim and Rory now in Training, cameras aren't allowed in the Training Center, so we have no Mandatory Viewing for the next three days. I had been hoping to savor it for the break it has usually been in past years. Except I know, with my sister's involvement, I won't be able to.

I step over a fallen long, and the extended motion makes my muscles of my inner thighs clench slightly, and I wince. Peeta woke me up with quite the kiss good morning, quickly followed by a round of lovemaking that had him pounding me into the mattress, in the hour before dawn.

Gale doesn't appear to notice my discomfort, either physically or emotionally. "I'm just saying, if a district has no living Victor, what the fuck are the kids supposed to do? Ol' Abernathy may have been useless, but at least he was there. A body was there anyway…. Lucy Gray, too. How are Rory and Prim…?"

"I don't know!" I huff. "I suppose Effie Trinket will coach them?"

At this, Gale sends me a look of horrified amusement. "Oh, Snow's Roses, they're doomed if that's the case!" I cringe again. I have as little faith in our district escort as anyone, but…

A slight pause as Gale contemplates. "Hang on: maybe not. Didn't Teacher always say in Hunger Games History that a mentor could be taken out on loan if a district didn't have one…?"

"Oh, Snow's Roses, Gale, can we please just stop talking about this?!" I caustically bite, nerves absolutely frayed.

Gale studies me, wide-eyed, for a moment, before nodding his head. "Sure, Catnip. Whatever you say." We stalk on in silence for a time. "I guess we just have different ways of coping," he finally ponders aloud. "You can't talk about it, whereas I can't stop talking about it. If I don't keep Rory in my head…"

"Uh-huh," I grunt, forcing the matter to drop again. In truth, I feel the same way about Prim.

Gale's bow suddenly comes up lightning-fast, and my eyes are behind in following the trajectory of his released arrow. Its' mark is true, felling the raccoon we've been trailing with a yowl. Gale unemotionally wanders over to his kill and picks it up by the tail.

I smile softly, realizing how much I've missed this. Gale and I used to be closer and hunt together more frequently. But then there came… that little misunderstanding, and we grew apart for a time. After he started work in the mines and I married, the opportunity for us to go hunting together has been extremely rare. Circumstances aligned on this mid-weekday because Gale's digging crew got cycled off main rotation.

"Just as we hoped! A fine pelt!" Gale lifts his head to grin at me. "If we skin it, I'll take the meat, you take the furs?"

"Sure," I shrug. "But maybe split the meat. Peeta noticed our icebox is running low."

"You got it." And we set to work. Gale uses his knife to separate the fur from the meat with the steady hand of an artist. It reminds me of my husband, and how he sometimes is with paints. Peeta has a small studio set aside in what might have once been a powder room, just off of our kitchen. I give him his space in those spare moments when he paints, knowing he sometimes prefers the quiet, but he's shown me his work. It's quite good, and, I note with a slight blush, mostly pictures of me. A truly lifelike portrait he did of us on our wedding day I insisted on hanging over the mantle. It's the only painting Peeta's agreed to display in the house.

"Best start heading back…" Gale muses, shaking me out of my revelry. The bounty has been divided. He smirks slightly, obviously having caught me daydreaming. "You got work down at the cobbler's shop, right?"

I nod. Mr. Cartwright is one of the few Merchants Gale and I have traded with, other than the Bakery. The arrangement usually involved providing pelts the Seam furrier or Greasy Sae didn't want, which could then be used to make leather for shoes. Back when Peeta and I were first dating, Mr. Cartwright completely took me aback one day when he offered me a job learning how to make shoes. I work there part-time now, alongside his daughter, Delly, a friend of my husband's. One day soon, it is understood that I will actually inherit the business. Delly will hopefully stay on to help, though she's kept plenty busying assisting her husband, the son of the Town florist.

Gale and I emerge from the treeline and cross the Meadow, wriggling under the district fence. We're barely in the shadow of Victors' Hill, where Victors' Village and their abandoned villas sit, when I suddenly see the bright blonde curls of my husband bouncing towards us. Peeta slows out of a light jog when he gets to us.

"Hi."

"Hi," I chirp. Pulling each other close, we kiss firmly. Gale glances away politely. "Why aren't you at the Hob?"

"Left Sae…. to watch the stall," Peeta waves away, still getting air. "You two… aren't going to like this…"

I frown prettily, leery. "Peeta…" My voice is laced with warning.

"I think…. I just saw… a gaggle of Townie girls wearing T-shirts with your sister and your brother's…" he points to me and Gale in turn. "… faces on them."

Gale's face is a storm cloud of emotions. "T-shirts?" He spluttered. "What the fuck for?"

"Language," I chide automatically.

"How should I know? All I can figure is that everyone in the Capitol is wanting to matchmake Prim and Rory together. These girls I saw were saying they got the shirts from the city, express delivery. They're selling like hotcakes out there!"

I pale a little bit. On the one hand, Rory might be thrilled, if he knows of this. Primrose might be too, though she'd be more muted about it. For his part, Gale looks slightly annoyed, even as he tries to laugh it off.

"There've been flings in the arena before. This fad will be no different."

Peeta lifts his head from where he's been bracing it on his knees, shaking it. "Not like this. The pairing off of tributes has never happened like this. I think how Rory was holding Prim at the chariot parade has ignited this whole narrative about some doomed romance in the arena."

My brain is spinning. Peeta is right – the presentation of two tributes, two district partners, as such a singular unit has never happened before. And certainly never in an amorous context. But now that it's happening, running away from all of us, maybe… maybe it's something Prim and Rory can use.

"I wish I could talk to them – either of them. If this narrative is building up around them, maybe they could make it work to their advantage."

Gale nods. "Rory's a smart lad. So is your Primmy. No doubt they'll come up with something on their own."

I glance to the sun, and realize I'm late. "I have to get to work!" Quickly, I transfer my rucksack over to my husband. "There's meat in there for our icebox. And the pelt – think you can haggle a good price for it when you get back to the Hob?"

"Sure thing, Katty girl!"

Mashing his face in my hands, I kiss him soundly on the mouth. "You're wonderful," I murmur along his lips, before turning tail and running. "I love you!" I cast over my shoulder.

I manage to arrive at the shoe shop with only seconds to spare, nodding to Mr. Cartwright.

"Morning, Katty…" Delly beams at me brightly, as we sit down together behind the workbench. I simply nod in greeting, causing my best girlfriend to study me sympathetically. "You seem quiet. Feeling anxious about Prim?"

I nod wordlessly again. "The heat doesn't help," I mumble.

She grins in agreement and we set to work.

The evening after the third day of Training, Peeta, Mother and I have to rejoin the Hawthornes on that scaffolding overlooking the Square. The place is abuzz as Caesar Flickerman begins to read the training score returns.

The half-dozen Careers all predictably score between 8s and 10s. After that, it's low to medium for the kiddies, whose pictures look practically babyish flashed up onscreen. The only exception is one of the solitary pair of 15-year-olds, the boy from 7, who nabs a…. well, 7.

"And now we have the truly striking Primrose Everdeen. With a score of…"

Something is off about Caesar Flickerman. He's lifting the square of paper in front of him, holding it to the light, turning it this way and that, as if he can't quite believe what is written there.

"…. 11!"

I levitate nearly halfway out of my seat with a shriek of shock. Gripping my chin, turning me to him, Peeta suddenly kisses me exuberantly…. right at the moment that the cameras are broadcasting reaction shots from the families and our Square. I twist away, spluttering even while laughing gaily.

"Peeta!" I giggle at my husband's very public ardor, my face completely pink. On his other side, Gale snickers.

"And finally, we have the strapping Rory Hawthorne, with a score of…" Another pause. "Well, this is truly historic folks: an unprecedented and perfect score of 12."

Gale leaps to his feet with a growling shout of victory. "Yeah! Get 'em, kid!"

My jaw is on the floor in disbelief. I turn to Gale, peppering him with questions. "Did…. did you…?"

He nods, grinning smugly. "Yeah, I did…"

"So then Rory must have…."

"Uh-huh." I sit back, satisfied, my body once again overflowing with hope. I always knew Rory wanted to follow in his big brother's footsteps. Be a man, like him. What I hadn't expected was that Gale had somehow found the time to teach Rory all he knew about bows.

The next night is the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. I don't really pay attention until District 12 is called. The Careers are ho-hum, strutting and expecting the Victors' Crown, particularly the girl from 4, Tsunami. Her skin, the color of creamed coffee, glitters under the studio lights. Everyone else is forgettable cannon fodder, though the boy from 7 who scored decently is quite the comedian.

I suck in a breath when Primrose is called forward onto the stage. Tears prick at my eyes when I see how her stylist has turned her into a princess. She wears a pink dress that contrasts nicely with her golden hair, curled into ringlets. She looks so… grown-up.

Beside me, Peeta whistles. I hit him on the arm, causing him to bust up into laughter, even as he shakes his head. Turning to me, he smiles at me sadly. "Where did the years go, huh?"

My grey orbs twinkle back. "Where, indeed?" Lacing my fingers through his and squeeze. "You remember how she didn't even come up to your chest when you danced with her at our wedding?"

"She was just on the cusp of her growth-spurt then."

"Ssssh!" Gale hisses to us. We nearly miss Caesar's first question:

"…. What do you like about the Capitol?"

"The beauty," Prim supplies readily. "The architecture is beautiful, the people here are beautiful." She shrugs. "What else can be said, really?"

Caesar's grin is dazzling; he seems quite taken with her. "Isn't she just lovely, folks?" The crowd screams assent. "Now, Prim – or do you prefer to go by Primrose?"

Prim shrugs again. "Either is fine. Although my sister is the one who usually calls me Prim."

"Ah, yes, your sister! Let's run with that thread while we're on it, and then we'll circle back! We've seen quite a few reaction shots of her since the Reaping. This is her, right?" And an inset clip is suddenly showing Peeta and I kissing after her training score was announced last night. "She looks just as attractive as you. And that boyfriend…."

"Husband," Prim corrects. "My brother-in-law."

"Oh, so she's married, then?"

Prim beams with love and pride. "Four years now. Their anniversary is later this month."

"Well, you seem awfully young to even be an in-law! Any nieces or nephews? With how passionate those two get, I'm almost afraid to ask!" The studio audience yuk-yuks like seals.

My dimples are hurting from how hard I wince, cheeks aflame, and I want to bury my face in my blue skirts. "We're not that bad in public, are we?" I turn to my husband almost fretfully. He smiles sheepishly.

"Oh, trust me, Mellark…" And Gale leans all the way around Peeta while invoking my married name. "You really are that bad!"

I gawp. "Shut up!"

"All right, now let's circle back to that Training Score of yours. Any hints as to how you got it? 11s are rare, you know. You're only the… tenth tribute to manage it in Games history, did I get that right?" He turns out to the camera; a line of text at the bottom of the screen confirms that, yes, in fact, Primrose Everdeen is only the tenth person to draw an 11, and only the third non-Career tribute to do so.

Prim grins coyly. "A district lady never tells, Caesar."

"Fair enough, fair enough!" Caesar concedes, to applause. "Now, Prim, one last thing: if you win…. What do you plan on doing? Besides mentoring future Twelve tributes?"

"I was training under my mother to be a Healer before I was Reaped. That's like a district doctor," she explains out to the audience, eliciting Awws and murmurs. "I'd probably return home and set up my own practice…. and also spoil rotten any hypothetical nieces or nephews or mine!" She grins impishly, appearing to look directly at Peeta and me.

Peeta lets out a shocked chortle. "She's really escalating the pressure campaign, isn't she?" At my left, I sense Mother turning to study us curiously, and I decide to head her off.

"I'm not pregnant, Mama."

She hisses through her teeth, muttering something like, "No one's asking if you are…"

The buzzer is sounding and Prim is retaking her seat to cheers, where she's quickly replaced by Rory.

"Rory Hawthorne, ladies and gentlemen: the first tribute to score a 12 in history! You know, Rory, my lad, you would think that in 80 years, someone would have already scored perfect in Training, but it took you – a handsome fellow from District 12 – to shatter that most elusive of records. How do you feel?"

Rory smugly smirks. "Someone had to be the first, Caesar. I'm just pumped it was me!"

"Too right! Doesn't he just radiate power, folks?" Cheers, mixed in with some fangirl shrieks. My eyes shift to find Prim in her seat in the background; I can barely tell from this distance, but she looks almost peeved. "Tell me about your family, Rory: any siblings?"

"Two brothers – one older, one younger. And my baby sister."

"A quartet! That's quite a brood! And this oldest brother – is he married too?" Laughter erupts.

Rory's eyes dance. "Not that I know of." The laugher takes on a shocked tone.

"So no nieces and nephews for you?"

Rory's grin is now positively wolfish. "Again, not that I know of." The audience is howling. Peeta wipes a jovial tear from his eye.

"He's really taking the mickey out of you, eh, Gale?"

My hunting partner merely hunches forward, teeth grinding. "Smart-ass little shit…" My chest bubbles with contained giggles, and I smirk, amused.

There are more fangirl shrieks, punctuated by someone chanting something out in the studio's darkness that we can't quite make out. Even Caesar has to cock his ear and listen, his bright face sparkling.

"What's that now?" The chanting is picked up, growing louder and slightly clearer. "Ah, yes! Inquiring minds want to know, Rory: do you have a girlfriend back home?"

Rory cages. "I think so, Caesar…"

"Really? You sound awfully unsure. Do you mean to say you think you have a girlfriend? Or you think she's at home? Losing a girl is one thing, young man, but misplacing her – now that takes talent!"

Rory guffaws. Caesar joins him, glancing down and shaking his head… and then something seems to catch the host's eye.

"Rory… what's that in your pocket?"

"What, this?" Rory digs out the engagement ringbox with an innocence that may or may not be feigned. Happy screams go up. Caesar claps a hand over his heart.

"Oh, my stars… Rory…. I'm flattered, but I don't think we know each other that well."

Rory snorts. "Not you, fool!" The laughter is grating, it's so loud. "This…. I've saved up my allowance for years to get this ring. We have a tradition in Twelve, the eighteen-year-olds, that once you age out of the Reaping, you find your girlfriend and propose. There are a lot of summer weddings back home."

People sigh with sympathy. Caesar is biting his lip. "Except you were Reaped, Rory."

"Oh, trust me, I know. I didn't know what I was supposed to do with this once I was in the Justice Building. But then I figured I'd use it as my district token."

"Well, that's a great idea! Something to carry you through until you can get back to your hopefully fiancé when you get home."

Now it's Rory's turn to bite his lip, glancing down bashfully at his feet. He's actually great at this stuff. "I didn't say she was waiting at home, Caesar…" His voice is quite small.

A gasp goes up through not only the studio audience, but everyone watching here at home, as well. I clutch at Peeta's arm. Even though I had already been briefed on his intentions, I didn't think….

Caesar looks somewhere between flabbergasted, delighted and shattered, and he turns back to look at Prim. "You mean….?"

The camera zooms in on my sister, whose jaw is unhinged nearly on the floor. Her entire face is burning up, and she's blinking rapidly.

"Well… well, that's just bad luck…" Caesar mumbles. A few people in the darkness give agonized cries. Here in Twelve, a gaggle of pre-tweenies are shrieking and sobbing. "I knew it!" one of them hollers.

"Yeah, it is," Rory nods sadly.

"Oh, wouldn't you love to just get the little lady up here for a response?" The crowd is practically manic in their demanding for such a live moment. "Sadly, rules are rules and Primrose Everdeen's time has been spent." The buzzer sounds. "Rory Hawthorne! District 12! And I think I speak for all of Panem when I say: our hearts go with yours."

The audience doesn't stop applauding for twenty minutes. By the time Peeta and I are leaving the Square for home in a daze, the pundits are already referring to Rory and my sister as 'The Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12.'

Back in our bedroom, Peeta and I prepare for sleep silently. I undo my braid and spend extra time combing through the chestnut tresses with my brush.

Does my sister return Rory's feelings? Even without how she returned his Reaping Kiss and confessed that she loved him, I've always expected she has. Would she accept his proposal, if asked? Even as her sister, who knows her better than anyone, I still can't be sure. Primmy's always been focused on her career. I know she's wanted to eventually get married, ever since she was a little girl, but her apprenticeship under Mother has made her practical, and patient enough to wait. I always thought such an outlook was rational, mature, and I've inwardly praised her for not jumping into things.

Rising from my vanity, I change into my nightdress, and climb into bed beside my husband, resting my head on his chest. It's funny, how Prim and I have had such different ideas about love and marriage growing up. I once never expected to marry, had no desire to… only to then happily wed the man I love mere months after my 18th birthday. Peeta and I had quite a bittersweet and strange path to becoming husband and wife. I can only hope that Rory and Prim have less bumps towards happily ever after. Wait: what am I saying? There won't be a happily ever after for either of them, because at least one of them will have to die! Nuzzling my nose into Peeta's sleep shirt, I weep quietly.

"There, there…." Peeta strokes my hair. "Don't cry, Katty girl… They're going to be fine… They're going to be fine…"

I whimper. "You can't know that."

"True. I can't. But I do know anyway."

Tilting my face up, I tenderly press my lips to his, moved to tears at how comforting and supportive my lover is. I smile weakly, wetly.

"Good night, Mr. Mellark. I love you."

Peeta grins. "I love you too, Mrs. Mellark. But if you are amenable, I don't think we should go to sleep just yet."

I snuggle in closer. "And just what did you have in mind, my love?"

The answer comes when I feel a pair of lips now dipping a kiss into the curve of my neck.

Peeta sharply rolls me over onto my back, and I stare in shock at how he hovers above me, the moonlight accentuating his silvery eyes that now seem to smolder. Gulping, I feel him press against me, and then I let out a gasp when I feel strong fingers push back the hem of my nightgown, push it up over my hips.

A large, strong set of fingers sink into the folds of my feminine beauty, and I feel dampness gather despite my lack of arousal.

Peeta dips his head down to mine and kisses me fiercely, and I sink into it. With his free hand, he dares to reach out and gallingly cup my right breast; his other hand is still palming my heat, stroking me, grooming me.

"Mmmmhmmmmm…." I make a pleased noise in the back of my throat, and I yield. Peeta squeezes my right breast again, causing the nipple to harden in the cool, late spring air. Rather sharply, my husband yanks down the bodice of my nightshirt to bare my breasts, and his mouth switches from ravaging mine to sucking on my left nipple, making the bud ache.

And then… I feel a bloated thing push into my vagina and I cry out at the sensation of a man filling me.

Peeta pauses inside me for a moment or two, focused on kissing and fondling my breasts, before he then begins to thrust inside me. The bedsprings creak and strain underneath our undulating bodies, the headboard smacking against the wall of rotting wood, plastered by clay.

"Fuck, fuck…. Urrrr…. Grrrrr…." Peeta grunts with pleasure into the sweaty curve of my neck again. All I can do is grip his back and hold him close to me as he takes me, fucks me. I pass the time of our frantic coupling by staring at the ceiling, counting the ceiling tiles, trying not to make a sound even as moans and noises of bliss are torn from my lips.

I whine as Peeta pounds me into the mattress.

"Ummmmm….. Ugghh….. HUHHHHH! UHHHHH!"

Peeta finishes inside me rather quickly, and rolls off of me. Curling into him, readjusting my nightdress, I try to go to sleep.

But it is only a few hours before passion awakens us both again.

I stir back into consciousness when a soft and calloused hand turns my face back to his as Peeta kisses me deeply. Purring happily, I return the kiss with a boldness that surprises even me, shivering as I feel Peeta's hands now glide up my thighs, pushing the hem of my nightdress up around my hips again, bunching the fabric. With a sigh, I gallingly yank the bodice of my nightdress back down so that my bare breasts glisten in the moonlight. I wiggle my shapely bottom, now also exposed against Peeta's fierce erection and am satisfied when I feel him rut against me with a whimper.

But Peeta isn't done. He continues to furiously rub his length along the perfect globes of her toned buttocks to get harder still. Keening into him, I groan, shuddering with delight as I feel his arms encircle me. One of his large hands dips into the damp wetness at the apex of my thighs, swirling his fingers along my nub. With his free hand, Peeta reaches around and brazenly cups the flesh of her left breast, pinching my purple and pebbling nipple until it is erected to painful tenderness. Mindful that my right breast is being left unattended, Peeta cranes his face over my writhing form and takes her remaining nipple deep into his mouth, suckling on my boob.

"Peet…a….." I squirm happily, almost stunned speechless and wondering where in the world he learned to do that. "What are you…..? OHHHHHHH! Oh, Panem, yes! Fuck me right there! Fuck my arse!"

For at that moment, Peeta takes me fiercely from behind in one, glorious thrust, shoving his now free member in between my ass cheeks. Jerking his hips violently, he begins to slide in and out of my anus, all while fondling my large breasts with his hands and his mouth and fucking my clit with his fingers. I have to clap a hand over my mouth to quiet my moans, which soon morph into yips and squeaks as Peeta continues to fuck me.

"Mmmm… Hmmmm….. Huhhhh…. Uhhhh…. Oh….. Ooooooohhhhh….. Ohhhhhh… OHHHHHH! MMMMMMM!"

With one final, slam, my buttocks trap his member deep inside me as he cums, milking him. Seconds later, the muscles in my pussy contract, tightening around his hand as, with a strangled cry and arching my back against him, pressing my ass into his hips, I cum so hard I see stars.

Rolling onto my back, my grey eyes huge and sparkling in the moonlight, I wordlessly spread my legs for him, opening my thighs wide invitingly.

Peeta doesn't need to be told twice. Scrambling on top of me, he slams his penis deep into my dripping wet folds, nearly pulling all the way out before he thrusts into me again. My hips snap up to meet him every time, so that our bare skin makes a kind of squelching, clapping sound as we unify together. Beneath us, the bedsprings under the mattress creak as we work up a rhythm, learning to please each other together. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out; Oh, Snow, if the neighbors hear…..!

Peeta growls as he continues to thrust into me, and I winding my legs about him to bring him closer, closer still. I am nearly naked except for my nightdress bunched up, almost folded in half around my navel, leaving my breasts free and my sopping cunt exposed to the humid summer air.

Peeta is quivering above me, and I know that he's close. I decide that this dynamic won't do at all. So, assertively, I suddenly shove my hands into his chest, flipping him off of me and slamming him back into the mattress.

From his wide eyes, Peeta fears that I have had enough, but then he nearly chokes as I solemnly, with purpose, swing my long legs over his hips as I move to straddle him. There is a soft rustling of the sheets and then cloth as I untie the straps to my nightdress at my waist, allowing the garment to fall away and pool on the floor. Bracing one hand against the sloped ceiling of this little room, I slowly begin to bounce up and down on Peeta's dick, watching his stunned expression as I enthusiastically make love to him. This time, I don't bother to be quiet as I moan and whimper, feeling Peeta's touch burn where he is gripping my hips as he jerks up into me.

We spend half of the rest of that night having sex.

"Hurrrr…. Urrrrr… Huhhhhh! Uhhhhhh!"