Something New

"Damn the Capitol," Gale drawls.

He isn't usually a drinker. I wonder how much of Ripper's white liquor his crewmates have gotten into him. It's dangerous, that. Too easy, I think, to say such a thing in the wrong company.

"Yeah," Rory agrees, taking a moment to wrap his tongue around the forbidden words. "Damn President Snow."

Under different circumstances, Gale would at least threaten to wash the boy's mouth out with soap. But between the liquor and the oppressive August heat, he is too listless to follow through anyhow. Our little family lays sprawled across tile floor of the dining room, straining to catch any whisper of a breeze from the kitchen window. Posy climbs over our bodies like boulders on the Slag Heap.

"At least it's two Merchies this year," Gale mused. "Their type will never question the Games unless it's their own out there." Per the rule twist for the Third Quarter Quell, to show that even Loyalists must subject to the Capitol's rule, the districts had to send two children from their richest class. In District 12, the elite are the Merchants.

"But Davey Cartwright is nice," Prim lisps, an old habit that comes back only under extreme duress. "He gave me a cookie for my birthday with a picture of a flower in icing." Davey, the little brother of Delly Cartwright, has been known to help out in the Bakery every now and again. As for the female tribute, that turned out to be Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter.

"He did what?" I start to ask, but Gale interrupts.

"He had to give you the cookie because he knew you could never afford to buy it. Most families in District 12 can't. We have a bakery, a sweet shop, and a florist. But who do you see in those shops, Prim? Not people like us," Gale lectures. "Does that seem right to you?"

"Hey, go easy," I warn.

Gale waves me off. "Prim's a smart kid, you don't need to protect her. Anyway, change will come." He lifts Posy toward the ceiling, eliciting a giggle. "But when it does, it's not going to be because of some dumb Merchant kid handing out free shit."

I push myself up on my elbows. "You can be a real ass, Gale."

Vick snickers. "Ass!"

In the sitting room, the hologram flickers on, activated by remote control. Caesar Flickerman's unmistakable baritone gushes over Panem's latest crop of Tributes. A disembodied voice begins the countdown. "Nine, eight, seven …"

Gale thrusts a declarative finger into the air. "As head of this household, I declare that no one living under this roof is ever watching the Games, ever again, forever." A defiant belch serves as punctuation.

I roll onto my side. I reach to sweep away the damp strands of hair that cling to Prim's sun-freckled forehead. Despite the heat, the girl's teeth chatter.

"Gale may be an ass," I whisper, "But he's right, Little Duck. They can't make us watch."

I hold my hands tight over my sister's ears until the first cannons have sounded.

"It's fine," I say, distracted by the problem of how to divide two small doves five ways.

"It's not fine!" Prim insists, following me into the kitchen. "It comes untucked when I sit down. Today during math Darvil Parris told everyone he could see the top of my underwear."

Rory shrugs off his wet jacket and drops his books on a chair. "I'm gonna pop that Darvil Parris."

I roll my eyes. "No you won't. Darvil's mother is assistant manager for the mine."

"Maybe I should pop her," Rory retorts.

"Please, Katniss?" Prim begs. "I'll do all the cooking and the dishes for the next month."

Somehow, they have become teenagers. Rory has to wear Gale's shoes. His hair is long, and he lets it hang down over his forehead. The way his silver eyes peer through it is reminiscent of a hungry wolf. Prim has shot up two inches taller than me. She and Posy won't be able to share the bed much longer. Prim already has to sleep with one arm dangling over the edge while Posy's left side presses against the wall.

"Fine," I relent. "I'll find you a new blouse."

There aren't many coins in the kitty.

There's been vague talk of overtime pay, but the miners haven't seen it yet. I swallow my pride and go to Leevy's.

I start at the first of a row of cardboard boxes. I dig past heavy winter trousers and scratchy woolen leggings and moth-eaten sweaters. The next box is mostly nightgowns and brassieres - cheap, yellowed rayon that catches on my cuticles.

"Can I help you, Katniss?"

I bristle, and ready myself for Leevy to say something cunning. But Leevy's expression is kind.

"I need a shirt," I tell her. "For Prim."

Leevy turns to a stack of milk crates behind the table. "Hold on." She pauses a moment, trying to remember if it's in the second or third from the bottom.

"I saw her walking from school the other day," Leevy says over her shoulder. "Looks like she'll be tall like your Dad was."

I remember when I was small enough to ride on my father's shoulders. I felt like I could see the whole world from up there.

Leevy flips quickly past gauzy summer dresses and flower-print skirts. She produces a white button-up shirt, sturdy and sensible but with girlish touches: a rounded collar, slight gathers at the sleeves.

"Something like this?"

It is exactly what Prim would want. I'll have to take in the sides ... but that can be done easily enough, can't it? I pinch the fabric between my fingers. It's sturdy cotton, still waxed from the store, never even washed.

I could never afford it – not on Gale's wages. "I only have—"

Leevy writes the charge on her receipt pad. "Fifteen cents."

With a quick snip of her scissors, Leevy cuts the tag from the neckline that has been marked "D. C."

At home, I pull Hazelle's sewing kit from underneath the bed. I roll the tape across Prim's ribcage, around her waist.

My sister is buzzing. "Thank you, Katniss!" she squeaks. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"If you don't stand still..." I warn, dressmaker's pins clenched in my teeth.

The colors don't quite match. The shirt is too bright or the thread too grey. But from the outside the stitching doesn't show much. I've never been very good at sewing. I have to hold my work close to the lamplight and still I squint. Here, I'm impatient, and so the stitches come out uneven.

Prim hovers over my shoulder, watching the blouse's transformation. "You forgot to make the knot at the beginning," she points out.

"Maybe if you weren't standing in my light, I could see what I was doing," I grumble. I pull the stitches out and start the seam over.

So much for easy.

The front door creaks open. "Hello!"

"Gale-Gale-Gale-Gale-Gale!" Vick drops his pencil and runs to wrap his arms around his big brother's waist.

Gale hasn't been home for supper in more days than we can count. Posy claps her hands and lets out a high-pitched shriek that startles me, making my hand slip.

"Dammit!" I curse. A tiny prick of blood dots the white fabric. Gale laughs, and I scowl.

"Just put it down," he instructs, and goes into the bathroom to scrub sixteen hours of coal dust from his hands.

We fill our bellies with stew that Gale picked up from Sae's on the way from the mine. Since I haven't brought in any raccoon that season, I know it must be something else, maybe one of the mangy dogs that Ripper keeps around. But I don't want to ruin Gale's one evening at home by saying anything.

Prim washes the dishes as promised, and Rory surprises us all by volunteering to dry. Posy hangs off Gale's back, her arms around his neck. His shoulders ache from work, but he grits his teeth and tries not to let it show. I go back to the blouse.

Gale can clearly see the tangle of uneven stitches and the puckers in the fabric where I've tried to create darts. He bends beside my chair so that his sister can slide down to the floor. "Down, Posy," he orders. Then, to me, "Here, let me."

I scowl. "This isn't like sewing together tarps for a blind."

Gale chuckles. "I guess not, or you'd be better at it. Let me try."

I grudgingly relinquish my seat beside the lamp.

When Gale takes up the needle, it almost disappears next to his long fingers. I'm surprised to see that his hands work deftly to make a row of clean, even stitches. He even shows me how to add a fancy loop to each stitch so that the raw ends of the fabric won't fray.

"Did Hazelle teach you that?" I ask.

Gale shrugs. "I guess I picked it up from watching her."

"I didn't pick up anything from my mother's work," I say. "I couldn't even be in the same room as all those people in pain."

"But you take care of people," Gale states. "You take care of us."

I can't think of a smart remark. The others have gone to bed, and so the silence hangs heavy as the old oak clock ticked away and eventually chimes ten.

Gale lays the blouse down on the arm of the chair. The needle dangles like a pendulum.

"Your turn," Gale yawns. He stands to shake out stiff limbs. There are bags under his eyes, but he stays beside me until I cut the final thread.

I button the finished blouse and hold it up for scrutiny. The bottoms of the darts aren't perfectly symmetrical, but that should hardly be noticeable with it tucked in. "S'okay, I guess," I allow.

Gale snatches the shirt up and holds it against his chest. "I'm gonna ask Prim if I can borrow it."

"Shut up!" I laugh. "You'd pop the buttons."

"Nah, I'd leave it unbuttoned."

My laughter dissolves into little snorts. It's the first time we've joked together in months.

Gale throws the shirt so it lands over my face. As he stalks off to our bedroom, he reaches out to muss my hair. I glare at him and stick my tongue out.

There is a twinge in my gut, and I realize, with confusion, it feels good to be touched. Though we still share the same bed, we haven't made love, have done nothing but chastely kiss (and always on Gale's intiative) since the night of our civil union.

Gale switches off the lights in the main room and pulls our bedroom door shut, and I'm left sitting alone in the dark.

Madge Undersee wins the 75th Hunger Games in a stunning upset. Her Victory foretells a full year of foodstuffs awarded to Twelve in Parcel Day once a month, but I still feel badly for Delly Cartwright and the loss of her brother.

But even knowing that District 12 has notched its third Victor, I have a feeling the Capitol is not at all happy about our win. Because, even as Parcel Day somewhat staves off mass starvation, life in the district gets progressively worse.

A new Head Peacekeeper is installed, replacing old Cray. Gale and I quickly discover that hunting will be no longer as safe or lucrative as it once was, not with the stockades and whipping posts and other new forms of punishment and torture installed in the Square before the Justice Building. Gale and his fellow miners are forced to work in even more dangerous tunnels for longer. Wages get cut, then cut again. Even with me taking out tesserae and going to receive our monthly Parcel from Parcel Day, the sustenance can only be stretched so far with six mouths to feed, including my own. I can tell the rationing is also starting to have adverse effects on Gale's and my younger siblings.

Primrose is starting to struggle in school – something that's never been an issue before. As a decent student myself, before I dropped out to take care of our blended household, I do my best to tutor my baby sister. Math and Hunger Games History in particular are courses she's struggling to master.

I'm just beginning to fret about how Gale and I are going to keep everyone alive when, one cold autumn night, there is a knock on our door around suppertime. When I open it, I am speechless to find Peeta Mellark on our stoop, arms laden with warm loaves of bread. He holds them out to me.

"Take them, please."

Gawping, I shake my head, even as my heart is melting at the gesture. This is beyond our usual trade on his Bakery's back loading dock, and I am twinged with guilt at the reminder that my decrease in hunting has left me with fewer opportunities to deal him some squirrel. "I… I can't. I can't accept these."

"Catnip?" Gale emerges at my back in the doorway, blinking when he sees Peeta, then frowning when he notices the loaves in the baker son's arms. "We don't need charity, Townie!"

"I know, I know, but I want to help. It's hard enough to help other struggling families without running afoul of district charity laws." I know what he means – Twelve's rules regarding philanthropy are very strict.

Before I know what I am doing, I am gathering the bread loaves in my arms, on the urging of my salivating, famished mouth. "Thank you," I say stiffly.

Gale looks ready to further protest. "Catnip…"

"Gale: I am the lady of the household, and a District 12 woman worth her weight in coal dust keeps the household."

Gale finally acquiesces, though he's still clearly steaming. Turning to Peeta, he asks stiffly, politely: "Would you like to stay for dinner?" I only know Gale is offering this because he feels he needs to pay off a debt. Seamers take the concept of a debt very seriously, and we pay back what we are owed.

Peeta takes off his cap. "I'm much obliged."

Peeta stays for dinner, and long after.

It soon becomes a habit for him to stop by in the evenings with an extra delivery of bread for the children. When he predictably will beg off on my attempts to trade anything, I inevitably ask him to stay for dinner, taking over the offer from Gale on that first night.

Peeta goes out of his way to help Prim with her homework, until before long he is going around the table and assisting Rory, Vick and even little Posy too. I find it fascinating to watch Peeta speak so intelligently, take command of a subject. If I had known, I would have brought him on as a tutor.

"Now: variations and deviations are two completely different things…."

"Hmm?"

"Well, like here, Primrose: variations can be compensated for mathematically. But deviations? You never know when they're going to happen."

Prim blushes, smiling shyly, almost flirtatious. "I'm starting to wonder if you weren't born in District 4. You'd do well navigating out on the oceans, charting one of the Panemian Navy's fastest ships…. Would you like that?"

Peeta chuckles bashfully. "If I wasn't a baker? Maybe… someday…"

"Do you like the sea, Gale?" Prim asks my civil partner, from where he is over at the sink doing the dishes. He turns back.

"I like things you can depend on. The sea? You can never be sure of it."

"Well, that's the fun of it, not being sure of things," I giggle.

Peeta has a far-away gaze in his eyes. "The winds aloud howl, o'er the masts… and sing through every shroud…. Pale, trembling, tired, the sailors freeze with fears! And instant death on every wave appears!"

Prim cries with delight and claps her hand. Even I laugh, recalling the passage from English class. "Homer's Iliad! …. Oh, I think that's one of the most beautiful things ever written."

"Do you read a lot, Gale?" Prim calls.

"Who, him?" Rory laughs. "He practically doesn't even read at all!"

Gale only shrugs. "Never really needed to. Sooner or later, Mellark will tell us everything he knows." There is something about his tone that I can't place, but I don't like it.

Yuletide comes, heralding Madge's Victory Tour and the Harvest Festival which will commence in January, the following month.

There are few celebrations in District 12 - there isn't much to celebrate here and starvation makes for a poor party. But New Years is a mandatory celebration; giant screens fill the square as the Capitol broadcasts vapid propaganda while counting down to midnight. Peeta is busy in the days before New Year's Eve, decorating cakes that the wealthiest citizens will buy for their parties: Mayor Undersee, the Head Peacekeeper, a couple of others. I generally spend New Year's Eve at home, watching the countdown on the static-filled old clunker of a television that occupies the corner of the living room, but Prim wants desperately to go to the Square, and the other kids have been so yearning for something to forget our troubles that I can't use health or weather concerns as an excuse to stay home. Only Gale begs off.

The atmosphere in the Square is exuberant. It's been a mild winter so far and there's a feeling of if not happiness exactly then contentment. People are suffering less this winter, people are less afraid of starving to death.

There's a bonfire leaping from a metal drum and a man selling hot spiced cider, somehow Rory has a few coins to buy a cup for me and Prim to share. The night is mild and just a few lazy snowflakes drift from the sky, twinkling in the light of the fire and the screens. Prim runs to her friends and Rory, Vick and Posy drift away so I stand by the fire alone, watching. Madge isn't there, her father hosts a New Year's party for the most prominent townsfolk. Delly too is missing, keeping an eye on her own father at the close of their awful year. But I don't mind the solitude; I've always felt most comfortable as a wallflower, on the periphery.

A pair of fiddlers strikes up a reel and I can't hold back the small smile that plays on my lips as people begin to dance, all fast spins and joyful expressions. I don't realize that I'm singing along until a soft voice speaks almost directly into my ear:

"I remember the first time I heard you sing."

I spin abruptly to find Peeta standing so close to me that I can feel his breath on my ear, and I shiver, looking up to meet eyes that are little more than black pools in the darkness. "It was the first day of school, we were five," he continues. "At music assembly the teacher asked who knew the valley song and your hand shot right up. She stood you on a stool and had you sing for us. And I swear every bird outside the windows fell silent. And right when your song ended I knew I was a goner."

I want to scoff, but the comeback dies in my throat at the look on his face: still shy, a little frightened but determined, and completely serious. Instead I squeak out, "You have a remarkable memory."

"I remember everything about you," Peeta says, reaching down to tuck a loose strand of chestnut hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now," I whisper with a soft smile. He leans in close but pauses as if in question. I shock myself when I'm the one who initiates closing the distance between us when I pull him to me and kiss him exuberantly.

It's completely unlike the kisses I share with Gale. I'm struck by Peeta's immediacy, how I feel surrounded by him, aware of his hot breath on my cheek as it puffs unevenly from his nose, and the stirrings in my chest, warm and curious. I let out a shuddering gasp into his willing and pliant mouth, and our lips separate, but we remain leaning into each other, my hands curled into the rough wool of his jacket, his hands resting lightly just above my hips, both of us with wide eyes and shy smiles. "I've wanted to do that for years," he confesses, lifting a gentle hand to cup my flushed cheek.

We break apart quickly when Gale's raucous voice booms out from only feet away. "Catnip," he slurs, squeezing between me and Peeta and throwing an arm around my shoulders. He sways slightly and smells like white liquor.

"Gale?" I question, stunned and confused. "Are you… are you drunk?"

He snorts, the sound like nothing I've ever heard from him before. "I prefer to think of it as really relaxed," he says, rolling the r sounds ridiculously. He's leaning on me now, having maneuvered himself neatly between me and Peeta. "I never see you anymore, I miss you Catnip," he laments, loudly, and I cringe visibly.

"That's because you're avoiding me, Gale," I say quietly but there's an edge of hurt to my words.

"No, it's not like that," he moans, almost impossible to understand, and his glassy eyes hold both an apology and fire. He leans into me, maybe trying to hug me, I'm not sure, but I twist out of his grasp and look at him with furrowed brows.

"What's going on, Gale?" I mean to be nonchalant but embarrassment wells up and my words come out sharply. Gale's face hardens and his jaw tenses, and when his hands grip my shoulders firmly I let out an inadvertent squeak of surprise.

Over Gale's shoulder I see Peeta move towards us. I think he's going to pull Gale away but I know that will just set off Gale's temper, and who knows what he'd be capable of in this state. There are Peacekeepers all around the Square and the last thing I want is trouble. I meet Peeta's eyes over Gale's shoulder and shake my head, silently begging him to understand. He backs away wordlessly but his expression is sad and confused.

Gale is mumbling incoherently and almost falling over, and I know if he stays in the square he's going to make a scene. I'm still hurt by the distance that has grown between us, but even still he's one of my closest friends and I need to protect him. I tuck my shoulder under his arm and tell him I'm taking him home. Though I don't look back, I she can feel Peeta's eyes burning between my shoulder blades as I half drag Gale towards the Seam.

He mumbles what might be apologies as we trudge along, though his speech is so garbled I can't understand most of it. Finally he becomes aware enough to usher me to a large rock by the side of the path, sitting on it and pulling me down beside him. It's a little smaller than the rock where we used to meet in the woods before each hunting day but the familiarity makes my heart pang. I've missed him, the Gale that was my friend, the Gale who made me smile.

"It's supposed to be us, Catnip. You and me. Not you and the... Baker boy." He's holding my hands and pleading, but I shake my head in disbelief.

"We're friends, Gale, you and I. Best friends."

He moans. "No… We're more than friends, Catnip. We belong together! You and me, we're gonna get married, gonna be happy."

I bite my lip. I thought this might be where his thinking was going, but to hear it, even drunk as he is, makes me angry. He's the one who is supposed to know me better than anyone else. "You know I never want to get married, Gale. That's never been part of my plan. Marriage means kids and kids mean Reapings and…" He cuts me off, squeezing my hands painfully and leaning in close, the liquor fumes almost overwhelming as they push against my face. For one mad second, I think he is going to kiss me again. I don't want to push him away.

"S'not stopping you from screwing around with the baker boy." He sneers and I jump back, shoving his hands away, shock and revulsion forcing a flush into my cheeks.

"Peeta and I are friends, Gale, nothing more, and it's none of your damned business anyway!" I run away, leaving him sitting on the side of the path, my mind whirling with rage. I can't abandon him entirely though, so when I see lights on at one of the houses on the edge of the Seam I convince the young man inside, Thom, one of Gale's crew mates in the mines, to drag him back to our homestead. I don't stick around to watch.

I don't dare go to the Harvest Festival, as much as I secretly want to, in the hopes that I might see Peeta again. His regular delivery of breads to our house has slowly trickled to nearly a stop. Prim and the kids miss him terribly. I can tell Gale is watching me.

Madge leaves on her Victory Tour. It must not be a success, for as the winter progresses, things in District 12 go from bad to worse.

The Parcel Day foodstuffs – halfway through expiring already – are beginning to turn up rotten and spoiled goods in the packages. The discontent of miners is growing louder; Gale seems invigorated by talks of a strike, or worse still, an uprising. The Capitol responds by starting to drop fireballs at random intervals, sending up many businesses in flames in an attempt to subjugate us. And also divide us – I don't fail to notice how most of Merchant businesses are left untouched by the flames. I can tell Gale resents it, but I can't find it in my heart to, for Peeta's sake.

Missing the handsome baker's son, I start to risk going back out into the woods again, bagging squirrel and sneaking back in under the fence, as desperate to see this man who makes me feel things I shouldn't as I am desperate to keep my family alive and fed.

One evening, Peeta and I meet in secret on the back loading dock for a trade hand-off. The rooms in the Bakery are dark, and Peeta briefly explains how his parents are out for the night to visit his mother's sister; his two brothers are at home with their wives.

Suddenly, we hear the air raid sirens warning of a coming wave of firebombs. Tremors rock the earth, and I stagger into Peeta, watching the flashing glow of fires popping up only yards from this back alley. The Town is being targeted!

"I... I have to go! I have to get back to the homestead!" I cry, suddenly frightened for Rory, Posy, Vick and Prim. Even Gale.

"No, we have to get belowground! Our house has a cellar; we can hide in there...!"

"Let me go!" I struggle against Peeta's grasp. "Peeta..."

Peeta suddenly leaps into me, crowding me against the bakery's brick wall as he kisses me, furiously attacking my lips with his. Like on New Year's Eve, I start to melt into it, but guilt over Gale and the arrangement we made with each other makes me push this handsome man away.

"Uggh! No!"

Peeta is panting, breathing hard, eyes darting to where we can hear and feel the bombs growing closer. "You're driving me crazy, Katty girl!"

I stare at him, resigned. "Fuck it, we're all gonna die." And grabbing him by the neck, I pull his face down to mine and kiss him back.

As our arms wind about each other and we embrace, Peeta loses his footing and we both tumble to the concrete ramp. Moving quickly to straddle his hips, shivering at how Peeta's hands are rummaging up and down my back, I roll my shoulders to shuck off my long coat, revealing my blue dress underneath.

"Mmmmhmmmm..." I purr with pleasure into Peeta's lips, parting his lips for his unyielding tongue and deepening the kiss. I shiver with arousal as Peeta's strong fingers shove the skirts of my blue dress up past my bony hips. Rutting into his pelvis, I throw back my head and groan. If I can have one last fuck before I die, I would rather it be with this man. A man who is kind and good and tutors my sister and brings us bread and clearly cares for me. Feeling bold, I yank my bodice down much as Gale did the night he took me in our bed and shove Peeta's face in between my cleavage.

"I want you to taste them," I rasp huskily.

Weighing my boobs in his palms, Peeta lips pucker over my nipple and he sucks on it greedily, taking me deep into his mouth – first my left breast, then the right. My own fingers are frantically moving to unbuckle his trousers, when a sudden, tremor from a nearby bomb blast nearly upends me from Peeta's lap.

"Katty... Katty, wait..." And squirming me off from where I've been sitting astride his hips, Peeta takes my hands and guides me with purpose into the Bakery, down into the underground cellar.

The free flow of oxygen now that we are pausing in kissing and making love causes rationale to also flow back into my brain. Half-naked, I stagger back to a work table as, in the dim light of this basement, a lustful Peeta advances on me with a confidence that simultaneously thrills and frightens me.

"Peeta... maybe... maybe we shouldn't be doing this..." I murmur weakly, even as Peeta's large hands fist the accentuated globes of my ass, cupping each cheek; in response, I raise my leg to his waist, hooking my thigh around his torso and letting the man lift me onto the worktable. I spread my legs, laid out like a feast for him, my blue skirts riding high over my hips.

"You... you don't understand; I'm practically engaged. I'm in a civil union with Gale. I love Gale," I babble, even though I know that last part is a lie. I watch warily yet also aroused as Peeta drops his pants, revealing the girth of his... his... Panem have mercy, he's huge! I feel my cheeks burn uncontrollably."We... we should have a rational discussion before we leap into bed, because..." I feel my back arch as I feel a giant, bloated thing – Peeta's manliness – enter me and take me with one, clean slam. There isn't even a pause before he begins to thrust inside me. "Oh, Snow's Roses, you can't be serious! I... Ahh... AHHHHHH... AHHHHHHHH!"

I cum with a happy shout, my muscles positively singing as my arms move to lazily drape across Peeta's rippling shoulder blades while he grunts into my neck. As we have glorious sex, I am so moved by the exquisitie pleasure he brings to me as a lover that I begin to softly sing:

"Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found you! Oh, at last I know the secret of it all!"

It is a quiet morning, several days later out in the district schoolyard. Smoke is still clearing from the Town bombings, although we were quite fortunate that only minor damages were incurred. The district school is still standing, along with the Justice Building and the train station. And so is the Bakery.

Having arrived early, waiting for Prim and the kids to be let out of school, my game bag on my shoulder, I think back over the dangerous, magical night that I slept with another man who is not my... civil partner. Fucking Peeta was nothing like shagging Gale. I felt alive, crackling like an activated wire. I felt beautiful, powerful and so, so loved.

In the dapple patterns of sunlight, looking down at the concrete, I suddenly spy it: a dandelion pushing up through the stone. Like it was planted right there for me to see. A dandelion just like the one I saw the day after Peeta tossed that bread to me in the rain when we were children, so that I've only ever been able to think of him when I see one.

I take it for the sign that it is: and leap.

Suddenly grinning, beaming, I pelt down to the Bakery with my game bag and the squirrels inside, excited to see Peeta again. My happiness is only dimmed when I burst through the bakery's front door (an uncharacteristic move for me) to find Peeta and his mother, the Witch, working the front counter. She stares at me blankly as I march up to the counter, opening her mouth to speak:

"He split a bag of grain last week staring after you."

I smirk involuntarily, in spite of the fact that my stomach clenches in fear at the same time. Fear for her son, whom, Panem help me, I love.

"I wish you'd just put him out of his misery and tell him he has no chance."

The tray of pastries Peeta is carrying clatters to the floor as he hears his mother's voice through the kitchen door, entering the bakery's kitchen a moment later. He and I look at each other, and I glance away.

"Two squirrels," I dump them on the table, graciously refusing to acknowledge the Witch's comments.

Peeta's mother can be mean when she's trying to make a point. Cruel to be kind; she'll insist it's in his best interest. She is blunt and practical and has no time for things like the idea of being in love, especially when it clearly makes her son so distracted he ruins a morning's worth of cheese buns.

Peeta's eyes are fixed on the tray in his hands, his cheeks burning. Mercilessly, his mother continues.

"I've told him you wouldn't look twice at him. If you were interested, you would have said so."

Peeta drops the salvaged pastries again. His mother tuts. I brush past her and kneel to help him pick them up. My hand bumps against his and I dare to squeeze his fingers in sympathy. He looks away quickly, getting up awkwardly, and turning to the sink, his back to us both. I can tell from his body language that he wants to die of shame. I hope it isn't over me.

"He wants to keep his mind on his work, not in his underpants."

A dish slips from Peeta's nervous hands and smashes to pieces.

"Clumsy idiot!" the Witch shouts, whipping around.

It is absurd to see a tiny old woman grab a strong, grown man by the ear and watch his steady eyes turn as frightened as a little boy's.

"Breaking our china? You'll go hungry tonight to pay for that, you clumsy fool!" Mrs. Mellark shakes him roughly, her hand drawing back to whack him.

THUNK

Mrs Mellark gasps, her hand frozen mid-strike as the bread knife sails past an inch from her face and lodges in the wooden drying rack.

I see Peeta look across the room at me, in amazed awe, but I don't acknowledge it. All I can see is red, as I glower at his mother like a lioness.

"Don't touch him," my voice is low and dangerous.

It's completely unnerving for me to see Peeta's mother scared of someone, and I'm sure it must be the same for my love, too. Still, I don't stop glaring at her until Mrs. Mellark leaves the kitchen, muttering "Seam brat…as daft as each other" angrily.

"Next time I won't miss," I call to her retreating back as the door slams.

I catch Peeta's eye. Without warning, we both start laughing uncontrollably. Our bellies shake so deep they hurt. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard.

I cross in front of Peeta to pull the knife out of the drying rack. The moment I touch it, our laughter starts over again. Wiping away tears and grinning, I turn to my sweetheart with shining eyes.

Peeta's hand twitches out involuntarily to brush my hair out of her eyes. Our laughter fades to catching breath. I lean into him. My hands find his chest.

Suddenly we are kissing, in full view of the bakery window, with all the passion of that recent night in this very building. And in between the soft, frenzied pecks, all the warmth of our laughter is still bubbling in us. My hand finds his.

"Come on," I drag him with purpose to the back door, and I know he would have followed me anyway.

"I don't want her coming back in," I explain huskily as I press him up against the outside brick stove, just kiddy-cornered off the loading dock.

I melt up into his mouth, soft and compliant against him. I taste the bread in the air mixed with Peeta's warmth and my own earthy taste, as Peeta's tongue swishes around my lips and I petal them open willingly, granting him access. My hands grip his broad shoulders and his grab my hips then sweep up my back, clutching at me as though he's afraid he might wake up at any moment. He presses kisses along my jaw, my neck, into my hair, covering every part of me he can reach with love. My eyelids are heavy and droopy at his attentions, my lips slightly parted and waiting until I feel his seal over mine again.

"If we get married, you can't ever tell me what to do."

Peeta freezes, his mouth hung open, mid kiss. My grey eyes sparkle and I rest my forehead against his and play with his buttons. My dearest is still slack-jawed, his expression conveying crystal-clear disbelief. The silent question he asks is loud as a foghorn in my mind. What did you just say?

"And I won't have any more children. Not as long as there are still Hunger Games. I'll hunt whenever I want. Prim can visit us whenever she wants to. And I can't promise I'll be civil to your mother."

Peeta is trying to do anything but stare at me in wonder. Fails. He's been uncharacteristically silent for way too long, and a little panic creeps into my countenance. I've delivered my terms for this marriage with such sincerity. And Peeta has never intentionally wanted me to feel unsure, ever, so he finds his voice.

"OK," is all that comes. Soft, uncertain, hardly daring to smile.

"OK," I reply, drawing his face down to kiss him impossibly tenderly, like he were even more delicate than Prim.

"Go on then - ask me," I whisper. My eyes meet his evenly so he knows that I am really serious this time. And best of all, not at all afraid.

"Ask you?" I cover his hands on my hips with my own to still their trembling.

"Ask me to marry you. Propose," I dip my head shyly. I can't imagine what he's waiting for.

Peeta cradles my small, strong hands between his own, between our bodies. He kneels.

"Will you marry me, Katniss?"

"Yes," I smile hesitantly down at him, the question in my eyes: if you want me to.

And then he is kissing me and kissing me, and I feel like I'll explode with happiness.

"You really will?" he draws back in wonderment, as though he has to keep checking.

"Yes. I will, Peeta," I roll my eyes, grinning, running my fingers through his hair indulgently.

"You'll be my wife," the disbelief is still there in his voice. I'm smiling and my eyes are bright and more open to him than they've ever been and how could I have gotten so lucky? Peeta obviously cannot believe our good fortune either. No doubt he'll work on changing my mind about children later, and we'll talk about it, but for now I never thought we would make it to even here.

"I'll take care of you," he strokes my cheek.

"I know you will," my eyes are soft, "I'll take care of you too." A slight pause as I bite my lip.

"I'm not like other girls," I frown. "Are you sure you want that?"

"Yes," he answers immediately, kissing my frown away. "I want you more than anything."

"There's something I haven't told you," I look down at my hands.

"What is it?" Apprehension is still in his voice, as though he is terrified I will disappear.

I finger his buttons again and then mumble out in a whisper.

"I love you. More than anyone." Truer words I've never spoken, and I almost cry at the sincerity of it, of the stirrings those three little words cause in my heart.

Peeta puts one of my hands over his hammering heart.

"Me too. Katniss, I love you so much," he breathes, like he's savoring my words. We kiss lightly again. "I've loved you as long as I can remember." Of course I already know that, but he clearly feels good in saying this to me. To watch my eyes widen and soften as I look up at him, exhale against his Adam's apple when I hear it.

My eyes brim with tears. "Thank you," I smile.

"For what?" he fingers my long braid, obviously relishing the thought that once I'm his wife he'll get to touch my braid whenever he likes the look of it (which is no doubt always).

"For loving me so much. For being such a good man."

"I…" but I cut him off with a deep kiss and nothing else matters now, not in this moment and not in the whole of Panem, and there's time to kiss a little more against the cool bricks and then a wedding to plan tomorrow.