Chapter 8: Courting in Secret

Winter comes, with large drifts full of snow. With it comes a conscious yet unspoken agreement of avoidance between Peeta and me.

It really isn't that hard to do, despite the fact that we are neighbors. Peeta is an even earlier riser than I am, so that by the time I am stepping outside my sister's mansion in my father's hunting boots, he and Rye are already long gone down at the Bakery.

When I'm hunting, I try to not be tempted in bringing down squirrel. Otherwise, I might be tempted to go down to the rear alley of the Bakery for a trade. And I can't be tempted, for then I might be tempted to do… other things. So I create a self-imposed moratorium on bagging any squirrel. I can tell Gale notices, but he doesn't let on. Yet, sometimes, I will shoot without thinking, and forget. When a squirrel does fall to my arrow, I compensate by trading it off down in the Hob.

Even if I somehow manage to avoid seeing Peeta all day (right down to walking through the Village gates well after dark, so I don't encounter him out in his brother's garden), there is little I can do to avoid seeing him in sleep. In my dreams, we are always together, often naked and squirming in passion so that I awaken with my sheets and my legs damp from lust. Sometimes, the dreams become nightmares. Nightmares of seeing my handsome baker blown to bits in the mines. Or Reaped and killed in the arena. A very specific dream I have involves the Quarter Quell requiring the relatives of Victors to compete, per the special twist that is announced once every twenty-five years. I dream of Peeta and I being forced to turn on each other. I usually wake up from this screaming until my throat is raw.

One time, the horror is so lucid, that I think I have a nightmare about waking up from a nightmare. A faceless figure jogs into my room, the light from the moon casting on him and revealing the handsomeness of Peeta.

"It's just a nightmare, I'm sorry," I stammer.

"It's OK," Dream-Peeta says. "I get them too. Good night."

He turns to leave, filling me with panic, and I reach for him. "Peeta! …. Will you stay with me?"

"Yeah." And he tucks back the covers and climbs into bed with me, stroking my chestnut tresses while I rest my head on his chest. He murmurs something, a word, that might be, "Always."

That one wasn't so bad – a nightmare that ebbed into a rather pleasant dream. At least, I think it was a dream. Except, when I wake up the next morning, actually feeling refreshed, my nose picks up a familiar, intoxicating scent against my pillow that wasn't there when I first retired last night:

Cinnamon and dill.

It is actually Gale, of all people, who nudges me back in the direction of the man who has a pull on my heart.

My hunting partner and I are out early one winter's morning, having brought in a decent catch. I actually brought down a few squirrels by mistake, leaving me no choice but to sell them off at the Hob as opposed to the Bakery. Gale and I stop by the edge of the fence to divvy up our haul.

"I'll make the rounds with Sae, Gale, and then we can…. Mmmmmm…." I am just standing up out of my crouch, lifting my eyes to his, when Gale suddenly tilts my face all the way back and kisses me. Firmly, on the lips.

I am completely unprepared. I should have thought that knowing Gale as long as I have, I would have had cause to wonder about his lips. Or how his hands, rougher than Peeta's yet can still set the most elegant of snares, could so easily entrap me as they steal about my waist.

"Errrmmm…." I make a disconcerted, uncomfortable noise in the back of my throat and Gale releases my mouth with a POP! His eyes – tinged as grey as the overcast clouds and slushy snow about us – appear dimmed, sad.

"I had to do that. At least once."

I gape and splutter at him. "I'm… I'm with someone else." I don't know exactly why I say this. All I know is that for some reason, it doesn't totally feel like a lie. It unnerves me because I don't know if there is still a chance for Peeta and me, or if I even want there to be. Still, the fact that for a moment I allowed another man to kiss me has left me feeling strangely… unfaithful somehow.

Gale looks even more resigned and heartbroken than he did after we broke apart. I wait for him to ask after the identity of my mystery lover, but he doesn't. Perhaps he's already hazarded a guess. He only leaves me to sink onto a boulder in shock, running my tongue over my lips as I try to decide how I felt about the kiss, whether I liked it or resented it.

My mind doesn't immediately go to, nor dwell on, what should be the instinctive: how kissing Gale felt as opposed to kissing Peeta. It's been weeks since Peeta and I locked lips and had sex on his family's counter the night of his brother's wedding. It would take some effort to recall how the lips of the handsome baker felt pressed against mine, and I am deeply reticent to ponder it anyway.

Even so, the odds must not be in my favor today, for even as I attempt to keep thoughts of Peeta at bay, my feet nonetheless carry me to the back loading dock of the Bakery. My hand fishes for the squirrel in my bag without even being consciously aware of it. As if no time has passed at all.

I smooth down the skirts of my blue Reaping dress, surreptitiously glancing from side to side as I stand here in the alley, on the back loading dock of the Merchant bakery. Knocking on the metal door, I stand back and wait. A few moments later, a head of ashy blonde hair which sparkles like homespun gold when it catches the sunlight pokes out.

"Katty!" Peeta's smile could light up the sun, and I feel my stomach squirm happily. The gooey sensation makes me scowl. I've never been able to reconcile how Peeta makes me feel, ever since he has taken over the trading from his father: flustered, happy, and several other things I would rather not mention out of pride. It's been even worse in these weeks away from him. So I have to praise my body and expressions for being able to hide it.

"Morning," my face upturns into a soft smile, while I procure the squirrel from my game bag. Peeta takes it and holds it up to inspect it. I frown prissily, arms folded across my chest. He has always done this, though I mostly think it is just for show. Like he's teasing me or something.

"Up to your standards?" I quip.

Peeta just smirks. "Right in the eye, every time!"

I snort. "Have I ever given you less?"

He pretends to think about it. I swat for him, and miss, causing him to laugh. "Don't go away," he winks, before ducking back inside.

This rapport, this banter we have developed wasn't always easy. When Peeta first began conducting the back loading dock trades, I could barely look him in the eye, my cheeks all flushed, as I would toss the game meat at him while mumbling out my commensurate barter. Even with some improvement, I still consider myself a pretty anti-social person, but Peeta was patient. Perfunctory transactions with barely a "Hi, bye," gradually developed into meek comments about the weather. Meek comments about the weather then became asking about each other – Peeta will always ask about my little sister Prim. For the baker's youngest son, "Katniss" eventually became "Katty" or "Katty girl" after he allegedly heard Madge Undersee (probably the only person other than Gale I could consider a friend) call me that. Hearing Peeta say the pet name for me landed differently than when I've heard the Mayor's daughter say it – a strange giddiness overtakes me.

I straighten when Peeta reappears, carrying two loaves of bread.

"You… you look nice," he manages, gesturing to my blue dress. "Bit formal for hunting, perhaps, but…" I blink at him doefully and he flushes. "I… I just mean,. it seems too nice a dress to risk getting dirty."

Now it is my turn to blush profusely. Eyes askance, I mumble, "Rest of my things were at the laundress."

"Oh," Peeta nods. "The, uh…. Hawthorne lady. The mom of your hunting partner, right?" I nod. An awkward beat follows. "Well, you still look nice."

My cheeks stain even further pink, and I fall into that nervous tic whenever I'm around him off running my fingers through my single braid. "Th-Thank you," I stutter.

The moment Peeta passes the bread into my arms, I frown.

"They're still warm," I accuse.

Peeta sighs in a put-upon fashion, because we've been down this road before. "Mom slept in; the chance to give you the good stuff was right there…"

I almost angrily throw the loaves into my game bag. I should throw them in the dirt, or back at him and demand the slightly staler fare his father always knew how to deal me, but I haven't the energy. I start to flounce away down the alley, but Peeta catches my arm.

"Katty girl…"

"Don't!" I snarl, yanking my arm back. "You know how I feel about charity, Peeta….!" I will never bow on three principles: I will never marry (Mother nearly died herself when we lost Daddy in that mining accident seven years back), I will never bear children, and I will never take charity. I put deep respect in my Seam heritage, and we always avoid owing others as much as possible, for when you owe something, you pay back what you are owed.

"It's not…." Peeta's voice starts to rise, but then he collects himself. "Katniss, I'm just trying to help you. And Prim. Victor or not, She needs the strength; she's a thirteen-year-old growing girl, for Snow's sake…."

The invocation of Prim is a low maneuver, and I huff, stamping my foot. "Oooooh…. Why do you do this?"

"Do what?" He looks genuinely perplexed. As if he doesn't know.

"Push my buttons! Drive me crazy! Why do you…. why do you affect me like this?!"

"Any more than you affect me? You've been doing that just fine for years! You… you have no idea, Katty, the affect that you have!"

I have zero clue what to say to that, so I bristle away from the comment as Peeta continues. "I don't understand. You're nice to me, almost flirty…" (I cock an eyebrow at his interesting choice of word, but say nothing. I don't flirt – at least I've never thought I do) "… the one minute. Cold the next. What in Panem's name am I supposed to do with that, Katty? Tell me! What?"

"You wanna know?" I growl, taking a step towards him. "You really want to know?"

"Yes! Yes, I wanna know! Why do we do this? Why do you….?"

"Because…." I splutter, then blast it. "Because I LOVE YOU! That's why!"

The moment the confession of my sin hits the air, I gasp and draw both hands to my mouth. Horrified, mortified, I feel the tears pool before they slip down to my cheeks. Peeta is gawping at me, agog.

"What? What did you just say?"

I back away, stumbling; I let out a whimper, then a moan behind my hands, frantically shaking my head. Peeta only steps closer.

"You love me?"

"You heard me," I plead brokenly, both with my eyes and my voice. I sound the picture of misery. "I…. I didn't want to. I've never wanted to fall in love. But I have, and I do." The tears come faster and harder now. "Why did you do this? Why did you do this to me?! It's all your fault…."

"Katty!" The bricks of the bakery wall are suddenly biting into my back, and I'm shivering in Peeta's arms where he crowds me there.

"What?" I whisper brokenly, gazing up at him.

His smile is baffling, the smoldering in his deep blue eyes…. eyes as blue as a summer sky…. shouldn't be there. "Enough talking." And I gasp when I feel his lips suddenly on mine.

It is the most passionate kiss I've ever had.

I lock up for only a moment, but then…. I moan, and the muscles in my limbs go water-soft as I reach up to sinuously loop my arms about his neck, happily closing my eyes as I kiss him back. "Hmmmmmmm…."

I shiver when I feel Peeta's strong and calloused arms – burnt from the ovens – encircle my slim waist to pull me close. Then his hands dip lower to caress and squeeze my bum through the folds of my dress; he kneads, squeezes the tender flesh there like it is the dough he has handled all his life.

Audaciously, so much so that I stun even myself, I raise my leg to his waist, hitching it about his torso so that my skirts ride high up my thighs.

My breath hitches sharply and I mewl as Peeta lips leave mine, only to mouth down my face and into the sharp curve of my neck.

"P-Peeta…." I gasp. He slaps my bum, hard, and I let out a squeak that quickly lows into an aroused moan. "We… we mustn't…. No…. Mmmm…" He kisses me again, deeper this time, and I melt into it, my head spinning. Back his face goes into my neck and shoulder, his tongue laving the beads of sweat along my skin, even though it is crisp and the middle of fall. "No, this isn't right…." I try to protest weakly. It does no good. Mashing his face in my hands, I kiss Peeta again, harder this time, my hands sweeping up his back to rummage along his shoulder blades.

I feel the bodice of my blue dress yanked down, exposing my dusky nipples to the cool, autumn air. Peeta's one palm cups me; when I let out a hiss, he gentlemanly retracts it back, only to have me take it and shove my breast back into his grasp.

"Hmm….. yes, more, please," I rasp, and Peeta blazes kisses down my collarbone. I draw his face down to my chest and when my lover lathers my other boob, taking the nipple into his mouth, I cry out.

But I like it. Heaven help me, I like it.

"Oh….. Oh, God….." I choke, arching my back and lifting my hips to press myself even further against him. As Peeta lovingly worships and feasts on my breasts, I feel his free hand rolling back the hem of my blue dress, pushing the skirts up around my hips. A biting breeze tickles the folds of my pink beauty, which is without undergarments and already very, very wet.

There is the clang of a belt, followed by the rustling of cloth as Peeta drops his trousers to his ankles. I push my hips closer, rubbing and rutting along his leg, needing…

"Please…." I can only croak.

I feel a stiff and bloated thing suddenly take me in one, swift thrust. I yelp, quickly clapping a hand over my mouth so we don't wake the neighbors in these waning minutes of dawn. The bricks sting into my back as Peeta slowly begins to thrust inside me, and I rock against him, whimpering at the ache of discomfort from not having sex in so long which gradually starts to ebb. In my wildest dreams, I never thought I would go from trading squirrel to making love with this man, but here we are.

Peeta slams into me, and I groan again.

"H-harder…. Faster…. Faster…" I breathe, and Peeta jerks against me frantically. "D-deeper…." I low. I feel him hit that forbidden spot where I sometimes like to touch myself – right beneath my swollen bud – and I squeal.

"Oh, God, Peeta, YES! Finish me off! Fuck me now, or I'll scream! I'll – Ah….. Ahhhh… AHHHHHHH…..!"

I can feel the wave within me cresting, and when he makes me cum, when I feel him release deep inside my fluttering walls, my noodly muscles positively sing:

Ah, sweet mystery of life! At last I've found thee! At last, I know the meaning of it all!

There are few celebrations in District 12 – even with the influx of foodstuffs the last half of this year from Parcel Day, there isn't much to celebrate here and starvation makes for a poor party. But the Harvest Festival is a mandatory celebration; giant screens fill the square as the Capitol broadcasts vapid propaganda while reliving the glory of the Games from the previous summer. Peeta is busy in the days before Harvest Night, decorating cakes that the wealthiest citizens will buy for their parties: Mayor Undersee, Cray the Head Peacekeeper, a couple of others. I generally spend the Harvest Festival at home, watching analysis of the replays from the most recent Games on the static-filled old clunker of a television that occupies the corner of the living room, but as the new Co-Victor, Prim has to go to the Square, and Mother is well enough this year that I can't use her precarious health as an excuse to stay home.

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 Mother 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 Mother drifts away so I stand by the fire alone, watching. Madge isn't there, her father hosts a party for the most prominent townsfolk. Delly too is missing, probably sleeping off selling all the Townsfolk new shoes for tonight for the better part of the day. But I don't mind the solitude; I've always felt most comfortable as a wall flower, 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." My heart stutters all the more when I sense the déjà vu. The impression that we've had this conversation before, during the Games and watching our siblings compete.

"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.

I was right: kissing him is completely unlike the kiss I shared 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 don't think I'll ever get used to having his lips on mine. He lifts 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. The last time I saw him he was screaming at me and then kissing me, and that was months ago.

"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 his abrupt dismissal of me from his life, 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 – I didn't when he kissed me in the woods weeks ago, shocked as I was, but now I won't unless I have to.

"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. I don't stick around to watch.

Gale comes around the next day, sober, to apologize, but I refuse to see him. I have my sister send him away; I can hear him speaking with Prim but I hide in my bedroom until Prim comes back to tell me that he's gone. I don't want to tell Prim what happened because Prim is approaching fourteen and, Rory Hawthorne aside, she shouldn't know about boys and kissing and stuff, but Prim guesses much of what's happened anyway because she's just that naturally perceptive.

"I'm never falling in love, Little Duck. I'm never getting married." Prim only rolls her eyes.

"I saw you kiss Peeta, Katniss," she grins, pale blue eyes twinkling. "And I see the way he looks at you. The way he's always looked at you."

I shrug her off, and we mercifully move onto other topics of discussion.