Authors Notes:

Hey everyone, thanks for clicking! If you don't want to listen to my speech, go on down, but this might clear some things up.

I wanted to do a rewrite after diving into the HG fandom, specifically after finding some really awesome fics. As with many rewrites of HG, Katniss is going to be less oblivious and a bit more open to Peeta. It won't be easy though! She's still the stubborn, rude, determined hunter we know.

Katniss will be more aware of both her and Peeta's feelings, and show a bit more emotion. It'll still take her a while to trust Peeta, but they get together. Peeta will be less of… an angel. He'll have some violent scenes, have a bit of profanity, and overall more confident. He'll also take more of an active role; in the books, he's often just 'along for the ride', in a way. Not here!

Like I said, I found some really great fics, with amazing concepts and ideas. I want to smash all of the best together and add some of my own. I'll give credit in the notes at the end of the chapters, but if I miss anything, please put it in the reviews. This story will roughly follow cannon. However, things may be out of order, with completely new scenes, or a different interpretation of the original scene.

Also, this is definitely going to lean on the mature side, with language and sexually explicit dialogue. I feel like actual teens would be a lot more vulgar, and I want to reflect that.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Obviously.

KATNISS

It's Reaping Day. My eyes fly open with the pounding of my heart. The first thought of the day is a chilling one. I know I almost certainly won't be picked, with only twenty slips out of thousands, but it doesn't help much. I still feel the dread in the pit of my stomach. But it's no excuse to stay any longer.

I swing my feet from under the covers, toes curling at the cold. It's still dark, with no sun to chase away the chill. Even though it's summer, we've been going through a cold period. I've been told that before, the weather was more stable. But once the climate was wreaked, it's unreliable. Still, I look forward to the hours in the woods, even if they're freezing. There's a couple hours until dawn, plenty of time to hunt.

Passing the foot of the bed, I fall into my routine, donning my jeans and black shirt. The clothes, like everything else, are cold. My father's old leather jacket is comforting, and I untangle the strands of hair caught on the zipper. My dark, waist-long hair gets braided and tucked over my shoulder.

All the while, I think of what today holds. One boy and one girl will be reaped for the Hunger Games, and, inevitably, will die. But what can we do? The game bag is almost in my hand when I spot the lump wrapped in basil next to it. A Reaping gift from Prim. She's curled up with my mother today, looking too innocent for her first Reaping. With golden hair, soft pink lips, and a young face, Prim is what I'd imagine an angel to be like. She's too sweet, too young for the horror. Then again, who's ever ready?

I'm out the door, following the well-worn path to the Meadow. It's less of a meadow and more a stretch of weeds, but it's as close as District 12 can get. The fence separates the weeds from the woods. Supposedly, it's supposed to keep out the wild animals, but we all know the real purpose. To keep us in.

While it's supposed to be electrified 24 hours a day, we're lucky to get a few hours of electricity. Still, I listen for the hum of power, but it's silent. Slipping under the fence, I let out a sigh. Most people are too scared to venture past the fence, but the woods are calming like no place else.

I didn't always feel like this. My father used to take me into the forest, giving me skills and knowledge. I was never scared, always secure with him by my side. But when he died, crushed under the tons of rock, I forgot. I forgot all of the ways to kill game, the edible plants, the hidden secrets. We were starving. The Capitol's payout ran dry quickly, and only months later was I brave enough to come back. I'd hug the fence, slowly going farther each day, running back at any noise. But soon I was comfortable. I learned to climb when wild dogs ran past, to walk on silent feet, and spot the animals that were our salvation. I remembered the skills my father taught me, and found the tools he left me.

I take out that same bow from a hollow log, wrapped in a tarp to protect it from the elements. There are a few others, scattered around the forest, but this is my favorite. The one I learned to shoot with.

The barest hints light allow me to see through the trees, and the wind is relatively silent. A good day for hunting.

Two squirrels and one turkey. A good haul. It's a welcome weight in my game bag, one that can't be taken for granted. I'm waiting for Gale, picking berries to pass the time. Purple juice stains my hands, but the sweet blackberries will be worth it.

"You going to save some for me?" Gale is almost as silent as me. Almost, but not quite. I heard the soft sound of grass flattening under his feet. I turn around, and a smile breaks out.

"Of course." I spot the loaf in his hands. "Fresh bread? We'll have a feast." Even from a few feet away, the smell makes my mouth water.

"Let me guess, Prim left us a surprise?" He smiles, leading me to our spot. We settle down between the rocks, pressed together in the tight space. It's an amazing view, but my stomach is growling.

"Cheese. And I picked berries. Isn't it early for the bakery to be open?"

"The old man was up early. I'm guessing he was trying to calm his nerves. Don't know why though, his sons won't have more than 6 apiece." Gale is always bitter about the merchant's chances. They never take out the Tesserae. "I passed the shop on my way to the fence. Figured I'd get a snack." He leans over and steals a few berries from my hand, popping them in his mouth. "What's the plan for today?"

I unwrap the cheese, and Gale splits the bread. Thin wisps of steam rise from it, mingling with our breaths. "Well, hopefully survive the Reaping, then have a little feast." I take the bread offered. "You?"

"This is my last Reaping, Catnip!" He tweaks my nose. "Gotta do something special. I'm thinking of going to a Reaping Bonfire. Make my way to the slag heap." He smiles at my glare. "What? It's a cause for celebration."

District 12 doesn't have much fun, but one of the few things we do have are Bonfires. Generally, they're reserved for special days, like the Harvest Festival, Reaping Day, weddings, the like. But sometimes they're set up just to have something to do, with the teens and younger adults frequenting the majority of those. Gale is always in attendance, giving up no opportunity to let loose. He's more open than I am, and more popular.

I look out to the forest. The sun is about to break over the horizon, giving the sky a faint orange blush. But even that beauty can't distract me from bitter thoughts. "The slag heap isn't necessarily special, is it?" With his looks, charm, and the fact he could provide for a family, there's never a shortage of girls hoping they'll be the one to stick. I'm never happy when he has a girl, but not for the reasons people think. A good hunting partner's hard to find, and Gale is always less reliable when there's someone in his sights. Why would he hunt in the frosted woods, when a more pleasant activity could warm him up?

That's not to say he stops providing. Gale always puts his family first. But I still don't like hearing about his conquests. I can admit it's a bit possessive, but he's my best friend. And I don't like sharing.

He just shakes his head and adopts a teasing tone. "Y'know, maybe you need to lighten up a bit. Have some fun of your own."

I have. I've gone to a number of the Bonfires and gotten pissed drunk at a few of them. Fooled around with boys. None were great experiences.

I shake my head, clearing the memories. "We should head back." Gale almost looks hurt. But honestly, I don't have time for his feelings.

PEETA

It's Reaping Day. I lay in my small bed, that one thought running through my brain, over and over, in circles until I can't take it anymore. The sun is coming up, and there's bread to make.

I can smell the yeast from downstairs. Though today is special for the District, I follow the same routine. My father wakes to mix the first batch, and I wake at dawn after it's done rising. It may be a holiday, but it's one of our busiest days. People celebrate when they're spared from the yearly games. The richer merchants buy our cakes, the poorer ones our cookies. Those in the Seam buy bread if they can afford it. There are always two families in mourning, but generally, relief eclipses the sympathy. And so we bake.

I roll out of bed, quietly putting on my casual clothes. Old jeans and a tight t-shirt. We've been going through one of our harder periods, and I've almost grown out of my clothes. There's no money for new ones. I consider asking Nick for some of his, which would probably fit better, but he doesn't have many. There's no point, anyway. As long as I can wear the shirts, they still serve their purpose. More worrying is the amount of sketching supplies I have left. They're a luxury in District 12, the most treasured items I own. I'm burning through paper and running low on graphite pencils. But those are common compared to the watercolor I received last year. I've made it stretch through the months, but there's no replacing it. I almost couldn't believe it when my father gave them to me for my birthday. That was a good season, with no worries about money. But today, the last thing on my mind should be art supplies.

I glance around our room, knowing the odds are in my favor, with five slips in that glass bowl. Those in the Seam have it worse. They take out the Tesserae, resulting in a greater number of slips. Grain and oil for worse odds. I still take in the attic as if it's my last time. I let out a sigh. I'm being dramatic. Either way, I have to come back up to get changed into my nice clothes.

Nick and Rye are still sleeping, but I slip downstairs to the shop. My father kneads the dough as I walk over. He has a drawn face, looking older than his age. Then again, being married to my mother would do that to anyone. I put on my apron and silently take over. He nods at me and goes up to change. I create two cheese buns before sliding the whole pan into the oven. Just in case she comes by. It's a bit pathetic.

I lean back, watching the oven as if the lump of metal could give me answers. It doesn't. So I'm left with the thoughts of my mother, the Reaping, and a certain grey-eyed girl. It's no wonder I didn't hear her entrance.

"Mellark."

My head whips around, and the object of my thoughts stands in front of me. "Ms. Everdeen. What can I get you today?"

"I have squirrels." She holds them up, saying nothing else. On a good day, I can get a short conversation. But this will not be a good day. I can still try my best to get some reaction. And the easiest emotion to draw out of her is a some shade of irritability.

Generally, we'll give a loaf for one squirrel, two if it's particularly meaty. She offers one to me, clearly worth a single loaf. I look back at her. "I'll give you two for that one."

"No. Give me one." She takes the bait.

I lean on the counter, giving her a grin. "It's Reaping Day. We're all feeling a bit generous."

"No. Give me a fair deal." I'm a foot or two away from her, and it's distracting me. Those Seam eyes, mist grey, are starting to show her ire. In my admittedly biased opinion, she's the prettiest girl in our grade. With high cheekbones, made even more prominent with slightly sunken cheeks, she looks ethereal. I assume it's hunger that gives her face the sharp angles; she's never truly eaten well. Still, she's better than many in the Seam, wasting away. The hunting gives her short figure lean arms and muscled legs, perfect for running through the forest and shooting animals. I realize I'm staring.

"If you keep arguing, I'll throw in a cookie with the bread." I give her a wink and turn around to take out the loaves. She's never given me the time of day... except once. And even that was a mistake. Still, I'm hung up on her. Have been for years.

I pack the cheese loaves in a bag, dangling it in front of her. "Give me the squirrel."

"No. I'm not taking favors."

"Come on, Katniss. It's Reaping Day." I drop it on the counter and start gathering my ingredients for a cake. With the bread laid out on the counter, I can see her fighting her pride. It's a losing battle.

"You know, you can be a bit of a dick." The squirrel lands with an unceremonious thunk on the counter, and I turn around to grin.

"Why, wanna taste something other than my bread?" The expression that had softened marginally tightens. Something flickers in her eyes, and the stone cold face relaxes once more, giving way to an eye roll.

"I think I prefer cheese buns to that taste."

She walks out, the bag crinkling in her fist, door swinging shut. I stare after her for a second, then go back to work. There's no time to dwell on thoughts of her.

Hi everyone! If you made it to the end, congrats! The first few chapters will be pretty standard, as there's not much to change, but you can see I mixed it up a bit.

The bakery scene was inspired by a couple fics, but most notably Someone to Watch Over Me.

That last exchange is just to give you a hint of what comes later. No Lemons, but plenty of innuendo. And I let them get a bit of action in the cave. I can't torture you ;) However, this sort of dialogue takes a back seat until we get to the arena. I put it here so you know whether you'll like the mood later in the fic.

You might have noticed, there is no original text. I might have a few lines that I just can't bear to change, but when the rewrites have so much of the original dialogue and narration, it gets tedious.

OK, I think that's it. If you like this so far, R&R please! If you're not sure, wait until they get to the Capitol to decide. By then it'll be clear the way this story is going.