my father's father's blood is on the tracks
a sweet refrain drifts in from the past
I got my ticket and I'm going to go
home

Katniss watches.

She perches on an empty windowsill of the little concrete house as Peeta wades into the green glass of her father's lake. She smiles a bit when she hears that his footsteps are heavy even in water.

He turns to look at her. The sunlight makes his wet chest and shoulders shine and she realizes too late that she's blushing.

"You coming or what?" he asks, and he throws a handful of silt and lake weeds at her. It lands on her leather quiver and she scowls at him.

"Watch it or I'll drown you."

"That would make you a very poor teacher."

Katniss hums in agreement and slips out of her boots and shirt. Peeta averts his eyes, ever the gentleman, even though she's still wearing her brown camisole. She walks easily into the lake and slides under the water, relishing the undulating silence. She opens her eyes and admires the flashes of silvery fish, waving green tendrils, smooth gray stones. Suddenly, Peeta's face is there, holding his breath in a way that makes his cheeks puff out absurdly. Katniss's laughter bubbles up unbidden and she stands to break the surface.

She emerges to find him coughing, his blond hair now dark and slick. Katniss grins even wider and thumps him on the back.

"Rule one: Don't breathe the water."

Peeta is still able to shoot her a look as he splutters. She laughs at him, but continues to rub his back as his breathing calms down.

"Yeah, got that part," he concludes in a hoarse voice.

"Yes," Katniss says. "And you don't have to look like a monkey when you hold your breath, either. Here, try this." She takes a breath and sinks down so that her mouth and nose are submerged and blows air through her nostrils, making bubbles. He watches her suspiciously, not convinced.

"Why?"

"So you get used to the sensation of water being pushed out of you, rather than into you," she tells him, not unkindly. He nods and tries it, and she smiles again at the way he shuts his eyes so tightly, as if he is afraid water might get into them.

They spend an hour or so mastering the arts of breathing, floating, and propelling one's self underwater. Peeta can't seem to manage to trust that the water will hold his solid body up without his help as he floats, but by the time they break to eat their midday meal, he is able to paddle to the middle of the lake and struggle back to where she waits.

Peeta starts a fire while Katniss cleans her easily-bagged waterfowl. She rigs it up on a stripped piece of wood and they sit in companionable silence as it roasts.

"So your father brought you here?" asks Peeta. He tosses a pebble into the water and watches as the ripples begin.

"Yes, he did," she says, idly watching the tiny waves lap the shore. "It was our place." Peeta looks over at her. Droplets cling to the tips of her dark hair, splayed across her back, not in its usual plait. He waits until she speaks again.

"I don't even remember learning to swim. I guess I was really young. He would hunt and I would play. It was…" she stops talking, but Peeta nods.

"My father and I used to get up earlier than everyone else. To roll out the dough," he says. "He'd make tea and we'd sit together and watch the sunrise. And you."

Katniss turns and looks at him curiously. "What?"

Peeta laughs quietly and lies back on the ground, his hands behind his head. "I'd see you run out to the woods every day, before the sun was up."

She considers him for a moment before lying down next to him. He wraps an arm around her, holding her head fast to his shoulder, so that she curls into his body.

"You should have offered me some tea," she jokes.

"You would've never taken it," he replies.

"That's true."

They lie quietly, listening to the murmur of wildlife around them. Peeta's breathing is measured and deep, and he only rouses when Katniss sits up to take their meal off of the fire. He props himself up on his elbows, watching as she pulls their bread and apples from the canvas bag. He furrows his brow when she also pulls out two toasting forks.

"Did you want to toast your bread?" he asks.

"I thought we both could," she says evenly, not meeting his eyes.

"Well, I'd rather mine soft," says Peeta, trying politely decline. "Too much stale bread your whole life kind of ruins crunchy crust." Katniss ignores him and spears a slice of bread on each fork. She hands one to him and wordlessly holds her own over the flames.

"Katniss?" he asks, perplexed, but she grabs his hand and holds it so that his bread begins toasting, too. Peeta's mouth opens as if he wants to protest again, but she leans over and presses her lips to his. He gasps and nearly drops his skewer.

"Careful," whispers Katniss, her breath ghosting over his mouth. She turns her attention back to the fire and takes both pieces of bread in hand. When she faces Peeta again and hands him his piece, she sees he understands.

"I figure you've done enough asking. My turn," she says. Peeta's cornflower blue eyes are disbelieving, joyous, bright with unshed tears as she shifts so that she is kneeling in front of him.

"I don't think I can live without you, Peeta. And I don't want to try. I…" she trails off, fidgeting with the bread. He shifts so that he is kneeling in front of her, too, and as always, his words make things better, smoother.

"I love you so much, Katniss Everdeen. You are the strongest, most beautiful, powerful, remarkable, selfless person in this world."

"No –"

He puts a finger on her lips. "You are. And I plan on spending every moment of the rest of my life convincing you of it."

Katniss swallows the lump in her throat and offers the bread to Peeta.

"Marry me?" she murmurs. Peeta threads his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head, and pulls her to him slowly. His kiss is sensual but demanding, and grows only moreso as she deepens it. Katniss feels the peculiar need she associates only with Peeta growing in the pit of her being, but when he moans softly, she comes back to her senses.

"Wait," she breathes, pulling back, and with all of her usual grace, almost shoves the bread in his mouth. He starts to laugh, especially when she snatches his piece and wolfs down a bite. She has molded herself back into him before he is finished swallowing, but neither of them care, especially when Katniss's hands find their way down his back and under the waistband of his trousers. Her fingers skim the skin there and he shudders. He takes her in his arms and lays her down gently, caressing her neck, collarbone, shoulders, and when his lips find the skin between her breasts, she finds she is incapable of any more thought.

It is dusk when she wakes, entwined with him on the shore, covered only with the picnic blanket. The fire is only embers now, so she sits up to add more tinder, and the blanket falls away. Peeta stares at her, bare and bathed in the growing firelight, and he is so quiet that she nearly misses his question.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

Katniss turns back to look at him, a little ashamed that he doesn't know the answer. So she wraps the blanket around both of them and kisses him so thoroughly that they are both panting for air.

She tells him, "Real."