The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.

A/N: Please, please, please review! This is truly scary sometimes and I need your guidance. Tell me your favorite parts, tell me your least favorite parts, tell me anything.

I'm having lunch alone.

That's not anything new or even a bit surprising.

What's new and almost has me choking on my apple, is the person I occasionally spend the break with, Madge Undersee, and Gale walking in the cafeteria together. I don't have time to react before they've both sat down on my table. Next to each other.

I take a small sip from my water, mostly to keep myself from saying something I might regret. Thankfully, Madge isn't any shyer than ever, as she starts the conversation. I don't know why I expected her to act differently with an extra person on our table.

"Sorry I'm late. Peacekeepers held everyone up after P.E.," she says, taking out her lunch. As always, she places most of it in the middle of the table, in a silent offering. This time it's a bowl of salad and a bag of biscuits. At first it was hard for me to accept anything, but now I reach out for a biscuit without thinking about it too much. Madge knows I'll bring her strawberries next Sunday. What she doesn't know is who collects them more often than not. I push the bowl closer to Gale.

"Why?" I can't help myself. It's become a habit, this need to know everything. What would Peacekeepers be doing in school? It's one of the only places we're free to do whatever we want, as long as we attend. Grades don't matter much. Everyone ends up working the same job, an excellent student or a complete failure. Big deal if you can recite the over 300 pages of laws and regulations applicable to coal mining while you're doing it underground.

"There was an argument. You know how Mrs. Williford is, she just had to go and alert them," Madge explains.

"An argument? Mellark broke that guy's nose," Gale intervenes.

"Well, that guy had it coming from the beginning of the class,"

"You haven't heard half of it. Should've been there in math, he had some even nicer things to say about his father,"

They go on recounting, not realizing I'm frozen. I'm only half aware of what I'm doing, as I push the leftovers of my sandwich towards them and grab my bag. I only half hear Gale's worried "Catnip?" and Madge's chair turning.

Though he doesn't do much work, the school still has a so called principal. He's so old he doesn't dare leave his office, but he's always, always there, as the useless rules oblige. I see him only on the first and last day of every school year. Thankfully, I haven't had my fair share of going to the principal's office. I do know though that that's where you're taken to if you get in trouble on school grounds. I know that's where Peeta is.

When I arrive though, the only person I find is his father, sitting on a rotten sofa right next to the office's door. He's leaning on his knees, head in hands, so he doesn't notice me. Even in a hurry my steps are soundless. I don't have time to somehow get his attention before the door is swinging open.

I'm standing right in front of the office, so my gray eyes lock with blue immediately. Rye's steely gaze doesn't stay on mine for long, turning instead to his father.

"I get two Saturdays in the mines and a warning. A last one," he grumbles. All talk and no bite, once again. For the first time I'm grateful.

He's walking away, not waiting for his father, not waiting for me. Not that I'd know what to say or do. I notice his limp, faintly remember the red stains of blood on his lips and before I know it I'm bursting out "Wait! You should come home with me."

Rye turns around and, oh, if looks could kill… "For my mother to check out the damage, I mean," I add, slightly unsure the more time passes, but still determined to help out. I did know what to expect and this is certainly not the first time I'm feeling guilty over the aftermath of a case. However it's a surprise how much I wish I could take everything back right now, even if it's not the right thing to do. Seeing Rye this upset makes me feel uneasy and I don't want to know what kind of feelings Peeta is going to bring out. Right now, I see an opportunity to help out. If I'm just allowed to.

"You've already done enough. Thank you, Katniss," Rye says with a smile that deceives no one. I don't think it's supposed to. In fact it has the exact effect he meant it to, making me feel sick.

I'm stuck in the moment, watching him drag his feet away from me, so I jump when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Thank you, Katniss," Mr. Mellark says and this, this is genuine.

"Don't thank me. I'm going to bring some salve or something after school," I nod to reassure both him and myself.

It doesn't end up being that easy.

"Katniss, I can't just give you a full jar when you're not willing to bring the person to me and when you say it's not for trading," my mother repeats for what seems like the hundredth time.

"It's an emergency. I made a promise. I owe somebody something," I try to say calmly, but by the end I'm barely getting the words out.

"Katniss, what is going on?" For once I wish it was one of her bad days. Then, if I wanted 10 jars, I'd have them.

"Just give it to me."

''Katniss-"

"This is the first time I've wanted something from you in the last 5 years, why can't you just do this for me?!" I try my best not to yell, knowing Prim is in the next room, but it's hard.

That shuts her up for awhile, but then she asks more timidly, as if afraid of the answer, "Katniss, who is this for?"

"It's for the Mellarks, okay?" I sigh, getting out of the house to go sit on the porch, where I usually take a look at cases when the weather's good. It's late November and I should be finding another way around this in my dad's office, but I deserve the way my bare hands tremble, how my eyes burn. My nose hasn't gotten to run before the door opens and my coat is placed around my shoulders.

The pocket is heavy.

I don't waste any time before knocking on the door. It's freezing, I don't know how crucial Rye's injuries are and my fear of the baker's wife (or whatever she is now) can't compare to my determination.

Peeta answers even faster than yesterday. His expression is unreadable and I read expressions for a job.

"Hello," I say after a silent moment of our usual staring. It comes out sounding more like an apology would rather than a greeting. As soon as I've handed him the jar of salve, I put my freezing hands in the pockets of my coat. "For your brother."

"The bakery's not open today," Peeta says, his eyes on the jar. That's what must've gotten people talking. The bakery's always open. "I don't have anything to give you."

"I wasn't expecting anything," I assure him. I've done enough. His gaze strays to me and stays there for so long without blinking, I wonder how he's not crying against the cold.

"So there really isn't a law for trying to be kind?" He asks, making a smile appear on my face. There's no denying now, the truth in his words yesterday.

"Not if it feels like the right thing." This can't be wrong. "Or if you go to school with the person," I quip, making him smile too.

"I'll be right back," Peeta says, disappearing into the kitchen and once more I'm brought back to yesterday. If history keeps repeating itself, this time I won't be able to go around accepting his generosity, so I should probably go right now. But he already said the bakery's closed, didn't he? I decide to wait him out, more curious than anything. It's awhile before he's back, but he's got his coat and boots on.

"Rye said to thank you," he tells me, closing the door behind him.

"No, he didn't."

"No, he didn't," he confirms. "But his sighs of relief said otherwise. Can I walk you home? The wind is so strong and you're so small, I'm afraid it'll blow you away."

I snort, knowing I can get home just safely, the same way I made my way here. But the wind is strong. We won't be overheard by the small amount of people that have dared to go out in this weather and if there's a time to talk, this is it.

Neither one of us has taken a chance to start the conversation by the time we're at the edge of town, just where I met Bannock yesterday. Remembering my thoughts and knowing time's running out gives me the courage to begin.

"So what exactly happened to Rye, anyway?" I ask as if we've been talking all the way up to here.

"Nobody told you?" Peeta asks, surprised as if I've just told him I never knew school's out on weekends.

"I'm sorry I'm not friends with the entire district," I snap. I did find out from my friends but that wasn't his suggestion. "I know he got in a fight and he had to go to the principal's. I meant what set it off."

"I didn't mean to say you don't have friends." I guess he gets my own suggestions too. "I'm sorry, I just thought you knew, since it seems to be the daily topic in the district… school especially, I guess, I didn't go today. And a part of me thought you'd figure it out. I should've known you don't know, since you came to the bakery despite it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Despite having not been at school, Peeta tells me what he got from Delly Cartwright, a friend of his, and the little he managed to pry from his father. The talk was already started the moment the town kids noticed Peeta's absence. Apparently there was just one person who knew or at least thought he knew the details – the judge's son, Ewald Camden. Assuming Peeta was home with the flu, Delly had said she'd make sure to bring him the homework with some soup later, when Ewald suddenly intervened. Making himself seem like he knew more than even Peeta's closest friend, he'd confidently said "school's the least of Mellark's problems" and "if I had the kind of mother he has, I wouldn't be able to stomach even soup". Suddenly everyone became interested in the conversation, friend and strangers, town and Seam; and Ewald wasn't exactly keeping out the details either. He'd told them about the early phone call his father received, an "emergency situation". Apparently a case about a divorce to the judge equals a case about a murder to me. Both one in a million.

By lunch, the entire school knew about the first divorce in the district our generation has ever witnessed, who was getting divorced and, the thing that caused the most noise - why. Except me, obviously. Except I knew first, I just didn't know everyone knew.

If anyone had any doubt whether the story was just a rumor… well, it was erased the moment everything exploded - math class. The same class Gale had talked about. The class with both Ewald and Rye. Rye, about who there are constant rumors regarding girls, all of them which he's ignored with a smirk all through high school.

"I guess after Ewald said some nasty things about, I quote, "our sad excuse of a dad", Rye didn't feel like smirking anymore." Peeta sighs.

"I thought it was you."

"What?" Peeta looks at me. Not a surprise he didn't hear my mumbled against the wind, unexplained sentence.

"When I learnt that one of the Mellark brothers got in a fight, I thought it was you," I admit, more loudly this time. Peeta laughs.

"If I hadn't stayed home today… I don't know, maybe that's how things would've turned out. Or no one would've gotten in a fight, because I would've calmed Rye down. Yeah, probably that. Ewald can't get to me, despite the fact that there was truth to be found in his words," Peeta says, leaving me with so many questions that I yet again end up speechless for a moment.

"Why were you home?" I decide to ask first.

"Had to help dad separate what little belongings he has from my mom's," he says and for once keeps his eyes away from mine. That's how I know he's hiding something. Katniss, me, feels this, not the investigator.

"Why isn't your mom the one separating the things? You don't trust her?"

"Oh, no, she did it too, mostly with what's left at the bakery - flour, eggs, things that we can't just leave for an unknown amount of time. Could hear her angry talking to herself all the way from the bedrooms." They can't just leave? For an unknown amount of time?

"Wait, why didn't the bakery work today? Are you closing officially? What is she making you do?" I ask, question after question.

"She's not making us do anything, Katniss," Peeta says, sadly. "I don't think she knew what she was signing up for when she refused to sign the divorce papers."

Oh no.

"She refused?" I stop walking and stand in front of Peeta, making him stop too. I don't care if people watch, I have a feeling this is going to turn out to be like a boring commercial compared to the performances they're going to get in the upcoming weeks, possibly months. Oh no. "The witch refused?"

"Yes. Dad didn't waste his time. He's wasted enough already, so he wanted to just be done with her as fast as possible, but it didn't quite work out like he'd planned. Mother laughed in his face, literally. She composed herself pretty fast, almost impressively, after being handed the evidence of her affair," Peeta gulps and takes a pause.

"So the photos didn't work?" I ask in the same quiet tone and, if we weren't standing so close, I would've had to repeat myself again for sure.

All it takes for me to turn around, not standing to look at him anymore, is the slow shake of his head. No. My hands are still warm in my pockets, so to turn me back around he gently grabs me by the waist instead.

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?" I laugh and you don't have to be an investigator to know it's not real. With our proximity I can't possibly be cold anymore and his chest is shielding me from the wind, so I can't blame the dampness in my eyes for anything else than what it is for. Tears.

"More than you can ever know." I have got to work on reading Peeta Mellark. "Listen, even if things aren't good right now, at least I've seen a glimpse that they could be. My father hasn't had that spark in his eyes for years, Katniss. Even while we were packing or looking at Rye's wounds, he looked happier than I can remember."

"What exactly is the situation?"

"When my mother refused to sign, I think she thought dad would give up. She underestimated him. She didn't expect him to fight back, and really, who could blame her? They keep surprising each other with their moves, but that doesn't mean the game's over. They're just playing the hard way, the way with attorneys and hours spent in court. Mom refuses to stop working in the bakery and move out, despite the fact that it all belonged to my grandparents; she did gain a certain percent with the marriage. Dad refuses to be under one roof with her, so I guess neither one of us will be. Until it's settled, I don't know what mother's going to do, probably stay at her lover's, I could care less, but we are moving to Bannock's. Not going to be fun, I'll probably have to sleep on the ground or share a bed with Rye, because a room wasn't enough already," Peeta explains.

It doesn't seem like a fun game to play, but I could learn the rules. Nodding, I start walking again, thoughtful.

"Maybe I can help," I hurry to say, after catching a glimpse of my house down the street.

"You've done enough." He doesn't say it as a snide remark. Not like Rye said it earlier today, but it still knocks the breath out of my lungs.

Peeta, noticing my reaction, gives me a concerned look, but I let out a shaky breath and continue. "I mean it. I know an attorney. He's a pain in the ass, but he gets the job done. And, I mean, if you want to, we can look up the divorce process together. I know barely anything about that, so you probably don't have any idea at all. I do know you're going to have to be prepared to take that bitch down, so we could check out at all the wounds she's left you with… I mean figuratively! If you want to," I repeat, my hands out of my pockets now and nervously playing with each other instead. I'd rather die from cold than from embarrassment.

"Yeah, we could do that. Thanks, schoolmate." We share a smile as I'm climbing the porch steps of my house.

I'm about to open the door, when I remember something. Peeta's standing in the exact same place when I turn around, not where I was expecting him to be - halfway down the street.

"Peeta, why did you think I wouldn't have come to the bakery if I knew the whole story?"

He sucks in a deep breath, as if he's preparing for his answer to open new kinds of long discussions. "Are we not at the part where it's, what's it called, case closed right now? I tho- I had convinced myself we'd just continue going to school every day, circling each other, but always running when we get to close. Like the bread, you know? With your debt repaid, you had no reason to bring the medicine to my brother or offering all of the things you did, but you did it anyway. I don't understand why."

He's not asking me to run away from the question like I've been running away from him for years and tell him I'm kind like that to my classmates. Because I'm not kind like that to all of my classmates. Really, he's not asking me for anything, but if I feel free enough to, I could give him something anyway.

"It felt like the right thing. It feels like the right thing. I don't have any more answers for you, but I can tell you for sure that ''pity'' wouldn't be one of them." I've stolen his own words again, but for once they're real. Turning around, I step inside. I lock the door behind me.

Whatever it is he's running from, I'm right behind.