When he was nine years old, Peeta painted Katniss Everdeen for the first time. Before then, he had drawn her time and time again. The very first had been during art when he was in the first grade. That portrait was a mélange of swirls and unrelated shapes. As he got older, the drawings became more detailed and elaborate. The art teacher, Mrs. Evangeline, recognized his talent and endeavored to encourage him whenever and however possible. She had given him several small canvases and a small supply of water colors. He carried them home and hid them carefully underneath his bed. After everyone was asleep, he retrieved the canvas and paints and then carefully placed his beloved picture on the desk where he could study it as he painted.

The finished portrait wasn't very impressive. The lines were smudged and the colors muddled but the gray eyes and wide, beaming smile were faithfully duplicated. He had been thrilled with the paints and thanked Mrs. Evangeline profusely. She only smiled and reminded him to practice often. Occasionally, she would bring give him additional canvases and paints or varying types of pencils and inks. He was overjoyed with the gifts. He would stow them in his usual hiding spot and replicate the picture in the new medium during the quiet dark hours. Mrs. Evangeline never asked to see his work. She would examine the pictures and portraits that he did while in class, make requisite comments and pat his shoulder encouragingly. Every now and again, there would be a small package lying on his desk for him to take home. He continued to paint Katniss, using the picture as a template and aging her as he, himself aged.

Most of the paintings were hidden in a forgotten corner of the basement. The only ones that he kept in his room were whatever he was currently working on and the original watercolor copy of the photograph. He thought long and hard before pulling that painting out of his desk and carefully wrapping it up. He didn't know if Haymitch had been serious when he mentioned the drawings but Peeta had decided that the best course was complete honesty. Mr. Everdeen would either accept the picture or hit him with it. He hesitated, his fingers tracing over the wavering, unsteady lines. It was his most favorite painting of her. The others were all conjecture. This was unequivocally her and he was almost loathed to part with it. He had poured every ounce of love and longing that his nine year old heart had been capable of into that picture. Only the chance of seeing her was worth parting with it.

He carefully packed the painting and his picture in a shoulder bag and then made his way quietly down the hallway. He mentally ticked off each creaking, groaning spot as he carefully bypassed them: the board in front of the bathroom, the second step, the eighth step. His hand had just reached for the knob that would let him out into the bakery proper when the sound of a throat being cleared drew him up short. Peeta blew out a breath and turned slowly around. His wide blue eyes met the amused ones of his father. Peeta couldn't stop the sigh of relief that escaped him. His dad was the best possible scenario. "I was just…uhh" he mumbled. His father grinned and waved him on. Peeta gave him a heartfelt smile and reached again for the door.

Pryce called out softly, "Don't forget about the loose board on the bottom step, son. That one gives you boys away every time." Peeta felt his face flush and nodded gratefully. He let himself quietly out the back door, eased it closed once more, and then made his way toward the large, dark house at the edge of town. His heart thudded in his chest and he paused to wipe suddenly damp palms on his shirt. Katniss Everdeen's father. He felt the nervous butterflies swirling in his stomach again and leaned against a convenient tree to steady his thoughts. He determinedly forced himself to continue on, sternly clamping down on the doubts that threatened to overwhelm him.

He ascended the steps and knocked quietly on the front door. The interior remained dark and silent. Peeta peered anxiously in the window, and then checked his watch to make sure that he had come at the correct time. The luminescent face gave the time as 1:59 a.m. He wasn't late then. He was in fact a little early. His brow furrowed as he examined the still house. He shifted anxiously and muttered an uncouth oath. The old man had played him. He had walked blithely into it, believing without question. He turned to leave and was startled by the voice that emerged from the dark confines of the porch swing.

"Well, boy, you actually showed up." Haymitch observed, as he tipped the flask up and took a deep swallow. "I thought the prospect of meeting the girl's father would put you off. Most punks run like hell to avoid the parents but not you. You came here in the middle of the night and, unless I'm crazy, brought the artwork with you as well." The old man chuckled and took another swig. "You're either an idiot or besotted. Which one is it?"

Peeta felt an angry heat sweeping through him. His hand tightened on the straps of his bag to keep from punching the rude man in his face. He cleared his throat and questioned, "So, he's not coming then. You had me drag my ass out here just for your own amusement, is that it?" He glared into the gloom. "You could have just told me to fuck off. You didn't have to humiliate me." He turned on his heel and stalked off the porch. The burning in his cheeks was offset by the smoldering ache in his belly.

Haymitch called out, "Hold up, boy. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I figured there was no chance of your showing your face if you thought Basil Everdeen would be here. Most kids your age would have pissed themselves. I never thought in a million years that you would come willingly." He came to the edge of the porch and raked Peeta with an appraising look. "Did you really come to plead your case to a man you don't know for a girl that you've only seen in pictures?"

Peeta nodded stoically. "I told you why. She's the only girl that I've ever wanted. I've known it since I was five years old." He looked down at the paper wrapped bundle in his bag. "I can't explain it. I don't understand it. That doesn't change the fact that the feelings are there and they're real." He shifted uncomfortably and adjusted the bag on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that I bothered you. Please excuse me but I need to get home. It's getting late and I have the morning shift at the bakery tomorrow."

Haymitch drained the decanter and slid it into his pocket. He leaned against the railing and watched the boy trudge dejectedly into the darkness. He muttered softly, "Better that it happened this way. You're living in a dream, boy. Pryce Mellark should have told you that." He gnawed on his bottom lip as the blackness finally swallowed the unhappy form. He glanced back at the porch swing and the figure that remained silently hidden. "You'll have to talk to your girl, Basil. She was careless. The next one might not be so easily gotten rid of."

Basil Everdeen rose silently to his feet and joined Haymitch on the stairs. His gray eyes were somber as they stared into the night. "I'll talk to her but she's headstrong. She has too much of me in her to accept limits, Haymitch. She won't stay in the woods forever. The outside world will intrude no matter what I do." His gaze darted toward town and the path that the crestfallen boy had taken. "Pryce Mellark's son. It figures. You said that he claimed to have a picture of Katniss?"

Haymitch nodded. "I saw it with my own eyes, Basil. It was of her and her mother. Must have been taken when they were staying with Mrs. Mellark." He smirked at the man's disbelieving expression. "The boy claims to have found it in an old album. Pryce told him a story of you and the girl when he was five. The kid took it to heart. He is supposed to be something of an artist. I've heard some talk around town. It's not exactly a useful skill around here."

Basil shook his head. "It seems ridiculous. He loves her because of a story that he was told as a child. He has a picture of her as a two year old and has painted her ever since. It's not possible." He grinned suddenly. "It seems almost as likely as the apothecary's daughter falling in love with a coal miner. Haymitch, they're still looking for me. They would likely use Katniss and Prim to pull me in if given the chance. What can I do? I don't have anything against Peeta Mellark. He seems like a fine boy. I don't want to deny my daughters the chance to have what their mother and I have. But I have to be smart. My past could get my girls killed. I know that but I can't keep them hidden forever. They deserve a chance to have a life and find love."

Haymitch shook his head sadly. "You know how far they would go. They killed everybody close to me, Basil. They've tried to kill you more than once. Paylor's last message said that they have a few good leads. The girls will have to stay where they are safe until the last few are rounded up." He patted the younger man's shoulder. "If it's a choice between breaking that boy's heart and risking the girl's life, then I'll choose her every time. We can't afford to take chances now. We're too close."

Basil smiled sadly and clasped his longtime friend's hand. "Thank you getting word to me. I'll have a talk with Katniss. She's going to have to stick closer to home." He glanced unconsciously toward the now empty path. "Let me know if the boy makes any more trips into the woods. I may have to take a more direct approach to dissuade him if that happens." He sighed regretfully. "Paylor had better keep her promise to keep my family safe. My girls are missing out on so much. It had better be worth it, Haymitch. Tell her I said that. I wish that things could be differently for everybody." He slipped off the porch and lifted a hand. Haymitch nodded and watched as the man seemed to disappear. He moved like a ghost into the ensuing night. The only noise was the wind stirring the leaves.

Haymitch shook his head mournfully and turned his eyes back to the silent township. He cursed the damned Capital. After all this time, they still managed to stifle any hope that raised its head. Haymitch thoughtfully tapped his lips with a negligent finger as he pondered the situation. He couldn't see a solution right now but resolved to find one. He wasn't a Victor by coincidence. Odds had never meant much to Haymitch Abernathy. He had beaten them before. He could do it again.

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Peeta finished up the last few trays and then doffed his apron and hung it on the rack by the door. He picked up his shoulder bag and slung it over his arm. Seth loaded the trays and gave him a half-hearted smile which Peeta returned. He had been uncharacteristically unhappy since his night visit with the surly old drunk. He went through the motions of his usual routines but it was glaringly obvious that his heart wasn't in it. Pryce had attempted to draw him out but Peeta maintained a stubborn silence. His father was too circumspect to question the old man. He continued to give Peeta questioning looks, which only resulted in the boy feeling worse. Peeta longed to be left alone, but wasn't getting his wish. He decided to take matters into his own hands that afternoon. He would go into the woods for some peace and quiet. Maybe then, he would be able to let her go.

Pryce watched as his youngest son walked slowly toward the distant fence. He knew that his son was hurting but not how to help him. The baker blew out a frustrated breath and joined his middle son at the prep table. Seth glanced up and gave him a tight lipped smile. Peeta's mood had seeped into the whole family. Only Maura Mellark seemed unaffected but she tended to ignore her sons and husband anyway. The woman had wanted a daughter badly but was unable to bear any more children after Peeta had been born. She retreated into herself and barely acknowledged her family. When she finally came out of her stupor, she had forsaken the bakery all together. She spent most of her time in town at various clubs and social gatherings. Committees and garden parties filled up Maura Mellark's hours now.

"He'll come around, Dad." Seth stated. "He just needs to work out whatever it is on his own. He'll be okay."

Pryce patted Seth on the back and smiled confidently, "I know that he will. You boys make me proud. You're all three growing up to be fine men." He ran a hand back through his hair. "I just want each of you to be happy. I want you to know that you can always come to me."

Seth grinned, "We know that. We're okay. Don't worry, dad." He pulled the remaining trays out of the fire and inserted the others from the waiting rack. "Peeta will bounce back better than ever. He always does."

Pryce lifted his eyes to the distant fence. He couldn't see the tousled blonde head anymore. He hoped that the boy would find whatever he needed out there. It bothered the baker to see him so disheartened. "I hope you're right, Seth. I hope you're right." Turning his eyes and mind back to the waiting pastries before him, Pryce lost himself in the familiar tasks, hoping that Peeta would be able to do the same.

The worn, rutted path hadn't changed. He still had to watch where he placed his feet and step carefully over the furrowed cuts. The quiet stillness of the woods soothed him. He glanced up occasionally to look at the verdant greenery and plethora of wildflowers that dotted the landscape. Hidden valleys and sheltered nooks invited him to explore but he had a specific goal in mind. He wanted to see the lake. He would sit in the willows and draw her one more time. After that, he had to consider that what he wanted might never happen. He shook his head angrily. Eleven years' worth of hopes and dreams would go for nothing. He knew that he would never be able to love anyone in quite the same way again. Part of his heart would always belong to her.

The lake came into view and Peeta angled toward the willows on the far bank. His gaze swept over the water, consciously picking out the spot where he had seen her. It was empty just now, looking like every other sheltered crevice along the shore line. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes and examined the surface of the water. If her lines were still there, they weren't evident from here. He gave another glum headshake and sank down on his log, dropping his head into his hands. He had half convinced himself that she would be here and he would get to see her again. He should have known better.

Flipping to a fresh sheet in the sketch pad, he quickly roughed a drawing of the distant cove. He raised his head and stared at the trees until he had the forms memorized. His hand moved unconsciously as he outlined the trunks and branches. He smudged the lines with his thumb and then shaded them to reflect the wavering sunlight that filtered through the leaves. When he had the background sufficiently laid down, he closed his eyes and summoned the memory of her deftly handling copious fishing lines. The dark coiled braid, the slender form, and the shining silver eyes. His mouth quirked up as his hand knowledgably moved over the paper; pulling the image from his mind and replicating it faithfully.

"Who are you?" the voice startled him enough that he tumbled off the log and landed flat on his back in the muck. His eyes flew open and darted about as they searched out the person who had spoken. He froze in confusion as he met a curious pair of lightning laced gray eyes which was studying him intently. "I asked you a question," she continued. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

His mouth moved but no sound came forth. His eyes traced over her face, taking in every small detail. Her dark lashes were the exact sable shade as the thick braid that coiled over her shoulder. Her lips were slightly chapped and tinted a pale pink. Her voice was low and smooth, the words coming out round and full instead of the hurried, clipped tones he was used to. She sat easily on her haunches, weight balanced on the balls of her feet. Her hand, clasped on his arm, was strong and calloused. Peeta shook himself out of his stupor and blurted out, "I just came here to be alone. I didn't mean to bother you. I'm sorry."

Her brows raised in astonishment. The corners of her mouth lifted into a grin, which Peeta hesitantly returned. "You're not bothering me. I just wanted to know who you are. This is the second time you've shown up. If I have to share my favorite spot, I at least want a name to go along with the face."

His brain finally caught up with the situation. He felt an unbidden blush set his face on fire. "My name is Peeta Mellark," he bit out. "I work at the bakery in town." He bit his tongue to keep it from running away with him. Her gray eyes bore into him, as if she could read every thought racing through his tumultuous mind. He belatedly extended his hand toward her and had to restrain his traitorous heart when she grasped it.

"Katniss Everdeen," she returned and flashed a tentative smile. "Pleased to meet you." She squeezed his fingers briefly and then dropped his hand as she took a seat beside him on the log. "I've never seen anyone at the lake before, Peeta. What are you getting away from that you needed to come all the way out here?"

Peeta gasped at the sound of her saying his name. It caused his heart to trip against his ribs joyously. He shook his head in annoyance. He made an effort to quell his rioting emotions; otherwise she was going to think him an idiot. "I just followed the old trail. I had no idea that this lake was here." He studied her interested expression, memorizing the lines that furrowed her brow, the narrowing of her eyes, the curve of her mouth as her teeth bit her lower lip. "I've had a bad week. I wanted to get away and sketch. It helps to clear my mind."

Her eyes dropped to the sketch pad lying forgotten in his lap. She pulled it toward her and studied the picture. Her eyes widened as she noted her own features looking back at her. Her eyes swung up to meet his startled blue and his hand reached for the book. She pulled it out of reach and studied it more closely, eyes scanning the shore line as she marked the spot where she had stood previously. "It's beautiful," she said quietly. "You're very talented." He reached for the book once more, but she forestalled him again and turned the page. The next drawing featured the rock ledge and its view of the surrounding mountains. She studied it raptly, maneuvering the book to look at the picture from various angles. "Where is this? It doesn't look familiar to me."

He gestured in the general direction. "It's about two miles that way. It is beautiful. The whole world opens up and it looks like the forest goes on forever. It's my favorite place."

Katniss toyed with her braid as she studied the picture. "If it is your favorite place, why come all the way out here? What were you looking for?"

You came unbidden to his lips but he choked it down. He shrugged instead and reached again to take the book from her. She cracked another grin and scooted further down the log, taking his sketches with her. She flipped through a few more pages, and then stopped abruptly. Her shocked expression told him more than any words exactly what she was seeing. The drawing was intricately detailed. He had taken his time to place each line perfectly. The shading and smudged areas faithfully mimicked the original. She looked in wonder at the image of her as a two year old smiling up from the page with her mother looking on in the background. His throat tightened, making speech difficult. He managed a few choked syllables as her gaze remain fixed on the drawing. Finally, he stopped and sat with flaming cheeks as she continued to stare at the page.

"How did you know? That's me and my mother." She blurted out. "Where did you get this picture?"

He swallowed noisily and reached into his pocket, removing the dilapidated photograph. He handed it to her wordlessly and watched as her eyebrows climbed into her hairline. "That came from my grandmother's picture album," he whispered. "Please don't be afraid. Your mom knew her. She stayed at my grandmother's house with you a long time ago. Your mom and my dad were friends. That's how I got the picture."

She glanced from his pleading expression to the picture clasped in her hand. She shook her head in confusion. "I don't remember. I've never heard my mom mention staying with anyone." She studied the picture more closely. "You said your dad knows my mom?" She questioned. "How?"

Peeta bit his lip and pushed his hands through his hair once again. "They grew up together. They were friends." He attempted to smile but it failed miserably. "He told me that we played together, you and me. I don't remember it. It was a long time ago. I wish that I could."

She gasped suddenly and her eyes widened. He looked around hurriedly in an attempt to figure out what had drawn such a reaction. Finding nothing but the silent woods and still waters of the lake, he looked back at her in confusion. "You're him," she whispered. "I remember now. You're him."

It was Peeta's turn to look confused. He met her astonished gaze, shocked at the recognition that flooded the silvery depths. She smiled broadly, which baffled him further. What in the world was going on? She carefully laid his picture down on the log along with his sketch book. He hesitantly picked up the photograph and slipped it back into his pocket while continuing to watch her. She shrugged out of her jacket and spread it out over the log. She grunted in satisfaction as her fingers found a snap tucked into the lining. She unfastened it, reached inside, and then carefully removed a small item. She looked at it and then back up at him. Her eyes moved slowly over his face. She then gingerly handed it to him, her sheepish smile lighting up her face.

Peeta took it apprehensively and felt the breath freeze in his lungs as realization set in. The picture was as old and faded as the one he carried. This one featured a small dark-haired girl smiling fearlessly into the camera. Her arm was slung carelessly about the shoulders of a blonde haired, blue eyed boy who smiled just as broadly. Between them was a partially eaten loaf of his father's cinnamon raisin bread. The two had crumbs dotting their small faces and pieces of bread clutched in their free hands. His eyes flew up to meet hers, and he was startled to see tears glazing the silver depths. "It was you," she repeated. "The boy with the bread. I remember. It was you." Her hand found his cheek and traced the jawline shyly. "It was you."

"Katniss," he warily placed a hand over hers. "Why do you have this picture? What does it mean?"

"It was all I had after we came out here. I remembered that day. I couldn't believe it when my mother gave me this picture. I was around five." She looked at him nervously. Her fingers toyed with his until he intertwined them. "Whenever I got scared, I would look at that picture. It made me feel better." She gestured diffidently toward the sketch book. "Why do you have that one?"

He couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on his face. "I have it for the same reason. I don't remember that day but I've had this picture since I was five. It made me feel better too."

She shook her head in disbelief. "This can't be real. You can't be here. It's a dream."

He laughed softly as she unconsciously echoed his thoughts. "I was just thinking the same thing." He stated quietly. "But you are here and you are real." She smiled as he squeezed her fingers gently. "Will you promise me something?" She nodded, a questioning frown puckering her forehead. "If this is a dream, please don't wake me up. I want to stay right here forever."

A wide, unbound smile blossomed on her face and she echoed. "Don't wake me up either, okay?"

He dropped her hand and opened his arms, feeling giddy as she immediately closed the distance between them. "Stay with me, Katniss." He breathed into her hair.

Her muffled response tripped his heart, "I will, Peeta. Always."

End Part 3