AN: Besides the obvious non-ownidge of The Hunger Games…I'm also not a sci-fi writer. Be gentle.

Chapter Two

Madge's POV

"A nearly elegant land, Miss Undersee. Much better than last time."

"Thanks, Quintus," I say, giving him a thin smile. Nearly elegant isn't nearly as elegant as just plain elegant, or very elegant, or supremely elegant. Ugh. If only I'd stop losing my nerve during that last procedure! Last time I tried to park the hovercraft corvette into the decorative glass wall that separates Hangar 1 from the control "tower" and offices for Very Important People. The fact that my instructor scheduled today's lesson for Hanger 13, with not one decorative window to speak of, has been duly noted by this pupil.

I punch the latchkey for the pilot's hatch, turning sideways to slide out of the seat. Quintus does the same on the passenger side, then joins me below the wing, where I collect my personal items from the side cargo bin. People are milling around between cargo pads, supply handlers shuttling by on land barges loaded with supplies. I like the dull roar of the hangars, and the way it echoes off the high ceiling. This is the closest thing to wide-open space in the Underground. Except maybe Level 11.

"Do you still think I'll be ready to pilot this beast on my own after another twenty hours' instruction?" I ask.

Quintus folds his arms, cocking his head to the side while he considers my question. He has a habit of playing with his lip ring with his tongue when he's thinking. It's a little distracting, though maybe not as distracting as when he's pulling at the one in his nose. But I'm learning to ignore it, which is about as major a feat as successfully landing a hovercraft. Everything about Quintus screams to be noticed, from the frosty green tips of his hair that radiate around his head like a corona to the piercings adorning his face. And his face isn't something to overlook either. High cheekbones. Clean skin. A little stubble. He doesn't look a day over twenty-five. I heard he's twenty-eight.

Not that I've been asking.

But yes, overall, Quintus is a good example of eye candy. One of those tall, lean types that gets along with just about everyone. Although, unlike Peeta Mellark, who's unconsciously friendly, Quintus's efforts are a little more obvious. But he's a patient instructor and an apt pilot in his own right, so I tend to look forward to flight lessons.

"Margaret?" He says my name with that funny Capitol accent. It takes me a moment to register that he's said my name, since only people who read official documents, permission forms for example, ever call me that.

"Wha…"

"Sorry, you were starting to look a little dazed there." He winks. "I was just saying that I think you'll be ready before the remaining hours are up. In fact, if you took the flight test today you'd nearly pass."

"On the level?" I gasp.

"You're great once you're up in the air."

I grimace, hearing the qualification in his voice. "But?"

"You could brush up on your take off and landing technique," he says gently, giving my arm a squeeze.

"Oh." I expel an exasperated breath. "Only the two most important parts of flying."

Quintus gives me a bright grin. "Don't worry. You showed remarkable improvement today." He leans in, and lowers his voice. "You know, I'm usually pretty busy, but if it would help your confidence level, I can take you flying outside of class."

"You'd do that?" I gape. "Really?"

He smiles at me gravely. "Mind, I'll have to see what I can work in. But sure, why not? How about we try for—" But before he can give me a tentative date, a hand appears from behind, tapping on the instructor's shoulder. Quintus turns. "Can I help you?" he asks coolly.

A shock of golden hair and a pale forehead appear just above Quintus's shoulder. "I'm looking for Madge Undersee, could you – oh, there she is, thanks." Peeta sidesteps Quintus and skillfully maneuvers himself between us, slouching lazily against the side of the hovercraft. It takes Quintus a moment to realize what's happened.

I stifle a giggle at the instructor's bemused expression. "Hi, Peeta."

Peeta winks, "Madge."

It's quiet for a moment, and it feels awkward all of a sudden. "Um, fancy seeing you."

"Is this a bad time?" he asks casually, glancing alternately between Quintus and me.

"We're done for the day," I tell Peeta, then turn to Quintus. "Maybe you can let me know later when a time will work for you? That would really help me a lot."

"Of course," he says with a slight frown. "Until next time, Miss Undersee."

"Bye, Quintus."

"See you around," Peeta calls as the pilot retreats. His farewell goes unacknowledged. "Cheerful guy."

I frown, with my hands on my hips. "I wonder what got into him. Quintus is always in a good mood."

Peeta grins. "I'll bet." He turns to take a look at the corvette and whistles. "So, you can fly this thing?"

"Sure." I shrug. "Flying's easy. It's just getting up in the air that can be a bit tricky."

"How about coming down?" he asks.

"That's easy, too, so long as you aren't picky about the state you're in once we have."

"Ah." Peeta purses his lips.

"Don't worry," I say, giving him a playful punch on arm. "We'll be using Haymitch's hovercraft. She's a breeze to operate." If Haymitch has left her in tip top condition, that is.

There's a pregnant pause while Peeta studies my face. "So it's really a go?"

"Sure. If I got the timetables correct, in a week from today Hanger 1 will be empty by twenty hundred hours. Then we have half an hour before the maintenance crew comes. They're real sticklers about having the place to themselves." I sling my bag over my shoulder and lower the bin door. "I'll stash the agreed-upon supplies in Old Ethel. The aircraft clearance papers need a signature and approval still, but I can forge that easily. As long as it looks like a drunk did it….so, there's only your side of the plan left to worry about, which is getting Katniss there. "

"Won't be a problem." Peeta grins. "And you don't mind?"

"What's to mind?" I say with a dismissive flick of the wrist. "It'll just be you and Katniss and me out in the wild yonder."

Peeta slips a finger inside his collar and tugs a little. "Well, that's what I was worried about…"

I give him a cheeky grin. "Don't worry. I'll bring a book."

…

Peeta's POV – One Week Later

Timing the cheese rolls just right, Katniss should be able to smell them baking when she walks in the door. I could use that food generator thing next to the miniature oven, but baking is a little gesture that helps make the windowless quarters; a single room with a bed, sofa, kitchenette, and a table bolted into the wall, feel like home rather than a cell in some underground trackerjacker nest. And well, computer food doesn't really beat Mellark pastries. And it's all about atmosphere. When we get a chance to be alone I want her with me, not thinking about the rebellion or staring blankly at the wall.

Katniss should be here soon, so I kick the dirty clothes under the bed and straightened the covers, tucking them in tightly. Good thing the couch is comfortable. Not that Mrs. Everdeen lets it get too cozy at my place, I mentally mutter. Katniss isn't the only one who needs a break from the restrictions of the Underground. I respect Mrs. Everdeen, but well, she's not a guy. Maybe she doesn't understand.

Maybe she does, and therein lies the problem?

I punch some shape into the little throw pillows that Prim gave me. They've been wedged into the seat cushions since the last time Katniss and I were here together. I just finished switching on the rest of the lights when Katniss slips silently through the automatic door. She hates the darkness except when she sleeps, and sometimes, even then.

"Hey," she murmurs, standing just inside the doorway.

"Hey," I reply.

Katniss drops her bag and sniffs the air. Then she arches an eyebrow and asks, "Reheated computer bread?"

"Ingrate," I pretend to grouse while taking in her appearance. Black braid. Black uniform. Black circles under her eyes. And a bleak expression on her face. "Meeting with Haymitch?" I ask.

She grimaces. "How can you tell?"

"You look like you've gone through a meat grinder whenever you see him." I hold out my arms for her and she slips into them like it's second nature. I feel her hands bunch in the material on the back of my shirt, clinging as tightly as she can. Her hair smells like soap and warmth. I press my lips into it, enjoying the feeling of her cheek resting against my chest. I'm glad the days of hesitation are over. Right after the Mockingjay forces rescued me from the Capitol, Katniss kept me at arm's length. Not because of something either of us had done, but I think she was afraid. I guess I was, too. Afraid to hope that we could actually be together. Afraid that maybe the Capitol had ruined us, made us incapable of being human – caring for people, loving each other. Waiting for the next big thing to separate us.

But our reticence didn't last forever. Now we just don't have privacy! Scratch that. We never had privacy. But sometimes I feel it was easier for Katniss and me when the audience stayed on the other side of the camera lens.

"You okay?" I whisper in her ear when she's been quiet for a few minutes.

"Yeah," she mumbles into my shirt. "Tired is all. A little restless."

"Do you want to go out?" I already know that answer.

Katniss shakes her head and mumbles, "Everything looks the same down here." I feel her shoulders droop in defeat. "What's the use? Just makes it worse."

"I know," I murmur against her hair. This is why we need out. Katniss shouldn't look so defeated when we're so near to victory. It doesn't make sense. And if nobody else has the brains to see that she needs a break, then it's all up to me. So I say, "Actually, though, there was something I wanted to show you."

Katniss lifts her head up from my chest, curiosity sharpening her features. "What is it?"

I scratch my head, thinking about how to word this. "Remember how you wanted to help Gale out…"

Katniss's eyes narrow. "You have another plan? I really don't think the closet idea was very good."

From a guy's point of view, the closet idea is brilliant. But this is a different stroke of genius that works just as well. So I say, "Better." I can't help grinning. "Madge has as plan."

"You told her about Gale?" Katniss's voice rises an octave as she looks at me through wide, grey eyes.

"Not exactly," I say with my hands up. "I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone, except I couldn't think of anything. So, with a little trickery on my part, I might have mentioned that you've been having a hard time lately…"

Katniss groans. "What have you done?"

I shrug. "Mmm, I dunno. It's a surprise."

"A surprise?" she intones.

"Yep," I say with a grin. Katniss doesn't gush or leap for joy like other girls do when someone surprises them. Her eyes narrow suspiciously, like I've set a bear trap for her somewhere. Although, that's not too far out of line for someone with her experience.

"What is it?" she asks in a low, hesitant voice.

"I'm not telling. You'll have to see," I tease, gently tugging her braid. It's quiet for a pregnant moment. "Katniss?"

"Yesss, Peeta?"

I purse my lips for a moment. "About Madge. Whatever happened to the meek girl from District 12? I don't know if you've noticed, but she's kind of scary."

"Madge scary?" Katniss scoffs. "Please, Peeta. She plays the piano. That's about as fierce as cake decorating."

"Ouch," I mutter. "No, just wait and see. Scary."

Katniss scowls. "When do I get to find out?"

I take a look at the impressive rebel watch on my wrist. Amidst the jumble of numbers that I don't care about, such as the temperature aboveground, is the time. "Oh, in an hour." Then I quip, "Let's just say that it works out in my favor, as well as Gale's. Sorry, sweetheart, you'll have to share."

Katniss's eyebrows contract, and she harrumphs before stepping away from me. "Share, he says. Got any food around here?"

I laugh as her pragmatic mind moves instantly to other matters.

"What?" She sniffs. "If I have to wait, you might as well feed me."

TBC

Thanks for reading!

Shameless plug: The wonderful Apricot Teacup has done it again! See Quintus here: http://apricotteacup(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/Quintus-161087407