A/N: Here's the full version of Chapter Fifteen! Thank you everyone for your patience :)

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Chapter Fifteen

Days pass and I don't see Peeta nor Delly.

When I have my lessons with Madge in the morning, she takes me out for lunch, and then Primrose drops by after her shifts to have dinner with me. The massive house feels almost barren without Peeta's presence in it. Like his smile alone is what brings the warmth to the building. Only now I don't know if I will ever see that warmth again. Not after Delly's news. Her lies.

Despite not being there for the lies, it didn't take long for word to reach Madge. As per her usual attitude, she didn't comment. In a way, I understand her desire to avoid the drama, especially when it has absolutely nothing to do with her. I wish I could be the same. It would actually make my stay here a lot easier. The idea of this charade going on, though, the idea of Peeta having the belief that this fetus is his; this baby has the same blood running through its veins that runs through his; that he would raise it and love it as his own . . . It makes me angry. By all means, I don't doubt that he would probably love the baby as much as his own even if it wasn't his but . . . he still has the right to know. Delly's deception shouldn't be allowed to pass. Especially not when it is clearly done with an agenda of some sort . . .

I've tried probing Madge for her opinion on the matter. Madge is an educator; a woman of knowledge and natural curiosity. If she thought there wasn't anything suspicious about it, maybe I'm overthinking the entire situation. But, then again, Primrose-an actual medical expert-swears by its impossibility. It could be possible that I'm just trying to find confirmation of my hatred towards Delly. For other people to confirm for me that I'm not being irrational. I've been trying my hardest to be fair and unbiased towards Delly and her actions but this . . . this is just too much. It has to be! And I know I'm not the only person who sees it.

I must also consider the fact that even Madge doesn't know about Peeta's fertility issue. Really, if Delly was trying to trick the world to trap her husband, this would be the perfect way to do it. Even I wasn't supposed to know and Primrose could be easily silenced, especially since Primrose doesn't seem too keen about raising her voice about it anyways.

I want to visit the house of flowers. I can't explain why, but I feel something drawing me there. It used to be about the gorgeous flora that rules the mechanism of the house, but now there's something else. Something about the time I saw Delly exit there with Gale. I can't even begin to explain where this . . . almost magnetic pull originates from, but I have always been trusting of my instincts. They've never betrayed me before and I don't believe they're deceiving me now.

It's getting colder. There's a bite to the air as I step outside and I've grown to realize that removing my shoes in such bitter weather does not bode well with my heat adjusted skin. I must wait for the days where the sun peaks out of the clouds to warm the ground again before I feel the grass between my toes. I silently cross the garden to the house, which I hope will be unlocked this time around. I'm working on the hope that the only reason the house was locked the previous time I visited was because Delly was trying to hide whatever was going on inside with Gale.

In a way, I'm right. The door is locked when I reach it but a key hangs from a nail coming out of the wood by a piece of ribbon. I retrieve the object and turn it in my hands. Keys fascinate me. Such small pieces of metal can unlock even the largest of doors. A key is the difference between a stranger and a familiar; someone who is trustworthy and someone who is deceitful; someone who will respect the secrets that owning such a thing could unlock, and not disgrace them.

I can't help but notice that Peeta always manages the keys to his shelter . . .

I unlock the door and enter the house. The flowers aren't as colorful as I remember and I think it has something to do with the seasonal change Madge explained to me today. Despite this, I still find every plant beautiful. Color does not equate beauty; it simply brings attention to it. The leaves of these plants have lived their days and are withering with age. Sometimes the oldest things in this world can be the most gorgeous. Like the tress in my jungle and the very soil beneath my feet. I don't need colors and constant happiness to recognize beauty. I just need to look at something; whether it be an object; or a plant; or a living, breathing being; and know that it has lived its life to the fullest capacity it possibly could. There is nothing more pleasing than that knowledge.

There's a pathway that cuts through the glass house, up to the very middle where a stone bench sits. Someone is already sitting there, as if having expected me to come. Except I know he didn't, because when he looks up I can see the surprise on his face. Surprise and exhaustion. I know I've intruded on a time where he maybe wanted to be alone.

I lift my hands and sign.

"Peeta."

He stares at me for a moment, almost like he is processing my existence. I wonder if it's possible for a person to forget that they have company in their home after a couple of days' seclusion? He's slouched on the bench, his elbows pressed against his knees being the only form of support he has. He looks tired and I know instantly that he hasn't slept in a long time. "Kat," he eventually says.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"I could ask you the same question," he replies.

"I want to see the flowers," I answer. This is true, it is something I've been meaning to do since my first try failed. Sure, I have other reasons for visiting but this way I'm not being completely untruthful.

I don't want to reveal what I know about Gale just yet. If Delly is a step ahead of me in that regard, then it could end up reflecting badly on me. I usually wouldn't care about how my actions make me look but when Peeta is in such a vulnerable, easily provoked state, I don't want to do anything that could make him wish to lash out against me.

"You look exhausted," I comment. "Have you slept at all?"

Peeta laughs. There's no humor to it. "Is it obvious that I haven't?"

I shrug. "Only if someone was looking close enough. It's just a natural habit of mine to scrutinize everything."

Peeta silently nods. I've never seen him so switched off before but I don't know what else I expected. I approach him carefully, like I have done so many times before when approaching wild, untamed animals, and seat myself beside him on the stone bench. It's a small bench, so our legs are pressed together. He doesn't make a move to stand or remove himself.

"Tell me what's bothering you," I say.

"Don't act naïve, I know that you know," Peeta answers. He pushes his hair back from his face and frowns. The sun is directly above us but bears no warmth, the harsh light piercing through the glass roof and dancing between the golden strands of his messy hair. This is what a male should look like. Messy and wild, not groomed and neat. If only it had been natural and not a product of fret and unrest.

I don't bother trying to act like I don't know what he's talking about. For one, forcing him to explain himself would not only be a nasty experience for him, but it would be cruel of me to make him relive everything he's probably been toiling with for the past few days. For another, acting like I don't know could result in him deciding not to confide in me at all, which can't happen.

"What do you think she has done?" I ask him.

Peeta shrugs, almost helplessly. Like he doesn't know what he can possibly say. I suppose there is nothing he can really say. There is nothing that will make this situation any better.

"I suppose it's pointless to ask at this point what you're going to do," I say.

"It's obvious what I have to do. Despite everything, Delly is still my wife," Peeta says. There's a hollowness in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine. He sounds like a condemned man accepting his fate. "If it ever got out that foul play was involved, not only would Delly's family name be tarnished but so would mine. Then this entire marriage would have been pointless."

I stare at him for a long moment, wondering whether he's serious or not. I have grown to learn during my time in London that a family name can hold a lot of weight but it can be so easily tarnished at the same time. The main objective of everyone with a higher-class status seems to be to protect their name and keep it safe. Surely, condoning Delly's behavior is too much, though! Is raising a child that isn't yours worth protecting a few letters on a page?

"Are you mad?" I demand to know. "Are you really going to lie down and take this from her?"

"Kat, I don't have a choice. This isn't as easy as point-the-finger and I'm free," Peeta answers. "It's so much more complicated than you would ever believe. Even if we had chosen divorce-without infertility or pregnancy-it would still reflect badly on us. Delly's pregnancy . . . it's . . . it's . . ."

"A trap," I elaborate for him.

Peeta sighs heavily through his nose. "Maybe," he quietly concedes. "She's always wanted children. I just never thought that she would use what's wrong with me against me to practically hold me hostage. As if she thought I was going somewhere! I don't understand why she has done this now. What has changed?"

I scratch the back of my head sheepishly. I know what's changed. Delly had never had a reason to feel threatened or worried about Peeta's faithfulness until I came into the picture. Now she constantly feels the need to assure the fact that they are, indeed, married. Maybe she felt Peeta slipping from her grasp; maybe she sensed that there was something going on between us; maybe she is just so insecure that she needed to assure herself more than anyone else. A baby was the ultimate way of doing this. But it wasn't as easy as it would be for most. So, she went to extreme measures to do it.

"You deserve better," I state, my hands falling into my lap with a soft thump after.

"Kat," Peeta says, rubbing his eyelids tiredly, "I don't want to have this conversation."

I shrug. "I understand that. Doesn't make it any less true."

Peeta doesn't see me say this, his thumb and forefinger seeming to have frozen over the top of his eyelids. He honestly looks like he's about to fall asleep right here. "It hasn't felt right sharing a bed with her since she told me the news," he admits to me, his eyes still shut. "She still swears that its mine. That some sort of miracle has occurred and either I've been cured or we've been blessed. Somehow, I don't think it's either."

I don't say anything because it's pointless. He won't see it. I reach between us and rub his back comfortingly, not sure how else to put across my support. I'd kiss him if I could but I know it's entirely inappropriate.

"In a way, I really envy you, Kat," Peeta murmurs. His hands slide down his face to rest beneath his chin, where he supports his head. "If the notion took you, you could get up and leave. You can go where-ever you want. You're so free in comparison to most of us shmucks in this city."

"You're not as trapped as you seem to believe," I tell him. "You seem to have backed yourself into a corner. All it takes is to step away."

Peeta smiles, clearly enjoying the idea. "The Mellark name isn't exactly a well-established one but I can't destroy it just for my own selfish means."

"Your life isn't exactly a selfish mean . . ."

Peeta stands up. He crouches beside a crack in the flooring of a house, where a yellow flower seems to have grown through. "I don't care as much about my own secret. I can't have children, so what? All it would do is spark major gossip in the rings of the city. Leaving her because she cheated on me would be a very valid reason which wouldn't harm my family name"-

"Then why don't you do it?" I insist.

I slide off the bench and crouch beside him on the ground. He lifts his head to stare at me, blue eyes so deep I feel like I'm drowning in them. "I don't know if she even knows who the father is," he tells me, subconsciously fingering the yellow petals of the flower. "I'm not leaving her to raise a child on her own. It's not fair. I have a duty to her; she is still my wife."

I lightly slap his arm. "She cheated on you! She was unfaithful"-

"So was I!" Peeta interrupts. "I don't know where you seem to have gotten this idea that I am blameless in our marriage but I have messed up just like Delly." He shrugs. "In a way, I suppose we're even now . . ."

"Sharing someone's lips is completely different to getting pregnant to trap a mate," I remind him. "Getting pregnant by someone who isn't their mate, at that. Things are different now; you have an opportunity to get out of this mess of a marriage without any harm to your name!"

"And then what?" Peeta demands me to explain. His voice is hard, like he has grown tired of having to listen to impossible things being proposed to him.

"You know what my answer to that would be," I tell him.

We stare at each other for a moment. The blue of his eyes almost feel like they're getting darker; the anchor to which I desperately cling to keep buoyed in this new reality. The first human eyes I ever looked deep enough into to see the soul behind and decide with unwavering doubt that I had to protect and claim as my own. I know that behind those eyes he feels the same desire as I feel but between there and is heart is so many obstacles and duties that there's no time to process it.

Peeta sighs, his eyes dropping to my hands. He reaches out and takes them, despite my avid protest. "Just let me talk for a minute," he tells me, tightening his fingers around my own so that I can't pull them away to interrupt him. "I want to," he admits, letting his guard collapse. "I want to go with you. I have done ever since you proposed running away after my fight with Delly. You said you wanted me to come to you, well I suppose you can consider this me coming to you."

Excitement boils in my stomach and I exhale shakily. These are the words I've wanted to hear come from his mouth for a long time, however there's something to his words that makes me hold back. I don't kiss him or hug him like I had imagined I would when he finally came to me. I stay my hand. He's not finished speaking.

"I can't leave Delly like this," Peeta tells me. He can't hold my gaze and lets it fall to the floor sadly. "I've known her since we were children. Despite everything, in a way I still love her. Not in the sense that would warrant marriage but in the sense that makes me reluctant to abandon her when she is in such a vulnerable state. Whether the baby is mine or not, she is still pregnant. I can't leave her without support."

He's too good. Why does he have to be too good?

Peeta lets me remove my hands from his to respond. "If you discovered who the father of the child was, would you be more inclined to leave her?"

"I don't know, Kat. Delly won't budge in her insistence that the child is mine. There's no way to ever know who the father is, never mind if he would take responsibility for what he has done," Peeta says.

I stand up. Peeta senses the authority I'm exuding and he stands as well. "Kiss me," I tell him.

"Kat, I don't"-

"Do it. One last time."

It doesn't take much convincing. It's like he's been teetering on the edge of desire for a very long time and all he has needed is a little push. His hands touch either side of my face and he closes the distance between our lips, the action so desperate and fueled with passion it takes my breath away. We fit together so easy, it's impossible not to entertain the idea that the Gods molded us both to perfectly rest against each other. If this man thinks I can leave him to lead an unhappy life when whenever we kiss the air charges with electricity, then he is truly mad.

Peeta may be willing to sacrifice his happiness, but I'm not willing to sacrifice my own.

The kiss practically energizes me; filling me with determination to fix this mess despite it not even being my mess to fix. When we pull away, his eyes are hooded and he's breathing heavily, his face flushed a lovely pink color. "I have horrible self-control," he mutters shamefully.

I smile. "This won't be the last time," I inform him.

Peeta looks alarmed by this admission. "But you said"-

"If I get my way, you won't have to do that with shame," I explain.

I bend down and pluck the yellow flower from between the cracks in the flooring. I pass it over to him with a flourish. He looks at it with confusion but nearly drops it again when I push up onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. His kiss served its purpose. It has given me the determination to find out who Delly has impregnated herself to. If I can tell Peeta who it is and make them take responsibility for their actions, then maybe he will find the courage within him to finally break free of this mess.

You shouldn't cage birds. If they don't break free, they will die. I would sooner die than let another bird die in its cage.

A/N: Please R&R with your thoughts! I post updates about my fanfiction on my twitter BBerrychills94 just in case you ever wonder why I miss a day : )