I know this update took longer than it's ever taken me before, but here it is :) Have fun!
The hem of Katniss's robe kissed the rug as she hastened across the hall and hopped down the stairs to the second floor. The glass sconces swelling from the walls pulsated with a sleepy light, though she didn't need them to guide her. It could be pitch black and she'd find her way to him, she knew this route so well.
A thrill skipped through her at the prospect of joining him for a midnight round of chatter, a tradition she longed to rekindle. Because Deliah had interrupted them on the veranda during the charity, Katniss and Peeta had yet to finish their shame-a-thon, and she hoped they would slide back into it without a hitch.
Rounding the corner, she skittered to a halt. The double doors to Peeta's room gaped, the query being that he never left them open at this hour. He'd been anticipating her, and they had a special knock, which she was hankering to use. So where was the dummy?
She peeked inside, scanning the wainscoting and the paintings with his initials dabbed into the canvases, the embers from the fireplace popping and skipping over the grate, and his empty sleigh bed looking lonesome. Then her eyes narrowed at something lying atop the coverlet. A shadow of something long and curved, tied with a ribbon.
"Oh," she breathed, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh, Peeta." She dashed over to the longbow and swept it up for closer inspection, pulling on the string and imagining her target.
Take that, Deliah Cartwright.
"Ah-ah-ah," his mirthful voice lectured from behind. "Thank me first. Play later."
Katniss dropped the bow on the bed and whirled around. Peeta leaned against the door frame. Without the constraints of his jacket and vest, and with his cravat dangling from the deep split in his shirt collar, he looked as beautifully windswept as she felt.
He nudged his chin toward the present. "I saw it in 7 and couldn't resist. Do you like it?"
She spilled into his arms, too overwhelmed by his gift to speak. Inwardly, she squealed, Thank you, thank you, thank you!
"You're welcome," he laughed, reading her mind. "Happy birthday, Katniss."
Katniss's eighteenth birthday came and went a week ago. Peeta missed it, but on their way home from Deliah's party, he explained the reason: He'd planned to surprise her with an early return from his district adventures, in time to toast with her, however a broken-down carriage and a nasty thunderstorm delayed him.
No bother. She shared a cake with Mr. Mellark, Effie, and her two friends, Madge and Johanna. But with Peeta here, both he and her guardian now insisted upon a grander affair, belated in her honor. Parties made Katniss gag, but if a social charade pleased the men in her life, it would be worth it.
The bow also made everything worth it. Aside from stargazing, singing, and eating, archery was her favorite pastime, but her old gear had seen better days. This new model, inlaid with her name, fit in her grasp as though tailored for her.
Peeta knew her well. They had plenty of years to explore one another's quirks, secrets and passions, flaws and strengths, since she came to the Mellark household.
Peeta's father had no title, but he was a wealthy, highborn gentleman who pursued the baking business as a hobby. Many considered it an odd, though respectable, pastime. Besides, the Mellark duo had a way of charming their peers into accepting anything the men did. Including bringing Katniss into their lives.
On that first night, she'd cowered in the townhouse foyer, petrified of taking another step. In such a shiny place, she felt dirtier than she ever had, and little Peeta had to coax her from the shadows by promising raisin bread. In the main room, Katniss turned a full, slacked-jawed circle, her wonder multiplying as they gave her a tour. Artwork in gilt frames. Roaring fires. Thick carpets under her feet. Cushioned chairs in creams and oranges. A study and game room. A solarium—whatever that was. A music space cluttered with instruments.
The harp caught her eye. Katniss wanted to reach out and touch its spine, to trace its bow-shape, but soot caked her fingernails. The whole time, she kept her arms firmly at her sides while gaping around, oftentimes lagging behind Peeta and his father.
And the Christmas tree! The scent of pine, the rosy candles, and the fat, gleaming ornaments dangling like ripe fruit.
And a bedroom, just for her! With clean blankets and feathered pillows!
On the threshold, Mr. Mellark said, "We'll have it decorated to your tastes. Colors and trimmings—and toys. Would you like that?"
Katniss idled, not daring to explore. She swallowed a boulder, her eyes burning with tears at the family's kindness, which she'd done nothing to earn. And in her opinion, who needed toys when she had that tree to marvel at?
A maid bathed her, a procedure that Katniss hated. She didn't want to be scrubbed down by a stranger, but she did want to play with the bubbles, so she preoccupied herself thus while the water muddied around her.
At supper, she wore one of Peeta's shirts and trousers. His father promised to buy Katniss clothes, but she didn't mind. The material smelled like snowflakes and sugar and Peetaness. She sat across from the boy, trying her best to act fancy—and doing a fine job of it, with her back straight and her fingers stuck in her lap.
That was, until the food arrived. A glazed goose, spiced apple stuffing, and the promised raisin bread.
Katniss's tummy howled. She dove into her plate with a ferocity that bordered on madness. She might as well have been punishing her meal, from the way she fisted handfuls of it and stuffed it into her mouth. A glimpse across the table, where Peeta gawked at her, his wide eyes reflecting the bluest sort of shock, stopped her mid-gulp. Mortification swam up her neck, thick and hot, followed by terror. She was behaving like a heathen. They would boot her back to the Seam for this!
Mr. Mellark patted her arm. "Slow down, Katniss. Your stomach needs to adjust. There's no rush." He overwhelmed her with tenderness. "You're not going anywhere, are you?"
No, it appeared she wasn't. She paced herself through the rest of the feast, encouraged by Peeta's mini smiles. Covertly, he tapped the correct silverware to use whenever another exciting course was served.
Because she couldn't sleep in that endless bed, in that giant room, she sneaked downstairs to the Christmas tree. Curling up on a settee, she watched twilight from outside cast a sheen across the needles, blunting the sharp points. She wondered what part of the neighboring forest the tree came from.
"May I join you? It looks fun."
Katniss canted her head to the side, to where Peeta shuffled a few feet away. Even in the dark, his hair brightened the world, which meant he was perfect. And that made her scowl, because she didn't want to live with someone perfect.
Sadly, she had trouble saying no. Having him near chased away the bad feelings that kept her awake. Not visions of Grisly Uncle Cray coming for her—he would consider himself blessed to be rid of the burden. No, these were the bad sorts of butterflies that cautioned her not to get attached, because the Mellarks would stop wanting her eventually.
She'd overhead that grouchy footman, Seneca, lecturing Mr. Mellark about taking in a stray. Something about Katniss ginning them with trouble, raising brouhaha in the house. Maybe the whole staff agreed with Seneca, even if her new guardian didn't yet.
Peeta's presence swept away those concerns.
"Okay," she said. "But don't hog the chair."
"Hog?" he repeated, not knowing that word.
"Never mind," she sighed. "Just come on."
Confidence bloomed in his face. He dragged a blanket with him and crawled onto the chair, covering them both to their chins. After some squirming and giggling, they achieved a comfortable arrangement, their arms and limbs tangled, Katniss's toes wedged between his calves.
"You're warm," Katniss said, making it sound like an accusation.
"I'm only warm because of you."
"That's a dumb-dumb thing to say."
"I'm warm because you're cold. Your feet are cold."
She poked him. He poked her back.
Sweat trickled across his chin, and up close she noticed bits of apple stuck in the crevices between his teeth. Also, his hair flopped around a lot and had a few knots. Maybe he wasn't so perfect after all.
"Oh wait," he exhaled and then extracted an item from his pocket. "For you."
It was a box of inky blue wood, painted with stars. When Katniss flipped it open, a tune tinkered into the air. A music box, and the prettiest thing she ever held.
"It was my mama's," Peeta said. "I'm giving it to you."
"Why?" Katniss asked.
"Because it's Christmas, dumb-dumb. You're supposed to get a present, see? Now you have something to sing to you, too."
Words of gratitude—a language she hadn't learned—abandoned her. Her heart thought, Thank you, and his eyes beamed, You're welcome, and they fell asleep to the tiny melody.
Over the years, he gave her many presents. The music box. A pearl necklace. A watercolor.
Tonight, a bow. Peeta admitted that he spent days debating over a selection of wood models, handcrafted by Johanna's Uncle Blight in District 7.
After testing the feel of it in her grasp, Katniss and Peeta burrowed into his bed. They adjusted the coverlet so that it became a tent over their heads. Then they clamored for each other simultaneously, assuming the usual position, with her body tucked into the shell of his, her back caving into to him and her feet sneaking between his calves.
She swept her thumb over his knuckle hairs and thought of golden pixie dust. His fingers weaved through her locks at a languorous pace, always patient. Silence prevailed as they settled in, unsure where to begin. Typically their conversations hit the ground running, yet she felt rusty all of a sudden. His rhythmic breathing made her wonder if he'd fallen asleep and whether she'd have to pinch him awake.
At last, Peeta spoke. "Is this new?" he asked, plucking at her robe, dyed a restful sunset orange with a matching nightgown underneath.
It was a recent purchase. But humph, his ego assumed too much.
"Don't flatter yourself," she said. "I didn't wear this because you're here."
"I love this color," he teased.
She wiggled around to face Peeta and give him the response he deserved. But how could she when his happy features spilled light all over her?
"Tell me where you've been, what you've been doing without me, and whom you've been doing it with," she demanded.
"Shame-a-thon time, eh?"
"You allowed Deliah to interrupt us before we could start."
"Pffft. She was the hostess. What was I supposed to do? Reject her? Anyway, I was traveling with Finnick. You know that."
"Finnick and . . .?" she prompted.
Peeta's gaze swooped toward the blanket above them. "You were the only girl on my mind all year, Kat."
"You lie," she said with mock-theatrics, flicking the word off her tongue like a slap.
His lips twitched with unspoken knowledge. Katniss leapt onto her elbow and yanked his sleeve.
"You whore!" she gasped. Equally, she recoiled, despising whoever had had their paws on him.
Peeta was hardly an innocent. He disclosed everything to her. He had plenty of admirers and plenty to offer them in the way of kisses and sensual caresses, both above and beneath their clothing. Of course, he behaved like a gentleman, courting the debutantes first and trying to establish a lasting connection, then choosing discreet moments and locations to be alone with them. The last thing he intended to do was ruin reputations.
Nevertheless, he dabbled with fire. On that score, Katniss had been able to see and judge these local chits.
Whatever Peeta's escapades while away, she'd had no such liberty. To top it off, she knew Finnick's influence on him. That dimpled cad had been the reason Peeta grew from a sweet boy to a sly one. The freedom to pursue outside of society might have given them both leave to do more intimate damage, in more disreputable establishments. And that bothered her.
Before her thoughts stomped further down that rocky path, and before Peeta could see its effect on her, she reigned herself in with a strong dose of denial. She quirked her mouth. "Confess or I'll shave your legs while you sleep?"
"Never do that again," he warned, referring to a dare when they were thirteen. Honestly, it had been Johanna's fault. Peeta was napping, and Johanna suggested a diversion more intriguing than their afternoon tea.
"Was she pretty? The girl from your tryst?" Katniss sulked.
"Finnick thought so." Peeta tossed her an entertained glance. "A lady named Annie. I may have gotten a few minutes alone with her until he sauntered into the room, asking me to point him to the nearest bottle of sin. They saw each other, and I might as well have been invisible. I guess I'm not as good a smoocher as I thought."
"Did you get your hands down her bodice?" Katniss interrogated.
"Give me credit," Peeta said. "Of course I did. They proved a little too big for my fancy, though."
Come to mind, Katniss had never liked the name Annie. It sounded skittish.
She could have punched the air in relief. Despite the numerous places his lips and fingers have been, and where other girls have put their lips and fingers on him, she knew he was a virgin. If he lost that, he would tell her, which she'd been prepared for tonight. She'd waited for him to chop off a piece of her heart.
Once true love invaded, as it inevitably would, Peeta would no longer be hers.
When he asked whether she had anything to tell him about her year—he grunted as though digging the words from his throat with a shovel—Katniss conceded defeat. No boys. No scandals. No mayhem, not compared to him groping Annie's breasts. Indeed, Katniss's antics paled in comparison.
Strangely, Peeta perked up at the sound of that. Probably because it meant he won.
He segued into a recap of Finnick's romance, followed by their tour of the districts, and Katniss updated him on family and friends. Officially, but without saying so, they abandoned their little shame game. Which was fine.
She didn't feel like playing anymore.
kpkpkpkpkp
They'd been at the breakfast table not two seconds before they started bickering over the last dollop of plum jam. Their arms whipped across the polished wood surface at the same time, to see who could get to the jam first.
Peeta snatched the crystal bowl in his grasp with a victorious, "Ha!"
"Hey," Katniss complained, launching forward to whack Peeta's shoulder.
With a playful grin, he hit her back. She smacked him again, catching his shoulder as he tried to vault away.
From her peripheral vision, she saw Mr. Mellark watching them in amusement. He'd have stopped them by now, but he clearly missed this ritualistic scene as much as Katniss missed being a player in it. Since childhood, squabbling with her best friend took up the majority of her time. On Christmas morning, she and Peeta had chased one another throughout the townhouse and caused a racket, overturning furniture and forcing a red-faced Seneca to leap out of their way and twist his ankle.
To this day, the servants knew when to flee a room if they heard the wild pounding of her and Peeta's feet coming nearer. In their path, no one was safe. Except for Mr. Mellark, who merely had to raise a gentle but reprimanding eyebrow, grinding them to a halt wherever they were.
Presently, morning light yoked through the tall windows and over Katniss's ivory lace dress. The early hour smelled of hot chocolate, bacon, and fresh bread that crackled. The sounds of cutlery and humor tolled through the room.
Katniss's fingers swiped madly, trying to steal the jam while Peeta held it out of her reach. She leaned so far over the table that her corset dug into her ribs. "Be a hero," she grunted. "Ladies always have the last morsel."
"Oh, so now you're a lady," Peeta baited. "How convenient."
Mr. Mellark broke through the ruckus. He folded the D12 Post, his thumb and forefinger gliding across the black and white creases, and pointed the edge of the newspaper at them. "Everlark."
Katniss and Peeta reared back, dropping into their chairs obediently. Peeta's father had invented that private endearment for them by combining their surnames. Tired of exercising his breath from scolding both of them, as one never got into trouble without the other, he'd sighed and said, "It's no use. Your names might as well be inseparable, too."
Everlark. He used it whenever he had to put his foot down. All it took was that one word.
Peeta popped the spoonful of jam in his mouth, tasting it with an exaggerated flourish and a dramatic Mmmmmm of approval. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. Katniss glowered at their blushing tint, their shape, the short teeth peeking out, the way his cleft shifted as he swallowed.
And then she forgot why exactly she glowered. She loved plum jam, yes, but something else about his mouth roused a viciousness in her. She imagined the burst of flavor, a collision of tart and sweet, the smooth consistency riding down his throat.
Peeta set down his utensil and regarded her with a quizzical frown. Katniss startled and promptly dug into a helping of gooey eggs. For goodness sake, since when did the sight of Peeta's mouth clog her head? She'd seen his ugly mouth thousands of times. It was nothing special.
Oh, very well. His looks epitomized what girls dreamed of, she'd give him that. And his gray jacket hugged his frame nicely today. But still, Peeta was Peeta to her. No more, no less.
The brass knocker smacking the front door resounded from the hallway.
"Are we expecting someone?" Peeta asked, draping a linen napkin across his lap while surveying the extra place setting.
Mr. Mellark groaned. "That's what I meant to say before you two launched at each other. I'm sorry. I know you wanted for us to be alone, but unfortunately, Aunt Effie will be joining us."
"That is mahogany!" Peeta and Katniss quoted unanimously, altering their voices to sound like Peeta's great aunt. The instant they finished, they pointed at each other in surprise and burst into uproarious cackles.
Mr. Mellark put a fist to his mouth to contain his laughter. "And if either of you care a wit for my sanity, you will not say that when she's here. You know how Effie gets."
Peeta and Katniss saluted him. On that note, the butler stepped into the room. "Mrs. Trinket, sir."
Aunt Effie, formerly Mrs. Boggs, formerly Mrs. Aurelius, and finally Mrs. Trinket, flounced into the room in a swirl of magenta, a color far too young for a woman of seventy who'd outlived three husbands. Her first died in the war decades ago, when the country succeeded in overthrowing its tyrannical president. Her second from a rare disease that he contracted while visiting a hospital specializing in morphling addiction in District 6. The third from a massive heart attack.
Her cane thumped with every step she took, but her spryness never failed to impress Katniss. "That does it!" Effie announced with a huff. "I've had my fill of this family. Patience is no longer a virtue."
Peeta and his father rose, planting kisses on Effie's shriveled cheeks. "Ah, Peeta," she said as he hurried to hold out a chair for her. "You've decided to come home, have you? Well, something is going right, then."
"Don't expect the rightness to last," he joked.
Effie twisted in her chair to stare up at him. "Huh. I see. You're being sarcastic. Well, stop."
Peeta stopped and sat. Taking villainous pleasure in the sight, Katniss nudged him under the table with her foot. Haha. Your turn to deal with her.
"As for you, Katniss Everdeen." Effie whisked toward her. "I demand satisfaction, or whatever you young people call it these days. I've heard some offensive news. News which you—" her finger jabbed in Mr. Mellark's direction "—failed to reveal to me at once."
Mr. Mellark beckoned the footman and plucked a flute off the servant's tray. He offered it to his aunt. "Champagne?"
"Damn the champagne." Effie took the glass anyway and pointed it at Katniss. "Sources say—"
"Way too much," Peeta interjected.
"—that at Deliah Cartwright's charity, you were seen on the veranda, carrying on with none other than that peacock, Marvel St. Marvel. And that was before you were seen flirting with that renowned hyena, Percy Flickerman. Say it isn't so."
"Um . . . it isn't so?" Katniss parroted, feeling the bite of Peeta's questioning gaze on her. Her reply hadn't really sounded convincing.
Effie drained her glass, then accepted a splash of tea from the footman. "Ladies do not abandon their chaperones. Ladies do not climb out windows and dangle from trees like amazons. Ladies do not let their suitors fondle their feminine parts."
Katniss's fork clattered onto her plate. Mr. Mellark pinched the bridge of his nose, scarlet running rampant across his face.
Peeta chocked on his cocoa. "I've soooo lost my appetite, thank you."
Katniss snapped at him, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing against you. I'd just rather be spared the vision of St. Marvel or Percy groping anyone. At least until I've digested my food."
"That's nonsensical. I thought you lost your appetite. If you did, then you can't digest a thing."
"Are we getting literal here?"
"I did not let those idiots fondle me," Katniss said, her gaze jumping from one person to the next. "Great Aunt Effie, how do you even know that word?"
"What word?"
"That word."
"Fondle," Peeta supplied. "Our pure Katniss means fondle."
"Don't call me pure!"
"That foolhardy request will hardly serve your case. The rumors are spreading," Effie replied, officially annihilating her green tea with a river of cream and ten thousand sugar cubes. On a tragic sigh, she lamented, "We've never had a nymph in this house."
Katniss snorted. "If I'm a nymph, then Peeta's a cherub."
"I object," he said. "If we're going to get fictional, show respect. At least make me a centaur."
"You're too short for that."
"But I'm gilded and fighting fit. You've seen my chest."
Yes. She had. Many times.
Katniss wiggled in her chair. Living with him for years, sleeping in his room on a regular basis, had provided her with an eyeful. Under those garments, he was an evil specimen. The endless span of muscle, the way his abdomen jumped when he laughed. It was enough to do permanent damage to a girl's vital organs.
She shook her head. She shouldn't be thinking about him like this.
"Say something," Effie demanded to her nephew. "Make them listen."
Mr. Mellark dismissed the topic with a wave. "Katniss admitted to me this morning what happened. She knows that she made a mistake and promised it won't happen again, and come now: No one takes St. Marvel or Flickerman seriously. My girl may have given the wrong impression, but she's learned from it. The rumors will deflate soon enough."
"Over Deliah Cartwright's dead body," Katniss countered.
"Katniss," Mr. Mellark scolded. "You're not a child. You don't go accusing other people of your own troubles. If you can't take responsibility for your actions and be accountable, you may forget about becoming a lady. Is that clear?"
"Hear, hear," Effie said.
Katniss glanced at Peeta, expecting him to provide back-up. But he remained silent, staring at her with a pitying grin, which she detested. "This is so unjust! I was only there for the cause. I wanted to support the treatment of wildlife."
The three members of the Mellark household swiveled toward the unflappable Effie. "Charity," she observed. "Amusing. And why on earth would you do such a thing?" she asked, looking truly serious.
"The benefit had to matter to somebody," Katniss griped. "All that Deliah cared about was status, how the party made her shine. She told me so herself. But no, the gossip hens merely want to know whether I let the guests slip their grimy paws up my skirt. That's all people care about."
"Thus far, I fail to see the problem."
"It's insincere!"
"Oh, claptrap. Protestations and naivete are for the lower class. Katniss, we worked so hard to get you past that."
"Great Aunt Effie, your tea's getting cold," Peeta deflected. "I brought it from the Capitol, just for you."
The woman beamed. "How considerate of you, my boy."
Throughout breakfast, Peeta and Mr. Mellark methodically steered Effie into a discussion about Peeta's travels, allowing Katniss to retreat into the sanctity of hot chocolate and scones. No more plum jam, though.
"Please don't forget your trusty cane on your way out," Mr. Mellark said once the meal ended.
Effie dabbed her lips with a napkin. "I don't consider my cane trusty and never shall. Regardless of my age, I'm not that sentimental. I leave that to the fluffy wives who enshrine everything, down to their husbands. Now, there's one more thing I'd like to discuss with you before I go, my nephew. Walk with me."
Poor Mr. Mellark. He scooped up a second glass of champagne, tossed Katniss and Peeta a wry look that begged them to wish him luck, and escorted Effie from the room.
"And he never came back," Peeta narrated in a Gothic voice.
Katniss shoved her empty plate away. "Effie's impossible."
"She's a stiff drink, but she means well. She cares about you."
"I'm not a floozy."
"Nope. You're a rebel."
"I don't want to be a rebel, either. I don't want anyone looking to me, or judging me, or making me into something I'm not. Not for any reason."
"None of us want that, Katniss. None of us want to be some . . ."
"Piece in a game," she quoted him.
Peeta grinned. "You're better than that. You know that, right? You're perfect."
She wasn't, not by half. That didn't prevent the pride from filling his eyes.
She thrust back her chair and began to clear the plates. At the footman's horrified expression, she reluctantly set them down and strode to the window. Alone with Peeta—with his hypnotic pupils, that fitted suit, and that disgustingly carefree sense of humor—she felt the urgent need to keep her hands occupied and resented the servant for depriving her.
When the footman disappeared through the door, Peeta fetched something from the floor. Then he got up and rounded the table while hiding it behind his back. "I lied," he said and held up a second jar of plum jam. "I'm a terrible person. You were late to breakfast, so I stole it. I was planning to save this for future bribes, but then Effie showed up and killed your mood. Which is unacceptable."
"You sneak," she said with a quiet chuckle.
He set the treat on the table. "Hide it in your room. Otherwise, I might change my mind later. You know how I like to torment you."
They had a beautiful, bountiful view of the garden from this room, yet she stared at the jam. It was the best thing she'd seen all morning.
Katniss smiled. Well, almost the best thing.
He shadowed her from behind, encircling her waist with his arms, his shirt brushing her dress. A thrill shimmied up her spine and then across her shoulder, where he rested his chin. She was used to such an embrace between them, yet touching him, and being touched by him, had never felt this foreign.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, dropping a light peck on her ear.
What he apologized for, she had no clue. The jam. The rumors. The failed charity. The creature that was Deliah. The migraine that was Effie. Katniss didn't know or care, not with his breath prowling her skin. In the past, he'd done this in harmless fun or while drunk. It hadn't meant anything.
Their silence and the roar of her heart. So old, yet so damn new.
"Sorry for what?" she exhaled.
"For this," he said and then proceeded to tickle her.
Squealing, Katniss keeled over, her open-mouthed chortles bursting into the quiet. She spun around and attempted to fight back, but Peeta was too strong. She hooked her foot around his calf and sent them stumbling into the wall, the impact crushing her breasts against him.
It knocked the wind out of her.
It knocked Peeta into her.
He froze. They gaped as that erect part of him nudged its way between them like a red flag. He'd committed this offense before, at dawn as they slept together, when he was unconscious and most likely dreaming of the perfect loaf of bread, or of other girls. This had never occurred after breakfast, after scones and plum jam, with them fully dressed.
Katniss panicked. She needed to spare them the humiliation, to laugh it off, and she needed to do it now. Right now!
But the feel of him, the heat of him, rendered her stupid. And so she couldn't have picked a worst time to sigh. A pathetic noise, the sort that a harlot would make, just the type of girl that everyone accused her of being.
At the sound, Peeta veered back, crimson racing across his cheeks. He cleared his throat with such vigor that an outsider would mistake it for a hacking fit. Then he glanced down and forced a laugh. "Well, uh . . . this is . . . quite a pickle."
"Huh?" she croaked.
"What?" he asked, his head whipping back up. "Nothing. Just, nothing. Never mind."
With that, he strode from the room. Katniss puddled into her chair. All right: Accidents like these happened all the time, to all men in every country. His response to her was a simple biological one, out of his control. Except he'd been ashamed, as they were nearly brother and sister. His reaction to her appalled him, and therein lay the turmoil, because Katniss knew she should feel the same.
The problem was, she didn't.
Thank you, Chelzie, for your awesome beta and brainstorming skills.
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