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Three Months Prior

Peeta shuffles the cards once more, dealing out the remainder amongst the two of us. Half naked and mostly wet, we sit on the worn wooden floor.

"So," Peeta says, shifting a little as he sifts through his own hand, "tell me about your husband."

I bite my lip, somewhat hesitant to continue the lie. "He's...him. What do you wish to know?"

He shrugs, throwing down a jack, "Does he work for me, for starters?"

I laugh. "Everybody in this town works for you, in one way or another, at least."

"What an evasive response." Peeta gives me a look of mock horror. "Do tell Ms. Hawthorne, what are you hiding?"

"Do you call all the married women you know Miss, or is that pleasure reserved for me?"

"Fine." he rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Mrs. Hawthorne, where is your husband employed?"

With no other options, I tell him about the real Mr. Hawthorne, the boy who is most certainly not my husband.

"Gale works in the mines." I stare at the man that I barely even know, but who is responsible for so much of life in Twelve. "Twelve hour shifts, six days a week."

Peeta's expression tightens, "Oh," he says. It's the first serious thing he has said since he met me. "You don't see much of him, then."

"I used to see more of him," I shrug, "now he mostly works."

"Gale, hun?" Peeta says, diverting the topic of conversation. "Big, mighty gust of wind. Tell me, is he tall?"

I roll my eyes at that, "Yes, Peeta, he's tall, always has been. What is it to you?"

Outside, the wind howls and the little cabin rocks ever so slightly under the power of the storm. It is going to be a long night, I would be surprised if it was any better in the morning.

Peeta grimaces, at the sounds outside or the thought of Gale, I don't know. "I just want to know what's coming for me when your husband founds out I spent the night, alone, with his beautiful wife?"

"Don't you fret, Mr. Mellark," I raise my voice mockingly to match his yankee accent. "I'll protect you from the big, bad wolf."

Present

"I do care about you, Peeta," I sigh a little. "I'm not that cold."

He shakes his head, "I never meant to suggest that, Katniss. I just, I know it must be terrifying for you. I will only gain through what has happened, but you - you'll have to leave everything you know. On top of dealing with this pregnancy, if I were in your place..."

I shake my head. The last thing I want right now is to talk about this with him. It is overwhelming enough to live through it, no need to senselessly extrapolate on how I'm feeling.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I tell him, "Please, Peeta. Can we just…"

Peeta gives me the smallest smile, "Of course," he says, rubbing circles against the back of my head, "whatever you want. We'll go to my train car, then I need to give you something."

Three Months Prior

After playing a few rounds of cards, I decide to turn in for the night. I hadn't gotten much sleep the previous evening, and the next morning would be a hassle.

"I'm going to bed," I tell Peeta, neatly piling my share of cards up and handing them back to him, "the storm isn't going to change, might as well."

"I think I'm going to turn in for the night as well," he says. "I'll take the floor, mind handing me one of those blankets?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "We both need sleep to make the hike back, just share the bed with me." For such a natural flirt, he at least has some decency about him.

"What would your husband say?" He raises an eyebrow, "It isn't right, Mrs. Hawthorne. You're a married woman, after all. Though, I'm not sure it would be much better if you weren't married."

I roll my eyes, this husband thing is becoming more trouble than I expected. "Just come to bed," I say, "stop being a baby."

"Can you move a little closer," I whisper into the pillow, "you're making the bed sink."

We had pulled the bed's ropes tighter earlier, but even with freshly tightened ropes the bed isn't much. The mattress is far too thin and I wouldn't be surprised if at least one of the ropes snapped before the morning came.

"That depends," Peeta laughs, "how big is that husband of yours again?"

"Hush," I say as he rolls closer to the center of the bed, closer to me, "just do it."

He groans, turning over and moving towards me on the bed.

For a moment we just lie there, the sound of rain pouring against the cabin, our bodies wrapped together, the thin mattress leaning inward the longer we lie there.

Then, after we have been lying there for maybe an hour, Peeta turns over, folding his hands on his chest. "Do you ever wonder what your life would be like, if you hadn't met than one person, if that one thing hadn't happened to you?"

Yes, I think. I used to wonder it all the time, who I would be today if my father had never died, if I hadn't been forced to grow up so early. But, I'm in no mood for late night ponderings - not with a man I hardly know, at least.

I can just barely see the outline of his face through the light cast by the booming storm outside of our little cabin.

"Go back to sleep," I say, my hand sliding against his, pulling him back towards me on the creaking bed. It's then that I notice him pressing up against my backside.

"Sorry," he mutters into my ear, a wordless understanding passing between us.

"It's fine," I say, blushing. "I don't-" And in some moment of curiosity, of lust, a moment that changes everything - I draw my hand against the curve of his body. My fingers brush against the edge of his shirt, just barely pushing against the waistband of his pants.

His breath is unsteady, I can feel it - just barely against my lips. "We shouldn't," his voice is hollow, raspy, "You-"

I shake my head, hoping he understands. "No," I say, running my fingers against the side of his face, "please."

Whatever we do together, it would never mean anything to him. He would never tell, not like any of the boys in town would, and he would never have the chance to hold it against me. With Peeta, there is no risk. I have been holding back my entire life, but right here, right now, I can do what I wish with no consequences.

With that, whatever he has been holding back is released. His hands, very skilled from what must be years of experience with forgettable women, wrap around the sides of my body, his fingers prying against the ties of my corset.

And just as quickly, his lips are there too, soft and warm and needing. It's not my first kiss, but it's my first kiss that's been like this.

Everything about him is so desperately warm, so-

"Stop!" he says suddenly, pushing my hands away from him.

I look up at him in the barely there light. "Did I do something wrong?" I ask, voice unsteady.

Peeta shakes his head, "No, I'm sorry," he says for the second time this night. "I never should have," his lips pause against mine, and he pulls the covers to turn over in the bed, "go to sleep."

The morning comes soon enough. As we sleep, the storm must part. It's still wet, muddy and altogether unpleasant outside. But the sun is finally out, and the wind has died down to bearable conditions. We

Peeta barely looks at me the whole morning. The air between us is awkward, a hidden memory of last night's quick encounter lingering between us. What was I even thinking last night? Doing that with him?

I have no place in Peeta Mellark's world or bed, and the day's light makes this evident.

"Look," Peeta starts as I sit up against the bed, tying my shoelaces, "about last night-"

I'm saved from responding by a knock. We both freeze and I imagine neither of us want to deal with the implications of our night's stay, me more so than Peeta.

It's a man pounding against the door, that much is obvious as he shouts, "Hello?"

The voice is muffled but there is an obvious drawl to it that lets me know he isn't one of Peeta's men. Oh lord, I think, how will I explain this one?

Peeta looks at me, a questioning, slightly panicked look on his face. Silent eyes ask me, 'Should we answer?'

But we don't get the chance. With no response, the man barrels through the door, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene before him. Me in my underclothes, Peeta buttoning up his shirt.

It's barely a second before he's throwing Peeta against the wall, angry hands slamming into the blonde boy's jaw.

Gale.

Present

I stare hesitantly at the crowd surrounding the station. We had never been here before together, not in the light of day, at least.

I worry for a moment what the people here will think. Out of the corner of my eye I spot one of the merchant girls looking at me, her eyes lingering on Peeta and I's closeness. Then I remember, as Peeta pointed out previously, I was already with his child, about to run off with him. People would know soon enough anyways.

So I cross the train yard with little thought to the people surrounding me, follow Peeta through the crowd as if there is nothing wrong with what we are doing. As if it is perfectly normal for a man of his station to accompany me, alone, to his car.

Once we are at his train car, Peeta pulls the set of silver keys from his pocket. "Go ahead," he says, his hands reaching out to aid me up the four small stairs.

I stare blankly at him, "Peeta, just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I'm useless. Not yet, at least."

"Of course," he says, running a hand through his hair as I step through.

Peeta's private car is magnificent, a true showing of his station. The interior doors and trims are mahogany, everything about the place is a splendor of wealth. Even the ceiling is beautifully carved, covered in an array of mosaics. The train car is large, there's a small dining station with an ornate table that sits four, a lounge area covered in heavy green velvet furnishings, and past a divisor, beyond what can be seen, I know there is a bed more comfortable than any other I have slept in.

A pang hits me as I scan the room, as I think of all of the luxury, the life that will one day be not only mine, but our child's. This is going to be mine one day.

"So," I say, one hand on my hip, "what did you want to show me, again?"

Peeta smiles as he shuts the door behind him. "Give me a second," he says, pulling a little floral box from underneath one of the cabinets near the entrance.

From the red and blue floral box he produces a small, simple wooden box with a gold clasp. "Open it," he says, passing the thing to me.

I stare at the object in my hand. Popping the lid and revealing the smooth black velvet lining, I take notice of the simple gold ring that stands out against the dark fabric, of the little white thing set in it.

"The pearl," I gasp, thinking fondly back to the memory of when I had first spotted it, "when did you have this made?"

"I told you I couldn't get you my family ring just yet, but this, this ring can be ours." His face shines bright as he looks at me, like this ring has given him more pleasure than it has me.

"Oh Peeta," I say, smiling up at him, "this is-"

He shakes his head and wraps his hands around my body. His fingers enclose themselves around my back and as he leans the entirety of him against the nailed down settee behind us, he asks me one question: "Katniss Everdeen," he breathes, "marry me."

Three Months Prior

"Who the hell are you?" Peeta spits, saliva mixed with blood dripping from his mouth. His arms are tense, ready to push back against the boy I have known all my life.

"I'm Gale Hawthorne, who the fuck do you think you are?"

As soon as the words leave Gale's mouth, Peeta falls slack. His eyes go towards mine, a desperate look of something like hurt and pleading mixed into one.

"Oh god," he says, raising his hands apologetically. "We didn't - I swear to you." His head turns briefly towards me, "I never touched your wife."

Author's Note: They don't actually have sex while stuck together, alone and half naked, in a cabin sharing a bed? I know, I'm shocked too!

As always, you can follow me on tumblr at starveinsafety, everlarkfanfictionclub, and everlarkfanfictionprompts. Special thanks to dandelionlass for resuming her position as beta and making this chapter readable!