Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places belong to their respective owners. I only own my original content. Please remember that there is rhyme and reason to everything, especially the first part of this chapter.

Two Months Prior

"Peeta," I freeze, open mouthed. "You're—"

"Katniss—Ms. Everdeen," Peeta corrects himself, quickly fixing a polite smile onto his face, for my benefit or the mayor's I'm not sure. "It is a pleasure to see you again. Tell me, how is your mother doing?"

"She's well, thank you," I reply, a shiver running up my spine as he turns to face me, his body now blocking the exit.

There's nothing about this man before me that I can not reconcile with the times we spent together. Gone is that energy that always bounced between us, the little half smiles and knowing looks. Before, when I'd see him in the square there was a certain safety about his presence. But now that's all gone. It almost feels unreal, like we never shared a bed, like I imagined it.

"And Gale?" Peeta asks, swallowing. It's then that I notice he's recently had his hair cut, slicked back into something I'm sure is terribly fashionable out east. He's clean shaven too, and some small, instinctual part of me wants to run my fingers against his jaw.

"Gale's...fine," I tell him, stammering awkwardly as I blink out of thought. "My mother says he is progressing nicely."

"Lovely," Peeta responds with a flash of teeth. Pushing past me, he moves towards the mayor's desk. "Well, send your mother and sister my regards. And if you—"

I cut him off. "I will, Mr. Mellark. Anyways," my eyes linger on Peeta's wool suit, "I should be heading out. Thank you again, Mr. Undersee," I say with a nod towards the mayor. "Tell Madge I said hello."

At that I turn on my heel with a slight curtsy and reach for the door, desperate to get away from him, from everything, before it really hits me that he's back.

"Wait—" Peeta calls out and I freeze on the office's front porch, my fists clenched to my sides in frustration.

"Yes," I let out, teeth gritted in agitation.

"Here," Peeta says, jogging up to me and pressing a small piece of paper in my hand. "You dropped this, Ms. Everdeen."

"Oh, uh, thanks," I squint, forehead wrinkling. For the mayor's sake I don't bother mentioning that it isn't mine.

It's only when the door is closed behind me that I untuck the folded piece of paper. I know it's his before I even read it. The note is sturdy in my hand, cardstock, the good kind that the postmaster sells in dime sheets.

The words are even more damning.

Can we talk?

9:00 in my traincar.

I missed you.

I debate whether or not to go for the longest time. As I walk back from the mayor's house, a decent handful of coins now filling my pocket, I think back to what had transpired between us. I wonder for a moment if Peeta remembers it as clearly as I do, or if the memories of our bodies pressed together have merged with that of every other woman whose bed he has shared. Not that it matters, of course. I have no right to him; what he does with other women is entirely out of my concern.

I take another look at the note as I pass by the milliner.

Can we talk?

9:00 in my traincar.

I missed you.

I scoff at the last part. As if he has right or reason to say he missed me when he was the one who left. Sharing my bed was hardly a revolutionary thing for him. I highly doubt that I am the only woman whose bed he has shared over the past few months. Surely there were girls in the Capitol, girls far more experienced and primped than anything you could find in twelve. Missed me. It was almost insulting for him to try that one, to think that pretty sentiments would make me forget the weeks Gale had spent laid out on my kitchen table. Maybe that worked fine enough with yankee ladies maids, but it wasn't nearly enough to convince me that I should meet with him. If anything, it only cautioned my more reasonable parts to stay away.

Stay away. It was the choice most evidently in my best interests. Whether Peeta was here for business—or personal reasons—had nothing to do with me. So long as I avoided him, I could avoid getting myself involved in any questionable situations. Besides, I had more pressing things to think about, like how I was going to put food on two tables next week or what we were going to do if Gale couldn't go back to work before Spring.

My mother greets me when I get back home. Prim has already eaten, but she's started our dinner, some kind of watery stock that's a half-hearted attempt to get rid of excess game. "I hear Mr. Mellark's back in town?" she says as she leans over the stove.

I toss what remains of my game bag on the table. "Yeah?"

Readjusting her apron, my mother leans against a drawer and faces me. "Hazelle heard it from one of the ladies she mends for."

"Oh," I say, shrugging. I feel oddly flushed—heatedly embarrassed—at her tone, and I pull my cloak tighter around my arms despite the heat leaching in from the stove.

The question comes abruptly. "Did you see him yet?" she spits out, one hand braced on her hip.

I stare blankly ahead as I try to ascertain exactly what she knows. "What?" I creak out.

"Did you see him?" she repeats, grabbing a wooden spoon from the shelf and slowly stirring in the chunks of rabbit. "I know you two are...friendly, at least that's how it seemed when he brought in Gale."

"We aren't friends," I tell her quickly. "And yes, I ran into him earlier at the mayor's office."

She reaches into the cabinet, pouring a small amount of salt into the stew before turning back to me and tugging her hands out of her pockets. "Katniss…" she says in a tired, warning tone that tells me everything I need to hear.

"Look," I pace in spot, anxious to get out of here before I confirm her suspicions. "It's not—"

The stew over boils and my mother reaches behind to pull the pot off the heat. "No," she smiles softly, the corners of her eyes turning up in wrinkles, "it never is."

I bite my lip and stare at my skirts. I'm not sure how, or what, she knows, but I know no good will come from her discovering anything about the two of us. She'd never pry, our complicated relationship only functions if the both of us stay out of each other's way, but it would make everything more awkward than it already is.

"Look," I swallow as I form an excuse, my throat suddenly feeling dry. "I have...to get something out of the shed."

"Alright, Katniss," she nods, sighing into the stove. "If you ever need to—"

"I will," I cut her off, staring down to scratch at a loose strand of fabric on my knee. She imperceptibly shakes her head at that, and I take the moment to dash towards the back door before she has the chance to say anything else.

The cold hits me before anything else. It has fallen in temperature since I went hunting earlier, fresh snow now coating the sloped roof of the shed. The shed door sticks a little, perhaps due to the weather, and I make a mental note to oil it before collapsing against the straw covered floor.

I feel unnerved, even here. There is something about Peeta Mellark being in reach that terrifies me. Even if over the passing weeks some small part of me had wanted him to never leave, there was always a certain security in knowing that I wouldn't have to face him forever.

Now that he has come back that has all changed, because even if he only stays for a week or two the threat of him returning again will always be there. The comfort in never having the ability to want more is gone. What had he been thinking, showing up like that? Shouldn't he have written, or at least sought me in some way?

I sigh into a sack of flour. Maybe it would be better if I just showed up tonight. Knowing Peeta, he will never let me me be until I at least speak to him. At least now I have forewarning.

The sky is dark overhead when I finally give in and exit the shed. "I'm heading out," I tell my mother as I cross through the house. "Don't wait up."

Snow crunches underneath my boots as I make my way through the snow. I knew the sun had set a while ago, but the gloomy shadow of the moon makes me realize how late I must be. It has to be what, ten or eleven by now? Either way, I'm starting to feel vulnerable, naked, without a lantern and only a small knife for protection. By the time I sneak across the train yard it's almost pitch black and it takes me a good ten minutes in the cold snow to ascertain what car belongs to Peeta. Luckily, after a while I end up spotting a thin sliver of light peeking through one of the doors and upon further inspection feel confident enough to pry open the door.

"Hey, Peeta," I call out for him as I step inside of the car. "Sorry I'm late, I got caught up with a few things."

Peeta's laid out on the settee, his feet propped up against a side table and his hands wrapped around a bottle. He stares blankly when he notices me, pausing slightly before returning to his drink without even a nod.

I fold my coat over my arms at first, but when he hasn't responded to me for long enough to make it awkward I finally speak up in an attempt to make conversation. "How was your time in the Capitol?"

He lets his head fall dramatically into one of the pillows. "Well," he says with a shrug and quirk of an eyebrow, "I spent the past weekend with these two women…"

My breath quickens at that and as my cheeks flare I turn on my heels, halfway ready to leave. We hadn't seen each other for months and that's the anecdote he chooses to greet me with? When he claimed to miss me and had called me here to talk?

"I'm kidding, Katniss," Peeta says with an almost annoyed air before I can place my hand on the knob. "Calm down and try not to act so jealous."

I grit my teeth at his casual, condescending tone. "I am not jealous," I reply thickly, scowling in his direction.

"Whatever you say, dear," he chuckles into his drink.

"You came back," I stare at him, my short temper growing increasingly tired of his antics with every second that passes. "Why?"

He reaches over for a bottle of some kind of brown liquor and takes a long swig before looking up at me. "Yeah, well, you see I had this fantasy of you in this little red—"

I reach for the most accessible part of him, his left foot, and yank at it until he abruptly shuts up. "Peeta," I hiss. "You summoned me out here to talk, so talk. What is it," I ask, letting out an aggravated sigh. "What are you doing back here after all this time?"

"What?" he says, raising his arms in mock innocence. "It's true, eventually certain persuasions won out and I just couldn't stop myself." He eyes me up and down dramatically. "Dear god, have I ever told you how much I like your breasts? They really are divine."

I shake my head at the half-recognizable creature before me. "I'm leaving," I sniff at him as I slip an arm back into my coat. "Have fun with your little fantasy."

"Oh just wait," Peeta whines like a child. "You're not being any fun, Katniss. Tell me," he downs the last half of his glass, "what do I have to pay to make this happen?"

"Make what happen?" I ask, even though I'm pretty sure I know the answer.

"You," he says with a sly smile, "the little red thing. What is it going to cost me?" When I stare blankly at him he only shoots back another drink. "Oh, come on, Katniss. I know you're not opposed to this kind of arrangement."

I stop dead in my tracks. "And what do you mean by that?"

"Look, I'm not opposed to paying...I just like to know upfront. So tell me, Katniss, is it twenty, thirty dollars? What does it take to buy you for the night?"

I'm slapping him across the face before I even know what's happened. "I...I hate you," I tell him, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. "Rot in hell."

I turn on my heels and fling the door open as quickly as possible. I'm down the steps and a few feet into the train yard when I notice it.

All around me is a blanket of snow.

Present

Peeta leaves me at the steps of the house, too afraid of my mother to go any further. "Come on," I say, looping my hand around his, "come inside. I'll make you some tea for the walk back."

He freezes at the suggestion, adamantly shaking his head. "No," he says, "I can't. What would that look like to your family so late at night?"

I snort at him. "We're engaged, Peeta. And besides, my mother already knows about the baby. What more trouble could you cause?"

Peeta's eyes widen. "Exactly," he hisses, "she already knows. That's why it's so uncomfortable."

I roll my eyes at him. "Have it your way," I say, moving to kiss him before he can run away. He laughs and swats me away, catching me with his arm and twirling me towards the door.

"Take care," he says with a tip of the hat as I pry open the door. I watch him for a moment as he walks away, my hands turning white as I grip the door handle.

Then somebody flings the door wide open.

It's Prim and she is almost manic with excitement. "Momisawayforabirthing," she explains in one rush of a sentence, "but I stayed up waiting for you. Oh Katniss," she squeals, jumping up and down and pulling me into a hug, "You're getting married!"

I pull her hair back and press a kiss to her forehead. "That I am," I say with a soft smile. "How'd you hear?"

"You know," Prim says, "it's all around town, on account of your marrying Mr. Mellark and all. Oh, Katniss," she giggles, "I'll forgive you for not telling me sooner if you promise to give me every little detail. It's all so romantic."

I try not to snort at that. Peeta and I's story is a complete opposite to whatever dreamy fantasy my sister has concocted in her head.

"Maybe later," I tell her, too drained to think of a good story. Some part of me wished that I didn't have to lie to her. It would be nice to have somebody to confide in, but the last thing I want to do is tear away at her innocent naivety, or worse yet, corrupt the idol she has made out of me.

She huffs in protest and I wrap my arms around her shoulders. "Come on," I lean my head against hers, "we should both head to bed."

It's Prim who shakes me awake in the morning. "Wake up, Katniss," she groans. "Wake up, come on! Peeta," a giggle, "is here to see you."

I yawn at that, finally giving in and squinting my eyes open. It's bright outside, at least nine or so if the light cascading into my room is any measure.

"Peeta's here?" I ask as I go to sit up. If she's telling the truth, he must be wanting to get a head start on making arrangements for the wedding.

She nods, flopping backwards on the bed in enthusiasm. "He is, and he brought a big floral box with him. Mama thinks it's a present for you. Ooh," her eyes light up, "I bet he got it in the Capitol."

I smile softly at her as I pull myself out of bed. "I'm sure it's nothing," I tell her, buttoning up my dress as quickly as possible.

Despite my dismissal, Prim prattles on about all the grand things Peeta might have brought me: a silk veil, an antique dish set, even a fancy carpet bag like the one in the Sears-Roebuck catalogue. By the time I've redone my braid and fastened my boots she must have listed off a thousand different things, each more extravagant than the last.

"Well," I tell her, rolling my eyes as I reach for the door, "I will be sure to tell you if he actually did bring me a collection of gilded mockingjays."

Prim looks me up and down, her previous thought abandoned. "You're going to see him like that?" she asks, wrinkling her nose at my appearance.

I look down at my everyday dress and old boots. "Peeta knows what I look like, Prim," I reach over to muss her hair. "Now come on, you should go see if mother needs any help."

When we exit the room the first thing I notice is Peeta. He's sitting in the chair by the fire, the box Prim was so excited about still clutched in his hands. It's big, fancy too, covered in some kind of floral wallpaper pattern and secured with a large blue ribbon.

"Prim," my mother says pointedly when she notices us, "why don't you head out to the shed and help me find my good scissors."

My sister is reluctant, her curiosity getting the better of her, but my mother's glare has her out of the house before Peeta can even stand to greet me.

"Katniss," he says my name like the word itself is a greeting. "I brought you something."

I laugh at that, quirking my lips into a half-turned smile. "So I hear."

Peeta lets out an airy breath. "Prim?" he says knowingly as he motions for me to take a seat in the chair beside him.

Ignoring his suggestion, I slump down on the mostly bare carpet in front of him. He rolls his eyes but quickly joins me, package and all.

His eyes linger for a moment too long on my bare finger. "Haven't come to your better senses, I hope?"

I pull the ring out from the safe confines of my sock and dangle it in front of him. "Nope," I say as I shove it back on my finger. I peer down at him. "If the offer still stands, that is."

"Of course," he says, quick to assure me. His hands are clammy, I notice, as he places a gentle hand on my forearm. He both stare at each other for a moment and he swallows. "I've never been in love before," he says, pushing the box. "You know that."

I pause, looking up at him. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's just," he pauses to collect his thoughts, "I want this to work. For the baby. I want the two of us to be honest with each other, to be open and kind and…" he shakes his head. "I don't know what I'm saying."

I rest my head against his shoulder. "Peeta…"

He kisses the top of my head. "Come on," he says, "just open it."

Peeta looks up expectantly as I slowly undo the ribbons and pry the top half off. "Oh," I say, letting out a gasp as I take in the pretty spread of white fabric and lace. "It's beautiful."

I don't even notice the locket until I've already pulled half of the dress out. The gold clatters against the wooden floor, clinking across a few beams before finally settling in front of me.

It's when I reach to pick it up that I catch the writing on the back. "Together, always," it reads in a fancy carved script. I take a closer look, twirling it in my fingers for a moment. On the front is an elaborately carved tree dotted with birds and set in front of a lake. The back is a house, a big one with nine individual windows. The piece is elaborately made (and awfully expensive, I'd imagine). Despite its relatively small size, you can practically see the feather and shutters and leaves. It's not the kind of thing that can be completed overnight.

I freeze with realization. "Peeta," I ask, my voice tightening, "when did you have this made."

"I brought it back with me from the Capitol," he admits with a swallow. He chews anxiously on the bottom of his lip. "You like it, right?"

"The Capitol?" My head floods with a million possible explanations. "But you were only there—"

"Two months ago," he cuts me off. "I had it made two months ago."

Author's Note: Well, I guess you can figure out some things about the first part of the chapter now?! Let me know what you thought in the comments below, and please trust me. Peeta will redeem himself in the flashback scenes:) PS, the Sears-Roebuck catalog came out in the 1890s, but I liked that line so I decided to roll with it.

As always, thank you to my lovely beta dandelionlass for being the most awesome beta ever!