ACT ONE

If you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve.

Her voice was angry and maybe just a bit hurt as she uttered those words. Probably the last conversation that Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, tributes from District Twelve for the 74th Hunger Games, would ever share. In the morning, they would be taken from the training center and into the arena to await their death.

Little did she know that although he was planning his death in the games, nobility had nothing to do with it. By the harshness in her tone, it was obvious to him that she had disregarded the confession he'd made during the interviews, just a few hours earlier. Yes, he was planning to die, to give up his life, but only because that meant that she would survive. She would be crowned Victor thus keeping the promise she had made to her younger sister of returning home, safe and sound. Besides, it's not like he was going to step off of his platform with the hopes of being blown into oblivion, he had every intention of lasting as much as his strength and little training would allow him.

Wouldn't surprise me if you do…

Peeta answered Katniss, trying not to let the anger boiling inside him, seep through into his words. The way she stormed off, told a different story. He was angry, angry at the Capitol, at the President who seemed to thrive when presenting the next herd about to be taken to the slaughter; angry at the Game Makers who game after game, came up with twisted and torturous methods to kill children in order to be in the President's good graces. He was angry at the citizens of the Capitol for being so obtuse and actually enjoying these senseless gladiator games. He was also angry at fate, destiny, life whatever, it didn't matter because it all came down to him falling in love with a girl at the age of five; watching her almost starve to death after her father was killed in a mine explosion; seeing her pull herself up and successfully raise her sister and bring her mother out of a deep depression; watch her volunteer as tribute to give her sister the opportunity of another year of life and then get reaped himself along with her. Was this some kind of joke? Was he born to be made an example of how dreams never come true but instead having to face humiliation and degradation in the name of entertainment? For seventy four years, the districts have been punished for the Dark Days not only by turning over their future, but through their hard earned labor that is never enough to feed all of its starving mouths. When will enough be enough? What will it take for change to occur; for a spark to ignite the fire that will destroy oppression by bringing forth freedom?

There is no point in worrying about such things at the moment. His hours on this Earth are pretty much numbered. If and when a change came about, it will be long after he is dead. Maybe Katniss' children will be fortunate enough to enjoy a life without reapings or Hunger Games. For now his priorities include being accepted by the Careers and keeping Cato as far away from Katniss as possible.

At least now she knows that he loves her and maybe later, Haymitch can explain to her how he gave himself up to he Careers to ensure her victory. Not that he wants her to be eternally grateful to him, not in the least. It would be nice for her to think of him every once in a while, to remember him after he's gone.

When the daylight comes, they'll be on their own but for the moment he is left with the wish to hold her close.

ACT TWO

This is our last night, and it's late and I'm trying not sleep because when I wake I will have to slip away...

Those are the thoughts running through Peeta Mellark's mind as the hours continue to run like water through his fingers. They lay together in her bed, holding on to each other as if not only their sanity but their lives depended on it. When the morning comes they will have to let go of each other and face whatever horrors are being devised just for them. Make no mistake whatever maniacal horrors they encounter in the arena, the sole intention of the game makers is to destroy the star crossed lovers from District twelve.

She slightly twitches. It took her hours to fall asleep. They just held each other in silence hoping the other find sleep first. The need for conversation hadn't been necessary by either one. Besides what could they say apart from good bye? They had been preparing for what was coming tomorrow for months. It didn't sneak up on them yet the days moved so fast that time passed in a blur. Just like the night seemed to be doing.

It had been an exhausting day and the stress of the interviews had them much too wound up to succumb to slumber but into the early hours of the morning, Katniss finally drifted off to sleep. Peeta just looked at her, admiring her beauty, her perfection, trying to commit every single detail of her face to memory. If he was going to die in the Quell, he wanted her face to be the last thing he sees.

He pulled her deeper into his embrace wishing that somehow he could hide her beneath his skin. He'd do anything to keep her safe. Whether it be cheat, steal or even kill. His top priority had always been Katniss, above everyone and anything else, even himself. He'd made his peace with his imminent death and understood that the sole purpose for his existence was to assure her survival. He knew that she needed him to survive, even more than she could have needed anyone else, including Gale. All those years ago, she needed him to give her that bread that seemed to (or at least he likes to flatter himself in thinking) have brought the light of hope back into her dull lifeless and very hungry eyes.

So here he lies, with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, in his arms, awaiting the uncertainty of their future. He concentrates on her body lying over his, trying to absorb all her warmth, while his fingers play with her hair. How many nights did he lie awake in the room he shared with his brother over the bakery, wondering about the softness of her hair, or her skin or her smell; of being close enough to touch her and her allowing him to do so? It seems like a cruel joke of life that he is given such an opportunity when he is practically at death's door.

She frowns. She tightens her grip around his chest as if it were even possible to hold on to each other any tighter. What could she be dreaming that would cause her seek his comfort? It doesn't matter; nothing does because he will always be anything that she needs for him to be, whether it is lover or friend, or just a shoulder to cry on. Although at this specific instant he wants-needs to believe that she loves him, too. That her heart is and always has been his and that the thought of losing him, of never having the opportunity to share a life together is just as unbearably painful for her as it is for him. Peeta just wishes she would say it to him, if it were true. What he wouldn't give to hear those words come from her mouth. He could face and defeat anything if he only knew.

Life is so unfair and unjust. It's as if a higher power had determined to make their lives miserable. He'd always strived to be a good person. He worked hard, he studied hard, and he was a good brother and a good son despite his mother's violence. He treated all people equally because he didn't see the point of differentiating. In essence they were all the same, no matter class or point of origin. All he ever asked out of life was the opportunity to get close to Katniss and maybe not be rejected. Even if she refused his advances he would have been happy with just her friendship. Was that asking for too much? He didn't need fame or riches or an expensive large house. All he wanted was one girl, the girl and the opportunity to make her happy. He deserved that chance.

Yet here he is about to go into another arena, to face death again. To fight against others who just like him, had fought to survive and won. Peeta closes his eyes for a brief second to imagine what a life without the Hunger Games would be like. His imagination takes him to a bright sunset in a beautiful meadow surrounded by trees in which two children are playing. A beautiful girl with long dark hair pulled back into two braids. She twirls and laughs with a younger blond boy with dimples in his cheeks. As he gets closer to them he notices that these children aren't the younger versions of Katniss and himself. When the girl sees him approaching she gives him a radiant smile similar to Katniss' but her twinkling eyes are a deep cerulean blue. He turns to look at the boy who is much younger and smaller that the girl, his golden curls bouncing in the breeze, running towards him with open arms, his eyes a penetrating silver.

He opens his eyes only to realize that he was crying and the more that he tried to reign in his feelings of despair for a future that could never be, his tears intensify to the point that he has to hold his breath to stop from openly sobbing. He doesn't want to awaken his sleeping beauty. He tries to control his breathing but he can literally feel his heart shattering. Those were his children reaching out to him, his and Katniss'.

Peeta tries to will himself to stop crying. It simply will not do to allow the Capitol to see him cry, so weak and broken. He is determined to not give them the satisfaction of seeing him defeated. Him, the mediocre underdog, incapable of doing anything besides knead bread or mix colors, so unworthy of the glory and the love of this beautiful victor lying next to him. They had the power to take his life and therefore his future but he refused to give them his heart, his dignity, his soul.

Looking back down at the girl, he vowed to her to be strong for District 12 and for her, for Katniss.

But for tonight I want to hold you so close.

ACT THREE

Why didn't she love me?

He thinks as he stands on the small round platform staring at his reflection in the full length three-way mirror as Portia, his stylist is fiddling with the hem line of his slacks. His hair is coifed, his face has been stripped of every last hair and his skin is perfectly buffered and tanned. You would never imagine that his chest is tapped up tightly so that his three broken ribs do not limit his movement, that there are many bruises throughout his body that are sheathed by the finest linen and silk, or that his arms are so sore from the puncture wounds from the many "serum" therapies he has had to endure in the last week. They said it is to recover all the information about the Rebels that is lodged within his memory. They don't believe him when he says that he doesn't know anything. He just might prefer to be waterlogged like Johanna. Serum therapy is not only extremely painful, it is exhausting and at the end of the day he not only feels tired, he has to deal with the unexplicable fear that has been creeping up on him. A very confusing fear because he hasn't been able to pinpoint what it is that he is afraid of.

Remember to say everything just the way they told you and don't lead on that you are in any pain.

Portia reminds him. He turns to look her emotionless face. So many things that he wants to ask her but he knows that even though they are alone in the room everyone is listening to their conversation.

You are a good man Peeta Mellark.

She tells him. He's heard that before, how he is a good man, a great human being, a true hero; confusing words that only bring forth terrible memories of horrible dreams and strange feelings of uncertainty.

Then why didn't she love me.

Portia freezes for a second then she continues to work on his hem.

She did.

He heard her whisper back. Then he goes on to recant his latest and most horrific dream to date of a beautiful Katniss running through the muggy jungles of the arena calling out his name and smiling while reaching out for him. He's about to pull her into his arms when her bright smile turns into a cold smirk and she shoves him hard into the force field.

I would've given her my life, there was no need for her to try to kill me.

She turned to look at the boy and almost broke down with him when she saw the tears running down his confused face.

Why didn't she ever tell me that she loved me?

Actions speak more than words and in fact it is true that the hazy thoughts of Katniss' actions spoke of her affection for him in so many ways, the shiny memories, so clear and crisp, disorient him even more.

Portia stood up and pulled Peeta off of the platform. She brushed his shoulders and then softly hugged him.

Don't believe everything you see and hear in this place and don't trust anyone. She cares, just listen to your heart. Trust it.

She whispered into his ear. She pulled away from him and gave him a comforting smile. It would soon be time to go on stage and offer the performance of a life time. Yet he finds himself wishing he was in a warm bed, on a soft pillow holding the one girl that makes his heart flutter while waiting for the daylight to arrive.

ACT FOUR

It seems like he's been in this same position before, waiting for the new day to break, a new morning in which he will have to say good bye to her once more.

He's in pain and tired and uncomfortable but it's all worth it if it means being near her.

His brain hurts and feels like it wants to explode with the throbbing pain as the jumble of images and memories of her, that girl (or mutt, he doesn't know), flash throughout his mind.

Friend or foe, he can't seem to make up his mind and the war in his head is exhausting. Everything he thinks he knows, all of his programming, has him on high alert.

She is dangerous. Says the cold and detached voice in his head.

One of the reasons he can't sleep is because he can't completely trust her, what if she's feigning sleep in order to distract him, take advantage of his confusion and the fact that his hands are tied and then pounce like a wild feline and kill him. His instinct of preservation has him hyper aware of his surroundings.

Listen to your heart and trust it.

Those were Portia's last words to him, trying to convince him to trust nobody. While his mind wants to reject the thought, something in his heart holds tight to the idea of trusting.

Then there is the crazy beating of his heart every time she looks at him. That is fear, right? Those silver eyes that are not glossy and cold like he thought he remembered them, but warm and clear that he feels like he could get lost in their depths. It has to be fear just like the pitter patter in his stomach when he hears her voice. What is completely inexplicable is the need he has developed for her to touch him. He can't forget the feeling of her fingers massaging his hands while she was tending to his wrist wounds. Her touch was so soft, almost tender and sweet. Then there is the way his breathing seemed to speed up when she's adjusting his handcuffs right before they turned in for the night. She was just so close, he could smell her, feel the heat of her skin. It seemed familiar and comfortable, and instead of feeling scared it brought him peace. When she moved away the absence of her body heat brought forth a chill that was overwhelming making him yearn for her proximity even more.

Then there was this need to protect her. If she was the enemy as it was so brutally instilled into him, then why did he need to protect her to the excruciating point of putting himself in danger? While they were in the sewers, he could have left her there when she tried going after Finnick. The mutt was closing in on Katniss, about to pull at her foot and she was so distraught by Finnick's demise that she didn't even notice it until Peeta pulled her away and forced her up the ladder.

Always.

Why did he tell her he'd always stay with her when she asked him? Why did she kiss him and more importantly, why did he like that she did? Her lips could be laced with venom for all he knew. Yet they were so soft and warm and familiar?

Tomorrow the group was parting ways going in different directions to divert the attention from them. They were enemy number one and the crowd was going crazy. It was only obvious that Katniss would pair up with Gale in order to complete their mission of reaching the President's mansion. Gale was not only one of the best rebel soldiers; he was an excellent marksman, the best candidate to have the Mockingjays back. Plus, he had as much desire to protect her and keep her alive, if not more than, anyone else in the Rebellion. Yet, Peeta couldn't hold back the sudden jealousy and feeling of helplessness. He had very little combat training back in 13 and had never been much of a shot. Besides, there was always the fear that he might be triggered into an episode and turn on Katniss, the closer they came to the mansion. Peeta knew he represented a threat and had to be kept at bay, they were so close to ending this whole war. He inexplicably felt jealous, but he understood.

So here he found himself, waiting for the daylight to come and say goodbye to this girl that both intrigues and fascinates him. As he stares at her face, relaxed by sleep, he can't help thinking how beautiful she is. How could he ever think she was less than pretty? That had to have been the anger speaking for all the torture he endured while being held prisoner. He had thought her partly responsible for his capture at that moment. Now, he's not really sure anymore, not that he really cares. All he wants to do is walk over to her and hold her close for these last few hours before the sun begins to rise and they each part ways.

A lonely tear runs down his face. How odd. Why would he cry for this person that makes him fear for his life? Yet, with an assurance that is so rare in him these days, his heart tells him it isn't fear but sadness. A sadness that makes his body ache and yearn for things he wasn't sure he ever had; sadness for not having the time to sit her down and just talk. Have her help him decipher all the confusion when it comes to memories of her, of them, which inexplicably are only of their time together in the games. Lately he has been having flashbacks of his childhood in 12 that are not shiny or terrifying and keep getting clearer with each passing day. Warm memories of his brothers and the bakery his family shared. Cold memories of the mother that never seemed to smile and was so consumed by bitterness. Then there are those memories of a pretty young girl and her baby sister walking by a bakery window and stopping to admire the pretty cakes, cakes that he took so much pride in decorating knowing she would come by and look at them. Those memories feel like hope.

He sits and looks at her, absorbing as much as he can from these last glances. Tomorrow he will let her go, perhaps to never see her again. This was finally the end of the Star-crossed Lovers from 12. Any one of them could die at any given moment. The danger is imminent but the risk must be taken in order to put an end to the oppression that is the true culprit for the pain they must endure. Their sacrifice is so that future generations may have the freedom to love and live openly and freely without the fear of reaping's or starvation.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when the sun comes up, they will leave and this last glance will then be just memories.