A/N: Wow. I cannot fathom the response that I've recieved for this story! Dudes, you guys are so unbelievably epic in your awesomeness. Granted, that's not my most grammatically correct sentence I've ever written, but I think it accurately conveys my point.
So, aside from the fact that you guys are fantastic, this chapter is when all the fun begins! Prepare to go where no HG reader/author has ever gone before, and let us embrace a PK that is strong and secure in their love and tackle things head-on like the awesome duo that they are. Yes, be excited. I am.
Also, just because I love you guys so much, I decided to give you guys a saucy scene this chapter. If you remember my definition of 'saucy scene' from STWOM, hopefully you're kinda giddy right now. This SS is more humorous than hot 'n heavy, but hey, it's still a lot of fun. ;)
So, without further ado . . .
Today's movie quote comes from Robin Hood: Men in Tights.
Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."
Chapter 5
My eyes flutter open, and I immediately squeeze them shut, as if by willing myself back to sleep today will never happen. As long as I don't open my eyes I will stay where I am, which is safe and warm in Peeta's arms in his bed. I can tell by the deep, slow breaths fanning the back of my neck that he's still asleep, and I don't want to wake him, but this doesn't stop me from leaning back into his chest. Peeta's arms tighten around me subconsciously, and I can't help but smile a little.
The past few months have, surprisingly enough, been some of my happiest. Our first 'official' date had been a picnic in the woods, which we had decided the evening before during that first, awkward dinner. Peeta, as promised, had brought the food. Bread, cheese, fruit, and other foods that he deemed 'picnic worthy.' It had actually been fun, sneaking off into the woods with Peeta and watching him struggle to slide his broad frame under the fence.
I hadn't initially planned on it, but I had taken him to the lake, a place that I had only ever shared with my father and Gale. It was almost like Peeta knew without asking that the lake was special to me, because the moment we broke through the trees to gaze upon the lake, he'd given me one of the gentlest, sweetest kisses.
That picnic at the lake was perfect, and the memory never fails to bring a smile to my face whenever I think of it. Especially the particular vision of Peeta, flailing wildly, as I'd tried to teach him how to swim. I suppose I could have actually asked if he wanted to learn. Spontaneously shoving him into the water was probably a bad idea in hindsight, but seriously, it was only four feet deep at the spot where I'd pushed him in . . .
But I am proud to say that Peeta Mellark now knows how to swim.
The rest of our dates were equally eventful in a multitude of ways. I almost blew up the oven when he tried to teach me to bake bread, a surprisingly complicated simple task. And then Peeta almost shot me when I'd tried to teach him how to shoot a bow. It seemed that no matter how hard we tried, we could never do anything without adding just a hint of danger. Or maybe we were both accident prone and danger magnets.
Probably a bit of both.
Maya, of course, is always with us. Now practically full-grown, her hackles almost meet my hips, and she's practically as long as I am tall. We take Maya everywhere, or rather, she follows us everywhere. To the woods (she's a great hunting partner if she doesn't begin to eat the kill before I get to it). To town (she's great at scaring people, particularly Peeta's mother, which never fails to make me smile). To Haymitch's (she and he both pretend to loathe each other, but I know otherwise).
I don't hesitate to bring Maya into town with me anymore, because there's no one who would dare try and take her from me, even the Peacekeepers. That, and Maya can revert to her true, wild form in an instant. No one really has the guts to approach a growling wolf, sharp teeth on display.
But that only happened once.
Peeta jokes that Maya and I share a telepathic link. Sometimes I think he's right because Maya seems to know what I'm thinking. In the past six months, I've trained her to do just about everything. All I have to do is speak one command or make a hand motion and Maya obeys me without question.
I'm the only one she obeys though. Everyone else is on their own in getting her to do what they want, though Maya seems to have a soft spot for Prim. Apparently, Prim's loving nature influences all creatures. Not that I was surprised.
But one thing that did surprise me was Haymitch, and how he has entangled his way into our little family. He usually eats dinner with Peeta and I at least once a week, and typically, Peeta will brave the reek and filth of Haymitch's house to take him some solid food and make sure he hasn't choked on his own vomit after a heavy night of drinking.
But those days are actually growing to be fewer and fewer and I have no doubt that it is because of Prim. Initially, I was not at all thrilled when my sweet, precious Prim told me that she wanted to be Haymitch's friend. I'd asked her why, and she'd replied, sadly and sympathetically, "Because I don't think he has many friends, Katniss. Everyone needs friends."
Needless to say, Prim has wormed her way into Haymitch's heart. They play chess every Wednesday afternoon, and from Haymitch's mumbled cursing every now and then, Prim's skills are growing in leaps and bounds.
These months have also surprised me by mending my relationship with my mother. Encouraged by Peeta, I've made an effort the past few months to try to forgive her for leaving after my father died. I let her do little things for me without putting up a fuss, and I even ask her to do things for me. I've given her control over my winnings, and she keeps up with all the money in a ledger book. I still remember the day when I actually returned her hug instead of simply tolerating it. She'd had tears in her eyes.
But of all my relationships that I've made or made better, there is one that I've been unable to reach. Gale. It seems as though the closer Peeta and I continue to grow together, the farther Gale drifts from me. I still remember the days when we could communicate with a single look. Long days hunting in the woods, laughing and joking. But now I hardly ever see him.
This isn't entirely my fault though. Gale works twelve hour shifts in the mines, and is only off on Sunday. I still hunt, not only because it is a part of me and helps keep me sane, but because I still feel the commitment to help provide for Gale's family, for his mother Hazelle and the kids. I know that if our situation had been reversed, and Gale had won the Games instead of me, he would still be out hunting to help provide.
However, when I drop off the meat, it's always Hazelle that greets me at the door. I make sure to come by when I know that Gale isn't there, especially after the one time when he answered the door and then promptly shut it in my face. Hazelle apologized and apologized, but I'd waved her off. Gale was angry at me. I'd hurt him. He had every right to not want to see me.
But that doesn't mean that his distance doesn't hurt. Gale will always be my best friend, and it hurts not to have him fill that role.
Peeta, of course, keeps insisting that Gale will come around, though initially he was always quiet when the subject of Gale came up. I still remember the day when we really talked about it, what had kept me from telling Peeta that I loved him that day on the train tracks.
We had been sitting quietly in the sitting room. Maya, as usual, was curled at my feet, her muzzle actually resting on my foot. There is a book that my mother has, an apothecary book that contains information about various medicinal herbs. My father had added to it though, writing down plants that could be eaten and used in other ways. I decided to add to it as well, writing down my knowledge and things that I'd learned in the past five years. Peeta would draw the plants for me, even coloring them until they looked so real I thought they might jump out of the page.
It was on this night, while I was working on my book and Peeta was sketching on a special notebook, that he broke the silence. "In your letter," he said, referring to my written proclamation of love. He keeps it in the top drawer of his nightstand, and I've caught him rereading it a time or two, a smile always playing at the edges of his lips. "What did you mean when you said that you'd dealt with your past?"
My hand had paused in its writing as I'd looked up at him. It had only been a few weeks since the letter, and honestly, I'd been waiting for him to ask about that particular part. I simply hadn't been looking forward to answering. "Gale."
Peeta nods, as if this was the answer he'd been expecting. "I thought so."
"He kissed me." The words had escaped me without my permission and Peeta's eyes had narrowed.
"Did he?"
"Yeah," I said. "He'd told me how it made sense for me and him to be together. And I mean, it does make sense. We're both cut from the same cloth, and we're so alike. If I had just let myself, it would have been so easy to fall in love with him."
"But?" Peeta questioned, looking worried even though he knows that I've chosen him. There was never really a choice to make.
"It was always you Peeta," I assured him, hiding my amusement when he relaxed in relief. "Ever since that day in the rain. Because, that night, you gave me hope. You gave me the courage to hope for something better, and that is something that I'll never be able to repay you for."
"Let's not get into that whole 'owing' debacle," he said. It was a subject on which we'd never agree so by mutual agreement we simply left it alone. "I hate that he's hurting you, though."
I shrugged. "I hurt him."
"Still, he shouldn't be ignoring you. If he truly cares about you, he'll realize that it's better to have you in his life as a friend, a good friend, than to not have you in his life at all."
I still hope that Peeta's right.
Speaking of Peeta, I feel him begin to stir behind me. I know he's awake when I feel his lips on my neck. "How long have you been awake?" he murmurs sleepily against my skin, his voice a half octave lower than normal.
I turn in his embrace so that we're chest to chest, facing each other. "About half an hour or so," I reply as I trail my fingers absently over his bare chest.
It's crazy to think how our relationship as evolved in the past six months. If you'd told me about seven months ago that I would be sharing a bed with Peeta Mellark, letting his hands wander all over me and touch me in places that I never dreamed of letting anyone go near, I would probably have shot you in the face. Because seven months ago, I didn't even believe in love, let alone all the intimacy that came with it.
But, as my father had so wisely said, love was worth the risk. It didn't mean that I still didn't get scared. Sometimes, I was terrified by what I felt, and Peeta would have to reassure me that everything was okay. But I fought through my doubts and insecurities each time, and I'd like to think that I've come out stronger for it.
Peeta and I have yet to make that final leap though. We have yet to, 'go all the way' as I've heard it so often put in school. I'm okay with this though, because I know that I'm not ready for sex and I don't think that Peeta is either. Also, I get the sense that Peeta would like to be married before we made that final step.
Married. Fear rushes through me, but I bat it back. The thought has popped up into my mind only a couple of times, both because Peeta prompted it. I know he wants to get married someday, he's told me so. I'd balked, saying that I didn't want kids. And Peeta had reminded me, with some amusement, that just because two people were married did not mean that they had to 'put a bun in the oven' right off the bat. Bakers and their bread puns. I will never be able to escape them.
But Peeta's words had reassured me, and the idea of marriage didn't seem quite so terrifying.
"You ready for today?" Peeta asks me, regaining my attention as my eyes flit up to meet his.
"Are you?" I return, my eyebrows raised.
"No."
"Then you've got my answer."
"We'll get through it," Peeta assures me as his hand trails down my arm before settling at the dip in my waist. He leans in and captures my lips in a sweet kiss. "It's just the Victory Tour."
I almost scoff. 'Just the Victory Tour.' The Victory Tour is a weeks long event where the Victor of the Hunger Games that year makes the rounds, visiting each district before finally reaching the Capitol for the grand finale. It's a tour where Peeta and I will be thrown parties at each district, watching as the people pretend to love us and seeing the resentment of the families of the tributes who didn't make it home. Victory Tour in my mind was synonymous with Hell.
The Victory Tour is simply a way for the Capitol to keep the horror of the Games fresh in everyone's minds, specifically held midway between the recent Games and the reaping for the next. It's all a power play. Showing its iron grip on the entirety of Panem. It's all a big show, and this year I get to be one of the stars.
"Do you know when our prep teams and everyone else is showing up?" I ask. They'd called and told us of course, but Peeta is the one who actually pays attention and remembers that kind of stuff.
Peeta leans up and glances at the clock on the nightstand. "About another two hours. They're supposed to be here at eight."
Two more hours until my prep team goes to work on me, pulling at my hair, the dreaded wax I know I'm going to get, the manicured nails. All of it is an experience I could gladly go without. The only bright side is that Cinna will be there, and I've missed him, even though we talk on the phone practically every day.
You see, every Victor has to have a talent to show the Capitol at the end of the Tour. Peeta, of course, is going to show off his paintings. They're beautiful, the ones he has let me see at least. Even I'm not allowed to go into his art studio. I only see the paintings he brings out to show me. Radiant sunsets. Fields of flowers. The mountains. He even painted our day at the lake, but he's keeping that one in District 12. That was mine and my father's secret place, and now I share its beauty with Peeta. He knows how much it means to me to keep it secret.
My talent, however, is nonexistent. Peeta suggested I sing, but I shot it down immediately. I was not going to sing for the Capitol, especially not after the Games and Rue. My mother and Prim and I had gone through the list of appropriate talents for a Victor that Effie had sent. We'd gone through each one, and more often than not, I was terrible at whatever it was and Prim was contrastingly good. This included playing the flute, art, flower arranging, and a whole list of others. Finally, Cinna had stepped in and suggested that I do design, specifically fashion. So, in other words, Cinna went to work, coming up with dozens of wonderful designs and when we got to the Capitol I would take all the credit. I felt slightly guilty about taking credit for his work, but Cinna shrugged me off, saying that he designed because he loved it, not because he got recognition for it—even if it was nice on occasion, he'd added with a smile in his voice.
"So what do you want to do for the next hour and a half before you have to sneak back to your house?" Peeta asks with a conspiratorial smile, and I can't help but laugh.
Though I practically live with Peeta, my mother still expects me to sleep in my own bed. I'm supposed to be home every night by ten o' clock, and she has come knocking on Peeta's door more than once when I tried to wheedle five more minutes out of her. Of course, this decree does not deter me from sneaking into Peeta's bed every night.
It's not as if I'm sneaking out to have sex. One, because Peeta and I haven't had sex yet, even if we've done other things that I still can't even think about without blushing. Early on, we really did only sleep. It was simply the comfort and safety that Peeta's arms provided that I craved. I had gotten so used to his embrace during the Games. And, with Peeta holding me at night, my nightmares were usually kept at bay. It has only been the past two months or so when things started to get a little . . . intimate . . . when Peeta and I would do more than simply sleep.
"Why are you blushing?" Peeta asks and I flush brightly and bury my face into his chest.
"Nothing," I deny and Peeta chuckles.
"Liar," he whispers, his lips tickling my ear. "So what do you want to do in that hour and a half?"
"I want to stay right here," I say.
"That sounds like a great idea," Peeta says before gripping my hips and rolling onto his back, and subsequently causing me to be lying on top of him.
Before I can say anything to object, not that I would anyway, Peeta's kissing me. I shift so that I'm straddling his hips, and I feel Peeta's hand settle on my thigh. The other hand slips under my tank top to touch the bare skin of my back, and I can't help but shiver. Peeta smiles into our kiss at my reaction, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Male pride is as annoyingly amusing as it can be irritating. In retaliation, I break our kiss and begin to trail kisses along his jaw line until I reach that spot behind his ear that I know drives him crazy. As I expected, a low growl rumbles in his chest and I can't help but smile at my victory.
Suddenly, Peeta switches our positions again so that he's hovering over me. "That wasn't fair," he says as he begins to kiss and suck a spot on my collarbone.
"I never play fair," I breathe before fighting back a moan as his hand comes up to cup my breast.
"Hmm, neither do I," he says before his lips return to my collarbone.
"So help me Peeta, you better not leave a mark," I warn him as sternly as I can in my breathlessness. "I'd never hear the end of it from my prep team."
Peeta looks up at me, amused. "What? They'd tease you?"
I shake my head. "Worse. They'd ask for details."
Peeta breaks into a fit of laughter before containing himself. "And what would you say?"
"I'd tell them to use their imaginations."
Peeta raises his eyebrows. "You think that's smart?"
I think of my prep team. "Oh, god, that'd be worse, wouldn't it? Who knows what they'd come up with."
Peeta grins in response, and then he's kissing me again, though he does refrain from returning to that spot on my collarbone. I'm thankful he's always so considerate. I greedily caress every inch of his skin that is available to me, loving the feel of his flexing muscles underneath my fingertips. Peeta's hands are not idle either, because they're beginning to wander further and further south, and my stomach is already tightening in anticipation. Just when I feel his hand at the waistband of my underwear, I remember something important.
"Haymitch!" I say breaking our kiss in a breathy pant.
Peeta looks at me incredulously. "What?"
"Haymitch," I repeat, already beginning to squirm out from under him, much to Peeta's dismay and disappointment. "I promised that I'd wake him up an hour before everyone arrived."
I'm out of bed by now and pulling off clothes that Peeta hadn't yet managed to remove, as I walk across the room to his dresser. I have a drawer just for me that I keep stocked with t-shirts and jeans, though I've switched out the t-shirts with sweaters for the cold weather. I can feel Peeta's eyes on me, and I look over my shoulder to see him gaping at me.
Peeta may be the kindest, most selfless person I know, but he's still a male. And right now, he's not too happy about the abrupt change of events. "Seriously?" he asks as he watches me dress, a look almost resembling horror on his face. "First you stop me from, well, you know . . ." Peeta begins to stammer. He always teases me for blushing, and I tease him for stammering. An incoherent Peeta is very amusing. "And now you . . . you just . . . toss your clothes off . . . right in front of me, and . . ." Peeta huffs, flustered. "Not cool!" he surmises.
I can't help but laugh at him as I pull a sweater on over my head. I walk over to the bed and sit down on the edge, taking his hand in both of mine, not bothering to hide my smirk at the pitiful expression on his face. "You'll survive," I tease, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
All of this time, Maya has been laying on the floor at the foot of the bed, patiently waiting for me to give her some attention. But, apparently, she thinks that she's waited long enough because she jumps up on the bed and crawls over Peeta to demand my attention. I pet her enthusiastically and give her a kiss. "You've got to be kidding me," Peeta deadpans. "The wolf gets kisses and I get shut down. Nice."
"Come on, Maya," I say and she immediately hops off the bed to come stand by my side. I look at Peeta. "Are you going to come with me, or not?"
"Oh, sure," Peeta says grumpily as he climbs out of bed. I let my eyes run appreciatively over his bare torso. Peeta notices and grumbles, "Don't expect me to strike a pose," but I see the corner of his lips quirk up. Yep, male pride.
In five minutes, Peeta and I are bundled up in our coats and are out the door, Maya following, as we head to Haymitch's house. While mine and Peeta's houses are bright and reflect life, Haymitch's house only reflects a dreary neglect, despite the groundskeeper's best efforts. "Ready?" Peeta asks before he opens the door.
I cover my nose with my scarf and nod.
Peeta takes a deep breath of clean, cold air, relishing it, before opening the door and plunging into the foul stench of Haymitch's house. Years of neglect, compiled with the stench of trash, rotting food, alcohol, and vomit, have created the foulest reek in the history of smells. Maya keeps sneezing and seems to shrink back from it all, and I'm tempted to do the same.
I'm not surprised when we find Haymitch slumped over his kitchen table asleep, a bottle of spirits clutched in his hand. It's the day of the Victory Tour, and Haymitch will hate it just as much as Peeta and I, maybe more.
"Haymitch." Peeta nudges his shoulder, and our mentor's obnoxiously loud snores pause for a moment before resuming with renewed vigor. "Haymitch!" Peeta nudges him again, harder this time, but Haymitch still doesn't wake.
I decide that more drastic measures need to be taken, and glance around the trash-ridden kitchen countertop and spot an empty coffee tin. This will work fine. I set it under the sink and fill it with cold water. "Peeta you might want to move," I warn him a second before I dump the ice water on Haymitch's head.
It definitely does the trick. Haymitch springs up from his chair, sending it flying back behind him. I realize that I forgot something important, like the fact that Haymitch sleeps with a knife. Still in the throws of whatever nightmare he was in, he lunges at me with the knife. Maya growls sharply in warning, but I ignore her and easily catch Haymitch's wrist and wrest the knife from him.
"It's just me!" I shout as I hand the knife to Peeta.
"What are you doing?" Haymitch sputters before looking at Maya, who is still growling at him. "And I told you to keep that mutt out of my house!"
Maya takes a step toward him threateningly, but I hold her back. "Easy Maya," I say, scratching her behind the ears. Her growl abruptly cuts off, but she's still glaring at Haymitch and he willingly glares back.
"Don't know why you keep that thing," Haymitch mutters before looking down at his shirt. "Why am I all wet?" he asks, as if just noticing.
"You told me to wake you an hour before the cameras come," I remind him.
"What?"
"Your idea."
"So why am I all wet?" Haymitch asks again, the surliness in his tone becoming more and more prominent as he grows more aware.
"Peeta couldn't shake you awake," I explain and Haymitch looks at Peeta, just now realizing that he's there. "So I took initiative."
Haymitch glances at Peeta. "How do you stand her?" he asks. "Or do you like being ordered around? You into that kind of thing?"
I blush, and Peeta, always calm, simply laughs. "Do you really want to know the answer to that?" he asks.
Haymitch, rather recently, had the misfortune of walking in on Peeta and I in a compromising position. He didn't look surprised necessarily, but shocked. Definitely shocked. We had a long moment where Peeta and I simply stared at Haymitch and he back at us, before our mentor abruptly slammed the door. We heard him cursing all the way to his house.
Peeta and I laughed so hard that we couldn't breathe, but it still took me a whole week before I could look Haymitch in the eye again without blushing.
Haymitch glances from me to Peeta. "No. No I don't. I'm already scarred for life."
There's definitely more than one way to interpret that last statement, and I'm momentarily struck by a sense of pity for Haymitch, who has seen so many children die, had to mentor them to try and prepare them for the arena. I'm sure that, in the beginning, he really did try to help them, but I don't doubt that after a few years, I would start drinking the pain away. That was if I didn't have Peeta, of course.
And Peeta really does make all the difference.
"So be ready in an hour," Peeta tells him. "A shower would probably be a good idea."
Unable to stand the stench of Haymitch's house any longer, Maya and I escape through the front door and I greedily suck in the fresh, crisp air. Snow has begun to fall, dusting the ground in a fine, white powder. I feel Peeta come to stand beside me and we stand there a moment and watch the snow fall. It's not the first snowfall of the year, but I've always liked to watch the flakes dance down from the sky. Maya was a hilarious sight during that first snow day, biting at the air, trying to catch the snowflakes in her mouth.
I'm drawn out of the memory when I see Maya's ears perk up in my peripheral. I follow her line of sight and frown. "Peeta, I thought you said they weren't showing up until eight."
"They're not. They show up at eight, we're ready by eleven, we leave at noon," he recites from memory.
"Then why is a Capitol car outside my house?" I ask, an odd feeling of dread settling in my stomach.
Peeta is silent for a moment as he stares at the sleek, black car. "I don't know," he says eventually. "But there's only one way to find out." He takes my hand and interlocks our fingers. Even in the cold air, his hand is still warm and for some reason it relaxes me a little.
Together we cross the lawn, leaving footprints in the snow. I make sure to wipe my feet on the welcome mat in front of the door, knowing that my mother would throw a fit if I tracked in dirt and water on her clean floors. She was cleaning all day yesterday in preparation for everyone's arrival.
The moment Peeta and I cross the threshold, Maya is sniffing like crazy and a low growl begins to build in her throat. My mother hurries to meet us, looking pale and worried. What's happened? She glances down at Maya haltingly, and says, her voice slightly wavering, "Did you two enjoy your walk?" she asks. "How does Maya like the snow?"
I frown and glance at Peeta, but I notice that his eyes are not on me. I follow his gaze and see a tall man in a dark suit, and I instantly label him to be from the Capitol. The feeling of unease flares in my stomach again, and I tighten my hold on Peeta's hand.
"It was nice," I reply, before glancing down at Maya. "Hush," I tell her and she quiets, but she doesn't look happy about it.
My gaze returns to the Capitol man. "Who are you?" I ask.
He doesn't answer my question. "This way Miss Everdeen, Mr. Mellark," he says, gesturing down the hallway. I feel my ire rise at being directed about in my own house.
I glance at Maya. "Stay," I order and she makes a sound of discontent before moving off in the direction of the living room where I assume Prim is. Good. I really don't want the Capitol to know about my wolfy companion.
Peeta and I begin to move down the hallway, but I look over my shoulder to my mother, who is still pale and anxious. "Probably just more instructions for the Tour," I say, giving her a reassuring smile.
But the moment I turn away from her, my smile drops. Another man in black is standing outside the door to our little office/library; the room where Prim does her homework and my mother does her money-keeping.
The man doesn't say a word. Instead, he simply opens the door for us. Peeta, in a show of protectiveness that I haven't seen since the Games, pulls me slightly behind him and steps into the room a half step ahead of me. The scent of roses and blood assaults my nostrils, causing me to crinkle my nose in disgust. It's all I can do not to gag.
Peeta's hand tightens around mine almost painfully as he abruptly stops walking. I come to stand by his side, refusing to stay behind him like I know he would like me to. I can only deal with his protectiveness for so long. However, I'm worried when I notice that his entire body is tense and his eyes are trained on the man in front of him. The man is small and white-haired and currently reading a book. He holds up one finger in a "wait one moment" gesture. An agonizing second later, he looks up at us and it's like my blood turns to ice.
I'm staring into the dangerous, glinting eyes of President Snow.
Rut roh.
So, PK is definitely a more serious, mature couple in my version, but that's not to say that they don't act like the teenagers they are. I had to make them more mature, but I couldn't just ignore the fact that they're teenagers. Hopefully I managed to walk a fine line without slipping and falling to my proverbial doom.
So, on that happy note, how about PK's humorous saucy scene? Yes. That one makes me smile. Plus, Peeta was stammering in that adorable way of his. Oh Katniss, the control you wield over that poor boy . . .
Anyhoo, guess you guys know what goes on the next chapter! But it's got a little different twist from the original since Peeta's there. You'll see a lot of foreshadowing for the events of MJ, particularly in Peeta's case.
Quote! I need to give you a quote from the next chapter. Hmm . . . who shall it be? Yes, I think the President deserves his say.
"You do have a way with words, Mr. Mellark."
Lots of love,
AC
