A/N: Guys, I can't tell you enough how awesome you are. I cannot believe I have so many reviews! Seriously my ego keeps going up and up and up and up and . . . yeah, I think you get the point. :)

So I gave you another humorous saucy scene this chapter, as a 'THANK YOU' to all of you. And if you're wondering, the really seriously hot SS is coming later in the story. I think it's somewhere in the 20s.

Wow, I really don't have that much to say today. Weird. I always have something to ramble about.

Oh, well. How about the movie quote of the day? Yes? Today's quote comes from Vampires Suck.

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."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."; "There's only one God, ma'am, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't dress like that."; "Your skin is pale white, you dress fashionably, and you abstain from sex. . . I know what you are . . . Jonas brother"


Chapter 12

I hardly notice my prep team working on me, getting me ready for District 12's Harvest Festival, our district's celebration for the Victory Tour. Peeta and I have barely had a moment together since we arrived back. The moment we stepped off the train, we were ushered to the Mayor's house, not even getting a chance to see our families.

I'm grateful though, that we're being prepped at the Mayor's house rather than in the Justice Building. Too many bad memories reside in that place for me. Receiving a Medal of Valor for my father when he died. Saying goodbye to my family after the reaping. No good memories of that building.

But these thoughts are trivial compared to what's swirling around in my mind and has been since I overheard the information. The uprising in District 8. It's all that I can think about. I try and think back to remember all that Peeta and I overheard by the two Capitol men. They had said that there were hundreds of factory workers in the square. District 8 made textiles. The men had also said that the workers were threatening a strike.

And then there was what they said about Districts 3 and 4. They were worried that they would follow District 8's example. Could this really be happening? Could, dare I think it, a rebellion be starting? If one district could rebel . . . and then another . . . and then another. Then we'd have a full scale war on our hands.

I can't deny the elation that I feel at this idea. The injustice of the Capitol has gone on for far too long. I despise their control over me, how they are dictating my life. How they will continue to influence my life and my decisions as long as Snow and the Capitol regime is in power. And my anger at the Capitol doesn't completely stem from my own selfish reasons. I'm tired of seeing starving children in the streets while the Capitol eats so much they make themselves vomit just so they can relish the pleasure of eating again. I'm sick of money being so scarce in 12, while coins are tossed about the Capitol like they're worthless. I'm simply fed up with the Capitol having everything and giving nothing, leaving the districts and the rest of Panem to slave away for them, just so they can continue to live in luxury.

It's time that it stopped.

But just as I can't deny that the idea of rebelling elates me, I can't ignore that it also scares me. It's one thing to think about these things, but putting them into action? Would District 12 even want to rebel? Would they have the courage to start an uprising? Peeta. They would listen to Peeta, wouldn't they? He could convince them that it's the right thing to do . . .

I curse myself as I realize what I'm doing; contriving a use for Peeta, using his talents for my own gain, exactly like the two Capitol men we'd overheard had wanted to do. Use him for propos; make him talk of how he supports the Capitol. I'm basically doing the same thing, except for my own cause. Despicable.

"Okay," Venia chirps happily. "All done. I'll go get Cinna."

My prep team flounces out the door and not a minute later, Cinna comes in carrying the ever-present garment bag over his arm. "What do you got for me this time?" I ask.

Cinna smiles. "You should know," he teases. "After all, you designed this one."

"Did I?" I find myself smiling with him, enjoying our joke. "Well let's see my masterpiece."

And what a glorious masterpiece it is. This dress is by far the sleekest looking of all that I've ever worn. Sliver and shimmering, it hangs from my shoulders by thin straps, the neckline of the dress scooping down to show a hint of cleavage that I didn't know I had. The body of the dress flows down to my feet, clinging to me in all the right places, enhancing my curves.

"Oh, I'm good," I breathe and Cinna chuckles.

"You do look stunning," he compliments as we both look at my reflection in the floor length mirror. Complementing my silver dress are matching silver heels. My makeup is light, though my cheeks hold a rosy glow, my lips shimmer with a pink lipstick. Flavius went to work on my hair, curling it in soft waves that he let fall over my shoulders.

I wonder how Peeta will like it.

"You're brilliant, Cinna," I tell him sincerely, for seems like the millionth time. He just keeps surprising me with his fashion genius.

Cinna smiles, accepting my praise with a gracious nod. "Let's get to the Festival, shall we?"

"I'll meet you there in a minute," I say. "Go on without me. I want to see if I can get Peeta alone."

Cinna actually smirks at me, and I blush. "Not like that!"

"Sure, girl on fire," he says lightly as he leaves. "Sure."

Oh, how I love my stylist.

Nonetheless, after I'm sure my blush has faded, I walk out of the room and into the hallway. I head down the hallway to my right, knowing that I heard Peeta's prep team yammering down this way. I see a broad-shouldered blonde turning the corner and I hurry to catch up with him.

"Peeta," I say, but now that I'm closer I realize that this is not the Mellark I am looking for.

"Well, hey there, sweetcheeks," Rye grins at me. "Looking for the kid?"

I scowl. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that?"

"What?" Rye questions. "Sweetcheeks? Sorry, no can do. It just suits you so well. All that blushing you do."

I blush. He laughs.

But when I examine him closer and see his red nose, I'm the one who's laughing. "What?" Rye asks. "I haven't even cracked a joke yet. Though don't think I'm not thrilled that you feel at ease in my comedic presence."

"Peeta found time to punch you," I explain. "You might even get a black eye."

Rye frowns. "You don't think so, do you?" he asks. "It'll ruin my act. Then people will actually be laughing at me and not with me."

"Rye, people are always laughing at you," I tell him. "Besides, if you hadn't kissed me, you could have avoided Peeta's fist."

At the reminder, Rye touches his nose with a wince. "You know, I don't remember him punching so hard." He sniffs. "What did you tell him? That I gave you the kiss of a lifetime?"

"I told him that I punched you in the nose," I reply smartly. "He laughed."

"Ah well, at least I made him laugh from afar," Rye shrugs, an easy smile on his face. "Kudos for me."

"And then he promptly declared that you were getting punched the moment we got back," I say with a smile. "He succeeded."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Rye twitches his nose a bit, like a rabbit would, and I can't help but laugh. "And score one for Mellark!" he says in triumph. "Figures you'd be the one to laugh at my pain."

"I wasn't laughing at your pain," I argue lightly. "I was just laughing at you."

"You wound me," Rye sighs dramatically. "Hey, you want to hear a joke?"

I roll my eyes as I move past him, resuming my search for Peeta. I'm not surprised when Rye follows. He can never let a joke go untold. "It's a knock-knock joke. I love knock-knock jokes. Knock-knock jokes are my favorite," he says earnestly.

"Fine," I relent. "Tell me the joke."

Rye grins. "Knock knock!"

"Who's there?" I ask dully.

"No one, you're insane!" Rye laughs, elbowing me in the side. "That's a good one, right?"

"I've heard worse." I spin around to see Peeta dressed in a simple black tux. He's smirking at Rye. "Strangely enough, they all came from you."

I laugh as I step toward Peeta and he pulls me to his side, his arm automatically wrapping around my waist. "Aw, aren't you two just cute," Rye teases.

"Don't you have someone else to annoy?" Peeta asks as together, the three of us begin to walk down the hallway the way we came, heading toward the Festival in the town square.

"It's like you don't want to see me, babe." Rye holds a hand over his heart. "I'm hurt."

"Babe?" I question, looking up at Peeta who's blushing, shaking his head in shame.

"Oh, it's my nickname for him," Rye says, enjoying Peeta's humiliation like I assume all older brothers do. "Cause, you know, he's the baby of the bunch. The little one."

"I'm bigger than you," Peeta retorts.

"Details, details," Rye waves him off and I can't help but smile at the interaction between the two of them. "You see, sweetcheeks, I used to actually call him 'baby bro' which was then shortened to 'baby,' but he put up a fuss, so I had to change it to something just a tad more masculine."

I look up at Peeta. "I'll never call you babe."

"Thanks for that."

"It's not like he doesn't have an equally embarrassing nickname for me," Rye shrugs. "He calls me 'pookie.'"

I can't help it. I snort. "You're kidding."

Peeta's grinning now. "There's funny story behind that nickname."

"He wasn't even creative enough to come up with it on his own," Rye says as he holds open the front door of the mayor's house for us before shutting it and quickly jogging to catch up with us. "He stole it."

I look up at Peeta for an explanation. "We were twelve," he begins before amending, "Well, I was twelve. Rye was fourteen and had his first girlfriend. Their epic romance lasted a whole two days."

"Why?" I ask.

Peeta chuckles. "He broke up with her because she called him 'pookie.'"

"Hence the reason why he still calls me 'pookie,'" Rye laughs good-naturedly.

"Does Chris have a nickname?" I ask with a smile.

Both Peeta and Rye laugh before Rye explains. "Oh, yeah. We call him 'sugar bear.'"

I frown. "Seriously?"

Peeta grins. "Well, see, originally, Chris didn't have a nickname."

"But then he got married," Rye says gleefully. "And you know what that means."

"No."

Rye looks at Peeta. "You've got to teach her these things."

"I'm working on it."

"What?" I snap, annoyed that they're talking over me.

Peeta hugs me closer in apology, before saying, "Typically, when you get married, some pet names are usually thrown around."

"Like 'baby,'" Rye elaborates. "Sweetheart, babygirl, or, my personal favorite, wifey."

I look up at Peeta. "You call me any of those, and I will kill you."

"Yeah, because I was totally thinking of calling you 'wifey,'" Peeta says with a grin. "You're Katniss. Always will be."

"Aw, isn't he just sweet?" Rye teases before looking at me. "Anyway, back to the story. Spouses give each other pet names. And well, Madeline, that's Chris's wife, calls him 'sugar bear.'"

"And so you tease him," I deduce and both Peeta and Rye laugh.

"All the time."

"It's fun."

"You two are ridiculous," I declare and they both look at me, offended.

"No we're not," Rye scoffs. "Please."

"It's just a thing," Peeta defends. "It's a . . . brotherly thing."

By this time, we've reached the square and Rye sighs dramatically. "Alas, I must leave you. There must be something around here that I can screw up," he says before looking at me seriously. "Is there any possible way you could bring me two live squirrels?"

"Why?" I ask suspiciously and Rye gets this all too innocent look on his face.

"No reason."

"Will you just go already?" Peeta asks, shoving Rye's shoulder.

Rye waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, you two aren't thinking about ditching early, are you? Naughty, naughty . . ."

Peeta glares at him. "None of your business, Rye."

Rye is oblivious, still grinning. "You two have fun. Be safe."

And with that, Rye Mellark turns on his heel and immediately goes up to a group of girls. Within seconds, he has them laughing. I can't help but sigh. "You know, once you get past his idiocy, he's actually kind of sweet."

Peeta chuckles. "He's a good guy," he agrees. "Just too much of a kid sometimes."

"You sound like the older brother," I say and Peeta sighs.

"I feel like the older brother." He shakes his head. "I'm the one that keeps him out of trouble."

"Speaking of trouble," I say, my mind turning back to my thoughts earlier in the evening. About the uprisings and what we learned in the Capitol. I still haven't told Peeta about the glowing, vanishing mockingjay on Plutarch Heavensbee's pocket watch. "What do you say we find Haymitch before he's passed out drunk?"

Peeta's eyes narrow as he catches my subtext. "You sure?" he asks, casting a questioning glance to the Capitol people around us who are providing the food for the Harvest Festival.

"He's probably in a quiet place," I say. "We should find him."

"Alright," he agrees as his eyes scan the crowd for our mentor. "Well, what do you know? He's by the alcohol."

"Shocker," I deadpan, causing us both to smile before we begin to make our way toward Haymitch.

When we reach Haymitch he's still relatively sober, which is lucky for us. He sees us coming and scowls, like he can't stand the sight of us. "What do you want?" he asks.

"To talk," I say lightly. "About stuff."

"Stuff?" Haymitch questions. "What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff," I repeat and Haymitch grunts as he hauls himself to his feet, keeping his omnipresent flask in his hand.

"Well then let's mosey on over that way," he says sarcastically, but at this point, I take no offense. It's just Haymitch being Haymitch.

We end up gathering around under the stage. It's extra cool in the shade and I shiver slightly, prompting Peeta to give me his jacket. It completely dwarfs me and the sleeves are way too long, but I don't mind. It's warm and it smells like Peeta. It's perfect.

"What?" Haymitch snaps once I'm settled in Peeta's jacket. "What's so damn important?"

"There was an uprising in District 8," I whisper, glancing up at Peeta. "We overheard two Capitol men talking about it at the party last night."

Haymitch's eyes narrow. "Tell me everything."

And so I do. Peeta and I take turns telling all that we heard. The uprising in 8. The threat of a strike. The possibility that 3 and 4 will follow District 8's example. And then I get to the part that worries me the most. "And they were talking about using Peeta," I say. "For propos and things."

I only see it for a second, maybe even less, but I'm positive that Haymitch looks worried. He glances at Peeta. "Makes sense," he says gruffly. "You got a way with words, kid. They'd want to use that."

"They talked about doing the same thing with Katniss," Peeta deflects, not focusing on himself as usual. "It's her mockingjay that's everywhere."

"Oh," I interrupt. "And that's another thing." I look up at Peeta. "You know how I danced with Plutarch Heavensbee? The new Head Gamemaker?" Peeta nods and I continue, glancing at Haymitch. "Well, we were talking and he said that he had to leave for a meeting, planning the Games. He pulled out his pocket watch and showed it to me, saying that the meeting started at midnight. I thought it was an odd time for a meeting, but I didn't say anything because when I looked at the watch, there was a glowing, golden mockingjay on the face of the watch. Then I blinked, and it was gone."

Peeta frowns. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I confirm, looking at Haymitch. "It just seemed odd. He showed it to me like it was a secret."

Haymitch seems to debate this before shrugging. "Probably wants it to be a secret. Doesn't want anyone to steal his idea." I deflate a little bit at my mentor's theory. I don't know what I'd been hoping the vanishing mockingjay meant, but it wasn't the mere fact that it was one of a kind and he simply didn't want anyone stealing his idea. "I mean, that mockingjay was everywhere. It's some fashion staple. Don't read into it."

He looks between both Peeta and I. "That it?"

"Well, yeah," I say, feeling slightly awkward. "That's it."

"Okay," Haymitch sighs. "Don't get too excited about these uprisings. They've cropped up every now and then in the past and they always just fade away."

"But Snow's worried, Haymitch," Peeta says. "He wouldn't have come to visit us just for kicks. He's not the type to waste time worrying over nothing. Besides, you saw the people in the districts on the Tour. They're mad, Haymitch. Yeah, they might be scared too, but there's courage there. I think they want to fight."

"Hold your horses, kid," Haymitch snaps. He looks between us. "I want you two to forget about this stuff, alright? The only thing you're focusing on is your wedding, got it? And Katniss, you've got a photo shoot for the wedding next week, by the way."

I groan. "Why do you torture me with these things?"

"Because I'm your mentor," he retorts quickly. "Now get out of here. I need a drink."

"You always need a drink," I mutter, ignoring Haymitch's snappy reply. Peeta takes my hand and together we brave the throng of people.

The Harvest Festival is a piece of cake compared to the other parties on the Victory Tour. Since the food has been provided by the Capitol, everyone in 12 is just glad that they can fill their stomachs, and I'm grateful for that at least. No one throws questions at us left and right. There aren't over the top congratulations about our upcoming nuptials. And there is little to no drunken leering. As far as Capitol-organized gatherings go, the Harvest Festival is relatively okay.

Still, however simple the party is, by the time that I trek up the stairs to my room, I'm ready to fall into bed and stay there for the foreseeable future. I do get a surprise though, when I walk into my room and find my mother waiting for me. "Um, hi," I say, feeling awkward.

I'm still swathed in Peeta's tuxedo jacket. I've hitched my dress up in one hand, and my shoes are dangling from my other hand. No doubt I probably look just a little foolish. My mother isn't smiling though. "Sit down, Katniss."

I debate ignoring her and getting into the shower instead, but I sigh in acquiescence and take a seat beside her on the bed. After all, I am trying to mend our relationship. "So . . ." I say slowly. "What's so important?"

My mother looks at me, and I imagine that she would look stern if she were truly capable. "I want you to stop sleeping with Peeta."

I can't control it. I feel a blush spread from my chest to the roots of my hair. Is my mother seriously about to give me a sex talk? I do not need this right now! But I do have to clarify one thing. "I'm not sleeping with him," I say and my mother looks at me dubiously. "I'm not!" I say defensively. "Well, I mean, I do, but I don't. We just sleep! We don't . . . I haven't . . ." I take a deep breath, getting to the crux of the matter. "I'm a virgin, mom. Peeta wants to wait until we're married."

Technically, I'm telling the truth. I haven't had sex. And Peeta does want to wait until we're married. However, that doesn't mean that we haven't done other things. I never knew my hormones truly existed until I saw Peeta without a shirt . . .

My mother looks slightly chagrinned, but I know that she's going to stick to her point. "It's not proper, Katniss," she says, reminding me of Effie. "You should sleep in your own bed."

"What? And wake everyone up when I'm screaming my head off, trapped in a nightmare?" I ask, getting angry. "I need Peeta, mom. He makes the nightmares go away, and when I do actually have a nightmare, he's there to wake me up and hold me."

"I could do that," my mother says quietly. "I used to, you know. Hold you. When you were little."

"I'm not a little girl, anymore, mom," I say. "You don't understand. Peeta does, because he was there. And he has nightmares too, and they're always about losing me, and I have to be there when he wakes up so that he knows I'm still alive. I'm not leaving him."

My mother and I hold a staring contest. I refuse to bend to her rules, at least this one. There's no way I'm sleeping without Peeta. Not a chance in hell. My mother knows this, and so I'm not surprised when she looks away first, sighing in defeat. "I just want you to be careful," she says softly. "I know that I haven't been the mother you needed, and I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am for that. But you have to know that I care. I just want what's best for you."

I smile a little. "Peeta is what's best for me."

My mother nods and gets to her feet. She pauses at the door and turns back to look at me. "You remind me more and more of your father every day," she says wistfully. "Always so sure."

And then she leaves, closing the door softly behind her. I can't help but wonder what my mother was like when she met my father. I imagine her to be a lot like Prim, though I know that Prim is much stronger than my mother. Both of us inherited our father's inner strength. But I imagine my mother to be like Prim in nature. Soft, kind, and sweet. Caring.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. Shower. Sneak out. Peeta's bedroom. That is my three-step plan, and it takes me roughly fifteen minutes to complete. I towel dry my hair, not bothering to put it into a braid because I know that Peeta likes it down. I throw on a light pair of pants and a shirt, knowing that I probably won't be wearing them for long anyway, if the looks Peeta was giving me toward the end of the party were anything to go by. The thought makes my stomach clench in anticipation.

My feet traverse the floor silently as I tiptoe out of the house, Peeta's tuxedo jacket wrapped around me once more. Portia probably wants it back, after all. It's begun to snow lightly, the snowflakes clinging to my hair as I hurry across the street toward Peeta's house. I smile when I see wet paw prints on his front porch.

Maya.

I open the door and there she is, no doubt waiting for me. Before I greet her, I make sure to take off Peeta's jacket and hang it in the coat closet to my right. This done, my attention is all on my furry friend. "Hey, girl," I smile as I scratch her behind the ears and give her a good rub down. She licks my face and wags her tail. I swear she's smiling at me.

"She was sitting on the porch when I got home."

My eyes dart up to the landing on the stairs, where Peeta is leaning against the railing, his arms folded across his bare chest. I give Maya one more good scratch behind the ears before standing and making my way up the stairs, trailing my hand along the railing. Peeta's grinning at me and I grin back. Just as I reach the same stair he's on and he reaches out for me, I suddenly dart out of his hold and race up the rest of the stairs, a girlish giggle escaping me that I will only ever let Peeta hear.

My smile is threatening to split my face in two when I hear his loud steps chasing after me. I just manage to get through the door to his bedroom before a strong arm wraps around my waist, halting my progress. He spins me around to face him, and I brace my hands on his chest. "Gotcha," he grins before capturing my lips.

My hands immediately become entangled in his hair as he kisses me. I feel his large, warm hands sneak under my shirt and settle at my waist. A make a sound of surprise when he suddenly hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He begins to move toward the bed and we're still kissing when I feel my head hit the pillow. Finally, when I'm sure that my lungs are about to burst any second, I break the kiss with a gasp. I look up at Peeta, hovering over me, breathing just as hard as I am. There's a smile on his face as he looks at me.

"You know," he says as his lips find my neck. My eyes close of their own accord. "You truly looked beautiful tonight." He continues to kiss up my neck until he finds that one spot behind my ear that never fails to make me shiver. I feel him smiling against my skin. "And all night I was trying to figure out what I've done to deserve you."

I blush. Why must Peeta say these things? He knows that I'm not good with words, and now I feel compelled to say something equally romantic. "You loved me when no one else did," I say softly. "You've saved my life multiple times. But more importantly, you make me smile. You make me laugh. You make me happy." I kiss him. "It's me that doesn't deserve you."

Peeta shakes his head, a smile on his face. "And you say you're not good with words."

"You inspire me." I say simply before gliding my hands over his chest. "Now, shut up and kiss me, already."

"Well, I was getting there . . ."

"You were already there."

"Seriously, I had a plan."

"Well, I'd love to see it sometime tonight."

"See? We do bicker."

My eyes narrow as I quickly flip us over so that I'm straddling his waist. I lean down until my face is just hovering above his, my hair falling in a curtain around us. "How many times do I have to tell you Peeta?" I tease as I slowly slide my hands along his chest, causing his eyes to close briefly. "We do not bicker. Bickering is a type of argument, in which case, would mean that I always win."

Peeta suddenly smirks, as one hand begins to glide along my thigh and the other tangles in my hair, bringing my face even closer to his. His lips are brushing mine as he says, "Well, if this is me losing an argument, then I don't see how it's such a bad thing."

And when he presses his lips to mine, my mind is blissfully blank.


They're too cute sometimes. It's fun to write.

Quote for next chapter comes from (drum roll, please) . . . Peeta!

"You think I'm just trying to get laid?"

Could there be a Gale vs. Peeta episode next chapter? ;)

Lots of love,

AC