The Capitol crackdown and the winter both come on fast and hard. At times it's difficult to distinguish between the hoards of white-uniformed Peacekeepers milling about District 12 and the relentless blizzards that have buried the town under several feet of snow. Due to inclement weather most of the supply lines are out, and food is scarce even among the well-to-do. The wealthier Merchant families who have never had to go without a day in their lives have started panicking and buying out the local grocery stores, stockpiling endless cans of corned beef and pickled vegetables. Gran calls daily to complain about her various deprivations, and it takes every fiber of patience in my body to refrain from telling her where she ought to stuff her precious caviar.

Since that night at the Harvest Festival security has tripled in District 12. There are Peacekeepers crawling all over Victory square, standing guard at the Seam-Merchant border in town, even patrolling the halls of the primary school. The electric fence around the district has been humming steadily and there are sentries placed at strategic locations along it's length, rendering it virtually impossible to slip into the forest unnoticed, even for someone so stealthy as Katniss.

Katniss. I don't dare approach her, knowing how dangerous it could be for her to be seen with me. I know she's not eating, not sleeping, not taking care of herself. A lot of the Seam kids have stopped coming to school, but I still see Katniss, head held high, leading a neatly dressed Prim to classes every morning. I wonder how she's putting food on the table, if she's putting food on the table.

After three weeks of watching her waste away before my eyes she is beginning to get that haunted look about her, the same look she had all those years ago when I found her slipping in and out of consciousness under our apple tree, and I know that I have to risk it. I have to talk to her.

The bell signaling the end of our history lesson rings and I wait until I have her in my sights before I casually sidle up to the wall and pull the fire alarm. Using the subsequent noise and chaos as cover, I lurch forward and grab Katniss' arm, pulling her roughly into the supply closet and slamming the door behind us. She immediately raises her fists in defense and is winding up to clock me before she realizes who it is.

"What the hell, Peeta? What were you thinking?" she hisses, dropping her fists abruptly.

Up close Katniss looks to be in even worse shape than I had imagined. She is thin and drawn, the deep purple circles under her eyes indicating that she hasn't slept well in days. Her hair has lost its luster and she has returned to her old wardrobe of baggy, formless clothing to hide the slow deterioration of her body.

I catch one of her hands in mine and I can feel the protruding bones in her wrist. "I had to see you," I whisper. "God, Katniss, you've gotten so thin—"

She snatches her arm back viciously, and I can tell we're back to square one. There will be no more almost-kisses in the barn loft…not for a long time…perhaps there never will be. "I'm fine, ok? I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you, Katniss, I care about you. There's a difference," I say angrily. "Sometimes you are so—so—"

"Stubborn? Proud? Pigheaded?" she volunteers. "I know! And that's never going to change!"

"Let me help you," I plead.

"I don't need your charity or anyone else's."

I let out a little roar of frustration. "Dammit Katniss, don't do this! I know you don't care about yourself, but at least think of Prim. How are you going to feed her? You can't hunt and you know it- what will happen to your family if you're caught?"

She glares at me, but she has no response.

"Cray's on the prowl you know," I say harshly. "Is that what you want? For you or, God forbid, Prim to end up desperate on his doorstep!" Katniss' mouth drops open in disbelief, and I know that it's a low blow bringing up Cray, but I'm not sorry. I have to do something to get through that thick head of hers. I drop down to a whisper and try to keep the hurt out of my voice. "I thought we had finally agreed that we're friends. Do you really think so little of me that you would rather starve to death than accept my help?"

Katniss squeezes her eyes shut as if she is in physical pain and takes a long, deep breath. When she opens them I can tell that she knows it's fruitless to argue any further. I have played the trump card. Prim. Katniss looks down at her feet and mumbles something that I cannot comprehend.

"What's that?"

"I said, ok, God dammit!" she bursts out angrily. "Please enlighten me as to how my Merchant in shining armor can save me." Her voice is dripping with sarcasm and it doesn't suit her.

"Look, I talked to my grandmother, she needs a new girl on her housekeeping staff. This isn't a free handout, ok? You'll work for the money—in fact, you'll work twice as much as you deserve for what you're paid—but at least its something. Katniss, in normal circumstances I wouldn't send my worst enemy to work for Gran, but what choice do you have?"

Katniss is quiet for a long time. She is chewing her bottom lip nervously, her expression guarded. "Ok," she finally answers.

"Ok, then," I say dully, still feeling wounded. I turn around and reach for the doorknob, but pause when I feel an unexpected hand on my shoulder.

Her voice is thin and tremulous, all traces of sarcasm gone. She sounds tired. "Peeta, I—I don't think so little of you. I think…a great deal of you—I—"

I cut Katniss off, suddenly not needing to hear an apology. "I know," I say softly. "Just go see Gran, all right?"

There is something going on in Victory Square, and it doesn't look good. School has just let out for the day, so there is a stream of students flooding down the main road through town, but we are stopped by a blockade and a row of armed Peacekeepers. I crane my neck to see over the seething crowd, but I can't make out much of anything. There is a gang of angry Merchants chanting something and shaking their fists in front of us, and to the left I see a crowd of frightened looking Seam folks eyeing the Peacekeepers warily.

I turn to the boy next to me, a Merchant who I recognize from gym class. "Hey, do you have any idea what's going on?" The boy doesn't say anything, just points ahead to a crude wooden stage has been erected in front of the justice building, and on top of the stage… is a gallows. My mouth goes dry. I remember learning in history class about the Dark Days before the Capitol's coup when the Seam were allowed to roam free and equal. According to the textbooks, the Seam were so bloodthirsty and villainous that when left unchecked they terrorized the good, law-abiding Merchant citizens until the Capitol finally seized power and put them in their rightful place. After that the Capitol had ordered the Seam criminals to be executed in droves—hanging being one of the preferred methods of doling out justice. The Capitol's version of history is preposterous, of course, but most Merchants are too comfortable to challenge it and the Seam are to terrified to.

It suddenly hits me that I am about to witness a public execution, and I am terrified. After a few moments of chaos I see a pair of Peacekeepers marching a Seam man up on to the stage. The executioner speaks into a microphone with a reedy voice and explains that the man in question is accused of "crimes of an insurgent nature." Then they push the alleged criminal to the front of the stage and I let out an audible gasp. It's the jolly, barrel-chested man from the Harvest Festival. It's Mr. Julian.

The crowd of Merchants goes wild, jeering at the Seam man, shouting for his execution. The executioner pulls a sack over Mr. Julian's head and with a sudden motion, the man who had danced so merrily with Katniss just weeks before, is dancing from the end of a rope.

I hear an agonized wail rise up from the crowd of Seam, and someone bumps up against my shoulder. I look up and lock eyes with Katniss for a fraction of a second before she pushes a bereaved looking Prim away from the gallows and out of sight.

A week after the horrifying public execution of Mr. Julian, I come home from school one day to find Bannock, Aldo and mother gathered in the kitchen, speaking in hushed voices. On the table is a hefty-looking safety deposit box stamped with the seal of the Panem National Bank.

"What's that?" I ask, dumping my backpack in the corner and pulling out a chair.

Mother's eyes are shining greedily. "There was a clause in your father's will that got overlooked. We just found out about the safety deposit box this morning."

"I guess dad had a few things he meant for us to have," says Bannock, and I notice that his eyes are shining with unshed tears.

"I always knew the old man was holding out on us," says Aldo coarsely.

I glare at him. "I hope he left you a microscope so we can try to locate your missing heart."

"Ha ha," he retorts.

"Well Bannock, your brother's here now, so can we finally open the damn thing?" says mother impatiently.

Mother and Aldo's perverse fascination with the contents of the box disgusts me. As if they didn't squeeze dad dry enough while he was alive, now they have to do it after he is dead, too? And what do they think is in there anyway? Diamonds? Gold bullion? Lost Mayan treasure?

Bannock draws a key out of his pocket and turns it in the lock until we hear a faint click, then he lifts the top of the box and we all peer inside curiously. There are only a few items in the box and they are neither riches nor treasure, but rather, a smattering of sentimental trinkets that my dad had collected over the year. Bannock smiles faintly as he draws out his first wrestling trophy from junior high and a faded photo of the two of them standing in the gym, dad looking proud, his arm slung around young Bannock's shoulders. Mother looks significantly less happy as she draws out a stack of letters dad wrote to her while they were courting and an amateurish painting that he had done of her when they were young. Aldo gets dad's favorite cookie cutter and a photo of him and dad fishing. I can't help but smirk when mother and Aldo collectively receive dad's old Bible with a bookmark at Matthew 5:5: "Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth," and a handwritten note: It's not too late.

"Hey, this one's for you, Peet," says Bannock, handing me a small white box. There is a note on top written in dad's untidy scrawl that contains just three words: "For your Mockingjay." I ease open the lid with shaking hands and there, on a bed of red velvet, lies a small golden pin in the form of a Mockingjay.

Gran agrees immediately when I suggest that she hire "the Everdeen girl" to her housekeeping staff. Apparently Katniss made a good impression on her at the Fall Formal, which is surprising considering Katniss' favorite facial expression is a scowl. Gran is also overjoyed that I suddenly seem eager to spend as much time at her manor as possible: "He's finally begun to appreciate the beauty of high society," she tells my mother. But what Gran doesn't know is that I'm really there to appreciate the beauty of her newest housemaid.

Over the next few weeks I notice the color returning to Katniss' face and Prim looks less and less like a wilting flower. They both look as if they've regained some weight, but I'm still concerned by the sharp angles of Katniss' hipbones and the hollows in her cheeks, so I sometimes slip a few extra cheese buns into her satchel while she's working. Gran's hard on Katniss, like she is with all her servants, but Katniss has a thick skin and she's no stranger to hard work.

Basically the only downside to this arrangement is the fact that Gran keeps inviting Dorna over for dinner. If I have to go through one more five-course meal with her fawning on me I feel like I might take a leaf out of Haymitch's book and resort to hard liquor.

On one particularly sunny December day, I hear Gran yelling at Katniss to attend to the chickens and I decide that it will be safe approaching her out in the barn—there's absolutely no chance of Gran or Dorna sneaking up on us in such a smelly place as that. I pull on my heavy coat, scarf and hat and plod down the snowy path to the chicken coops. Gran has a large estate with several acres of forest, a sizeable garden, and a lake stocked with fish.

I duck into the dimly lit chicken coop and look around. "Katniss?" I call. A couple of the birds squawk and ruffle their feathers at me indignantly and I give an involuntary shudder that I hope Katniss doesn't notice. I know that it's absurd, but for some reason chickens, with their beady little eyes and razor sharp talons, give me the creeps.

"Peeta?" she says uncertainly, peeking her head out from behind a line of roosting chickens. "What are you doing here?"

I scuff my boot in the dirt and try to maintain a healthy distance from the disgruntled hen to my left. "I miss talking to you," I say earnestly.

"Oh," she says, picking up an egg and holding it up to the light.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously. As a Merchant I know next to nothing about raising livestock.

"Checking to see if the egg's fertilized or not. If there's a chick growing inside you can see the black outline in the light." She shoves a second chicken to the side and seizes another egg.

"Can I help?"

She snorts. "You want to help?"

"Yeah, why not?" I say trying to sound nonchalant, like the idea of touching one of these Hell-birds doesn't terrify me in the least.

She smirks. "Ok, if you really want to. See that white one there? Gather her eggs and put them in this pail. Carefully, ok?"

"No problem," I say in a voice that's just a little bit too high. I clear my throat and focus my attention on the white hen Katniss referred to. I'm sure that it is leering at me. Ever so slowly I raise my hands, and just as I've finally convinced myself to take the egg…Squawk! The hen rears up, puffing out her chest and flapping her wings threateningly. I give a startled cry and stumble backwards, knocking over the pail with a resounding clang.

Katniss laughs in spite of herself, hanging onto a wooden beam for support. "I can see why you were so frightened," she says cheekily. "Studies do show that chickens evolved from dinosaurs."

It is one of those rare moments of levity since the Capitol crackdown and it feels so glorious that I don't want to let it end. I lunge at Katniss playfully and she dodges around me, leaping out into the snowy farmyard with a light, tinkling laugh that I can hardly believe belongs to her. She reaches down and launches a snowball at me, which hits me squarely in the chest, and I chase her across the meadow. She scrambles over the mound of snow surrounding the lake and glides forward confidently on the glassy surface.

"Just try and get me out here!" she challenges.

I, of course, crash to the ice three times before Katniss takes pity and hauls me to my feet. I latch onto her arm and hold on for dear life, our frosty breath mingling in the cold December air.

"You know, being with you is quite emasculating. I feel like I'm always the damsel in distress," I joke.

She pats my arm with exaggerated sympathy. "Oh, poor Peeta. Do you want to flex your muscles for me or something? It might make you feel better."

We both laugh and it feels so good that for a moment, just for a moment, I can almost forget about the Capitol decrees, and the Peacekeepers, and the gallows.

"If you could choose one moment and live in it forever, what would it be?" I ask her.

"Hmm, that's a tough one," she says, tipping her head up and slightly to the left like she does when she's thinking. "I guess maybe the day when I brought home Prim's goat, Lady. Prim was so happy that she wouldn't stop hugging that silly beast for hours." Katniss smiles nostalgically and I try to imagine being there in her house in the Seam, a fire roaring in the hearth, little Prim with the tail of her blouse sticking out, lovingly stroking the coarse fur of her goat. It makes me smile, too.

"What about you?" she asks.

I hesitate. "Promise you won't get mad?" Katniss crosses her heart with mock solemnity. "I'd probably choose this one," I say, locking eyes with her.

There is a pregnant pause in which Katniss blushes to the roots of her hair, but she doesn't lash out. Instead, she surprises me when a wicked grin splits her face. "Are you sure about that?" she asks. "Because I think this moment's about to get pretty painful." And with that, she pulls her arm out of my vice-like grasp and I fall flat on my back.

"Oof!" I gasp. "Very—" I grab her ankle and give a little tug. "–funny!" Katniss' legs slip out from under her and she crashes to the ice beside me.

We laugh again, both rubbing our sore rear ends ruefully.

"Ok, now that I've ruined the moment, there's something I want to…to give you," I say nervously.

Katniss' eyes immediately narrow and I know the signs. She is about to go on defense.

"Before you say anything just let me speak, ok?" I draw out the little white box. "This is from my father—"

"Then I definitely can't take it," cuts in Katniss emphatically.

I quickly draw the pin out of the box and place it firmly in her palm. "He meant for me to give it to you," I say vehemently. "He even left a note."

Katniss stares at the golden pin in disbelief. "It's a Mockingjay," she breathes, looking up at me suddenly. "Did you ever hear about the Mockingjays?"

I shake my head.

"Way back during the early years of the Capitol's rule—this was before father's time—the Capitol developed this sort of mutt called a Jabberjay, which could listen in on conversations and then parrot them back. The Capitol sent them out to the districts to spy on the rebels, but they figured it out and started feeding them false information. After a while the Capitol caught on and destroyed the Jabberjays…but not before they had a chance to mate with the common mockingbird…"

"My dad once told me that when your father sang all the Mockingjays stopped to listen," I tell her.

She looks at me curiously. "He said that?"

"Yeah, he did. But I don't think I really believed him until I heard you sing the Valley Song at assembly."

Now she is really looking at me oddly. "You remember that, Peeta? God, how old were we then—"

"Five," I posit. "You were wearing a red dress and you had two braids then instead of one, and I—I had never heard anyone sing so beautifully in my life."

Katniss continues to stare at me, completely thunderstruck and I feel the tension building so I add, "Got a good memory I guess."

"Guess so," says Katniss somewhat suspiciously.

I close her fingers around the Mockingjay pin. "Just keep it, all right? I want you to have it."

On Friday when I arrive at Gran's house for dinner the sound of clinking glasses and affected laughter is already drifting down the hall from the dining room. Gran's head housekeeper, a severe looking Seam woman with a heavy brow line, comes to take my coat.

"Thank you Mrs. Anders," I say, flashing her a smile. "You're looking well."

"Not as well as you are Master Mellark," she says, patting me fondly on the arm. "Getting more and more handsome every day, dear."

I scuff my feet bashfully, "Aw, shucks."

Mrs. Anders laughs and I'm about to inquire about the health of her husband and granddaughter when I hear Gran shrieking from the other room. "Is that my grandson out there, Anders? Well, what are you waiting for? Show him in!"

"Y-yes madame," blusters Mrs. Anders, her easy smile disappearing as she fumbles to hang up my winter things. "Right away, madame!"

It irks me to see kind old Mrs. Anders treated in such a way, so I give her a sympathetic smile before striding into the dining room. I'm surprised to see that Gran has several guests besides the ever-present Dorna Mills, there is Mr. and Mrs. Smelt, a pair of successful investment bankers, Liliana Vector, a wealthy elderly widow, and… Vincent Cray, the head Peacekeeper. I am fighting the urge to spit in his face. I know how he takes advantage of desperate, underage Seam girls, everyone knows it, and yet here he is, dining with us as if he's a stand-up member of society instead of the scum of the earth.

"Saved you a seat, Peety," coos Dornea, patting the chair beside her. Can this night get any worse?

It turns out, it can. Because I have just taken my place at the table when I see Katniss make her way into the dining room carrying a tray of plates. I nearly choke on my tonic water.

"Where's Edna?" I cough, looking over at Katniss, alarmed.

"Broke her arm, the silly twit. It's so hard to find good help these days," says Gran sourly.

My heart sinks. Hadn't I set Katniss up with this job so that she could avoid this scumbag? Cray must have a radar for fresh meat because he is already leering at her from across the table, his eyes lingering lecherously on her chest. As she sets his plate of salad in front of him he smirks and reaches around to pinch her ass. My fork clatters to the floor. I feel rage like I have never experienced before lurching up from the darkest recesses of my soul, and I taste bile. How dare he! Grinding my teeth and clenching my fists under the table, I try to remind myself that attacking the head Peacekeeper is not going to do Katniss any favors.

After the meal we all retire to the salon for coffee and the company is distracted enough by a tray of delectable almond tarts (Dorna has already stuffed her face with three of them), that I am able to steal out into the corridor. I want to talk to Katniss alone, make sure she's ok. Halfway down the corridor I catch up with her and pull her into an empty sitting room.

"Look, Peeta, I've loads of work to do, I don't really have time for a question right now," she says absently and checks her watch. "I have to make sure Lady Vector's car is here by—"

"How can you be so cavalier about this, Katniss!" I say incredulously. "I saw what happened in there with Cray!"

She sighs. "It was nothing."

"What do you mean it was nothing?" I growl. "He laid his filthy hands on you, the bastard!"

"Peeta, please calm down," says Katniss quietly, looking around nervously as if Gran might pop in at any moment. "Look, it's not like it's the first time someone's groped me, ok? I'm Seam, it happens. Nobody gives a shit."

I run a shaking hand through my already disheveled hair. "I do," I say vehemently. "I give a shit."

She gives me a sad half smile. "I know."

"You shouldn't have to deal with scumbags like him."

"I know."

"You should be treated with respect."

"I know."

And then, because I don't know what else to say, I hold out my arms to her and she steps into them like the missing piece in a puzzle. I want to hold on to her forever, to never let her go, but suddenly I hear footsteps in the corridor.

Without thinking I yell, "Hide!" and Katniss drops down behind the sofa just as the door bangs open.

"Peeta!" screeches Dorna. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Oh, have you? I just, um, needed some fresh air."

"Well, I'm glad I found you here. It's nice to have a little privacy," she says, and I don't like the suggestive emphasis that she puts on the last word.

I laugh nervously. "Yeah, it's nice. But we really should get back, you know, they'll be wondering—"

Dorna cuts me off with a sloppy kiss, which I don't quite manage to dodge. I grab her shoulders and push her away from me. "We're missing coffee," I gasp, trying to keep her at bay.

"Who cares about coffee?" says Dorna, her eyes smoldering as she kisses my neck. "I think it's time to take our relationship to the next level, don't you?"

"Next—next level?" I croak. "Dorna, we're not in a relationship."

But Dorna is not listening. "Come on Peeta, let's have some fun," she says lustily and starts backing me up against the wall. All I can think of is Katniss crouched down behind the couch, listening to this. I'm so distracted that I don't even notice what Dorna is up to until I feel her fiddling with my belt buckle, trying to undo my pants.

I jump away like I've been prodded with a cattle brand. "Jesus!" I shout. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dorna takes a step back, startled, but then I watch her expression change from surprise, to realization, to rage. "It's that Seam slut isn't it?" she says in a low, dangerous voice.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," I stammer.

Dorna narrows her eyes. "Don't lie to me, I've seen the way you look at her," she spits. "Bet she puts out, huh? They all do."

The way I am shaking in anger must be giving me away, but I can't control myself. "Dorna," I say with forced calm. "I think you should leave now."

"Oh, don't worry, I'm going, but your little girlfriend better watch her back." Dorna turns on her heel and storms out of the room.

When the door slams shut behind her I take a tentative step towards the couch. "Katniss?"

She rises slowly, her eyes wide and unfocused. "I have to get out of here," she whispers, almost as if she is speaking to herself.

"Katniss, don't do anything rash," I beg her. "We'll figure something out, I'll—"

"I have to get out of here!" This time she is yelling. I reach out to her, but she ducks under my arm and sprints for the door.

"Katniss, wait!" I cry.

But she is gone.

Author's Note: I just want to say thank you to the great response on the last chapter, I'm glad you're all enjoying it. I think I also owe a great big thank you to bleedtoloveher for recommending this story on tumblr-you're amazing, thanks!