Note: I do not own the characters in the story nor have any rights to the hunger games.
Chapter 1:
I reach my compartment on the train that's speeding us toward the first stop of the Victory Tour. Today has been endless. I snapped at Effie and Haymitch, and then had a long conversation with Peeta.
Peeta.
He's too good for this world. Today, he came to apologize to me for being upset that my feelings never went beyond friendship. We started to actually talk, really talk, and the more we spoke, the more this strange flutter in my stomach became impossible to ignore. I'm not sure what it means. I just know that Peeta and I protect each other. Always.
As I lie in bed, I find myself replaying our time in the cave, the kiss, the berries. I sigh. As much as I loathe the Games and what they've done to me, I can't bring myself to regret going through them with Peeta.
—
I'm woken by my own screams. Another nightmare. The mutts, the berries, the faces of the tributes I killed—they all blend together, waking me up.
There's a soft knock at my door.
"Katniss?" Peeta's voice is hushed, concerned. "Are you okay?"
I consider pretending to be asleep, but I know he heard me. "Come in," I manage, my voice still raw.
The door slides open and he stands there, silhouetted against the dim light from the corridor. His artificial leg catches the light as he moves toward me.
"Bad one?" he asks, sitting carefully at the edge of my bed.
I nod, not trusting my voice. In the arena, we slept side by side for warmth, for protection. Now, in these Capitol train compartments, we're supposed to sleep alone with our own nightmares.
"I get them too," he says quietly. "I keep dreaming that I eat the nightlock. Or that I watch you eat it."
Without thinking, I reach for his hand. His fingers intertwine with mine instantly, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Stay?" The word slips out before I can stop it.
Peeta looks at me, surprise flickering across his face, then something softer. "Always," he whispers.
He slides next to me on top of the covers, keeping a respectful distance, still holding my hand. We don't speak. We don't need to. The steady rhythm of his breathing gradually calms my racing heart.
"Haymitch thinks we should talk about our speeches for District 11," Peeta says after a while. "It's Rue's district."
Rue. The small girl from District 11 who reminded me so much of Prim. My chest tightens. "I can't just read the Capitol's cards there."
"I know." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "We'll figure something out together."
Together. The word hangs between us, weighted with meaning. Before the Games, I barely knew Peeta Mellark. Now, I can't imagine facing any of this without him.
"Peeta?" I turn to face him in the darkness. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being you."
Even in the dim light, I can see his smile. It's genuine, not the camera-ready one we've perfected for President Snow and the Capitol. It's just Peeta, and something about that makes the flutter in my stomach return.
He reaches out hesitantly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His touch lingers on my cheek, and I don't pull away.
"Peeta." I say as I stare into his eyes. I notice how the blue deepens in the dim light, like the sky just before full darkness. He stares back at me, and I see the slight crease between his eyebrows that appears whenever he's listening intently. A small "yes" escapes his lips.
"I don't like Gale in the way you think. Earlier you wanted to apologize for being upset about Gale, but I want you to know that there's nothing with Gale either. Truth is, I don't know what I want. I just know I want you to stay with me in the moment."
His expression softens, the tension in his shoulders visibly releasing. I feel the warmth of his hand increase slightly against mine, his thumb continuing its gentle circles on my skin. The sensation sends an unexpected warmth up my arm.
"That's enough for me," he whispers, his voice catching slightly. The moonlight streaming through the window catches on his eyelashes, casting faint shadows on his cheeks. I've never noticed before how long they are.
Outside our window, the landscape rushes by in a dark blur. We're hurtling toward District 11, toward whatever the Capitol has planned for us next. But for this moment, in this quiet compartment, it's just us.
Just Katniss and Peeta.
And for the first time since the Games ended, I feel something like peace.
—
We're barely through the doors of the Justice Building when Haymitch is on us, his face twisted in fury.
"Are you two out of your minds?" he hisses, grabbing us both by the arm and dragging us down a deserted hallway. "One month of your winnings? Every year for life? What were you thinking?"
Peeta shakes free of Haymitch's grip. "We were thinking that their families deserve more than a wooden plaque and some empty words."
"This isn't about what's right," Haymitch snaps. "This is about staying alive! That little stunt out there—" he jabs a finger toward the square where the crowd is still dispersing "—has consequences."
"We had to say something real," I argue. "You would have done the same thing."
Haymitch's eyes flash dangerously. "No, sweetheart, I wouldn't have. Because I understand what's at stake." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "That whistle, that salute—do you have any idea what you've started?"
A chill runs through me. I didn't start anything. The old man did. The crowd did. I just spoke about Rue.
"We need to get you two out of here," Haymitch says, already pulling us toward the exit. "We're skipping the dinner. No goodbyes, no mingling. Straight to the train."
Effie appears around the corner, her face pinched with confusion. "What's going on? We have a schedule! The mayor has prepared a special—"
"Change of plans," Haymitch cuts her off.
"But the schedule clearly states—"
"Forget the schedule!" Haymitch roars, causing Effie to step back in shock. He never raises his voice at Effie, no matter how much she annoys him. "Get them to the train. Now."
As Peacekeepers flank us, I turn to Peeta. His eyes meet mine, wide with concern but not regret. Despite everything, I feel the same. I don't regret what we said. I don't regret honoring Rue and Thresh the way they deserved.
Outside, I hear a commotion in the square—raised voices, a whistle being cut short, the unmistakable crack of gunfire.
"Move!" Haymitch orders, shoving us toward a back door.
We're hustled through a maze of corridors and out a service entrance where a car waits. As we speed toward the train station, I catch glimpses of Peacekeepers flowing into the square, their white uniforms stark against the dusty brown of District 11.
On the train, the silence is deafening. Effie retreats to her compartment, muttering about schedule adjustments. The rest of us gather in the dining car, where Haymitch immediately pours himself a drink, downing it in one gulp before pouring another.
"President Snow will have seen the broadcast by now," he says quietly.
Cinna, who has joined us, nods gravely. "It was being aired live."
My stomach drops. "Will he punish the families? Rue's family?"
"I don't know," Haymitch admits, something I've rarely heard him say. "But he'll punish someone. That's how it works."
Peeta takes my hand under the table, his thumb tracing the familiar circles on my skin that have become a silent language between us. Comfort. Solidarity.
"What do we do now?" I ask.
Haymitch studies us, his gaze lingering on our joined hands. "You stick to the script. Every district, every appearance. You read the cards, you smile for the cameras, you play the happy couple madly in love." He pauses, his eyes narrowing. "Though that last part seems less of an act now."
Heat rises to my cheeks, but I don't pull my hand away from Peeta's. Haymitch isn't wrong. Whatever is happening between us, it's no longer just for the cameras.
"And if that's not enough?" Peeta asks quietly.
I take a deep breath. It's time to tell him. "It won't be."
Both Peeta and Haymitch turn to look at me.
"Snow came to see me," I say, the words bitter in my mouth. "Before the Tour. He smelled like blood and roses and..." I shudder at the memory. "He said he didn't believe us. Didn't believe our love story. That I'd made the Capitol look foolish with the berries."
Peeta's face goes pale. "He threatened you?"
"Me. My family. Gale." I look down at our joined hands. "Everyone I care about."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Peeta's voice is tight with hurt.
Haymitch cuts in before I can answer. "This is exactly what I was talking about. You two need to be more convincing than ever. Every district, every appearance."
"I just want to go home," I whisper. "I want this to be over."
Haymitch laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Wake up, girl. You're never getting off this train. You'll always be Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the victors, the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve. That's your life now."
The reality of it crashes down on me. No escape. No going back to who I was. Just this endless performance until... until when?
"What if we got married?" The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Both men stare at me in shock.
"What?" Peeta's voice is barely audible.
"If Snow doesn't believe we're in love, maybe that would convince him." I'm thinking out loud now, desperate. "A toasting, a Capitol wedding. The ultimate proof."
Peeta pushes away from the table so violently his chair nearly topples. "You didn't tell me." His voice is quiet but sharp with anger. "You knew about Snow, and you didn't tell me."
"Peeta—" I start.
"No," he cuts me off. "Not here." He looks at Haymitch. "Excuse us."
Without waiting for a response, he takes my arm and guides me firmly out of the dining car. We move through the train until we reach the last car, the one with the large windows where we can see the tracks disappearing behind us. Once the door slides shut, he drops my arm.
"You should have told me," he says, his voice low. "I'm supposed to be your partner in this, and you left me in the dark."
"I was trying to protect you!"
"That's not your decision to make!" he shouts, then immediately lowers his voice. "All my life, I've had to do what other people want. My mother, the bakery, the Games. Always following someone else's rules, someone else's plans." He paces the length of the car. "And now you. Deciding that we should get married without even asking me. Just another thing I don't get a say in."
Guilt washes over me. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I didn't think."
"No, you didn't." His eyes are bright with hurt. "Do you have any idea what it's like to want something so badly for so long, only to find out it's just another lie? Another performance?"
I step closer to him. "It's not a lie." My voice comes out stronger than I expected. "Not anymore."
He freezes. "What?"
"I don't know how to say it right." I struggle to find the words, wishing I had Peeta's way with them. "I'm not good at this. But when you stayed with me last night, when I woke up with you there... that wasn't for the cameras. That wasn't for Snow." I swallow hard. "That was just for me."
The anger seems to drain from him, leaving something vulnerable in its wake. "How do I know that's true? How do I know it's not just another survival strategy?"
The question stings because it's fair. Because I've wondered the same thing.
"Because I don't know how to fake this," I say finally. "I'm a terrible liar, remember? Everyone knows that." I reach for his hand tentatively. "I don't know what this is between us. I just know it's different from before."
Peeta watches me for a long moment, his expression softening. Then, before I can react, he steps forward and presses his lips to mine. It's not like our kisses in the cave or for the cameras. It's brief but real, sending a jolt through me that I feel all the way to my toes.
When he pulls back, he keeps his forehead against mine. "That wasn't for the cameras either," he whispers.
My heart hammers in my chest. "No cameras here," I manage to say.
His lips curve into a small smile. "A marriage should be real, Katniss."
"I know," I whisper. "But maybe this one could be." The words surprise even me as they come out. "Not now, not at first. But someday."
He studies me, as if searching for the truth in my eyes. Finally, he nods. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"I'll marry you." His smile widens slightly. "Not exactly how I pictured you asking, but I'll take it."
Relief floods through me, followed quickly by panic at what I've just proposed. Marriage. To Peeta. Yet somehow, the idea doesn't terrify me as much as it should.
As the train hurtles through the night, we stand side by side, watching the world flash by.
"I'm still mad at you," he says, but his voice has lost its edge.
"I know."
—
Later, as I lie in bed unable to sleep, there's a soft knock at my door. I know it's Peeta before he speaks.
"Can I come in?" he asks.
I don't hesitate this time. "Yes."
He slips in, wearing a simple t-shirt and pajama pants, his hair tousled as if he's been running his hands through it.
"I keep seeing their faces," he says, sitting at the edge of my bed. "Rue's family. The old man who whistled."
"Me too," I admit.
We don't talk about our argument. About marriage proposals or Snow's threats. Instead, Peeta stretches out beside me, and I curl against him, my head finding the hollow of his shoulder as if it was made for me.
"Stay with me?" I ask, just as I did the night before.
His lips brush my forehead, so gently I might have imagined it. "Always
