Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Hunger Games universe. All names, places, and characters belong to their respective owners. This is not beta-ed due to time constraints, but shout out to my awesome beta, dandelionlass, for being a total bamf!


Present


"Two months ago," he cuts me off. "I had it made two months ago."

"You mean," I pause, wrinkling my brow. "Back then, even?"

He smiles sadly. "I told you as much, right?"

I breathe in. There's something nearly bizarre about him thinking of me in that way, especially when I consider what had happened between us all those months ago. "Yeah, but I didn't think...I never thought you meant it that way."

He slides his finger over the imprint of the house. "I know we didn't know each other all that well, but I was willing to offer it—everything—to you back then. That's when I made arrangements for the house, you know."

I smile faintly as I remember what transpired between the two of us. "I'm guessing that didn't go according to plan."

He laughs at that and pulls his arm around my waist. "No," he says with a half-cocked grin, "not exactly."

I'm not sure where it comes from, or why I feel the need to ask, but the words that we have only spoken of once unspill from my mouth. "Do you love me?" I ask him.

His eyes widen at my question and he glances downward before finally sighing. "I do," he tells me as he brushes a lock of blonde hair away from his eyes. "I love you. I've loved you for a while now. I think, even before I knew it myself."


Two Months Prior


Peeta's chugging back another bottle when I stumble inside.

"Rethought my offer?" he asks, barely looking up. He looks half dead, the lingering scent of liquor still present in the air.

I turn my nose up at him in thinly veiled disgust. "It's snowing," I tell him matter of factly as a gust of wind brushes by us. The tell-tale howl of a snowstorm is pushing against the train car. "I thought—you know what, I'll find somewhere else to go."

A hot anger creeps up my neck as I turn on my heel and head towards the door. But, before I can head into the unforgiving cold, he shoots upward to stop me.

"Don't be stupid, Katniss. I'm sorry, wait—" he says, slightly aggravated, as he reaches out and grabs for my wrist, "I'll leave you alone, 'kay? Just stay."

There's a crack—maybe a tree falling—and I sigh, my shoulders slumping downward as I take in the confines of this room. "I'm taking the bed," I tell him matter of factly.

He only nods before giving a nearly absent look towards the door. "Come on," he says, steadying himself against the arm of an end table, "I'll show you where the extra blankets are."

Peeta sways slightly as he guides me through to the bedroom. "I'll be out there if you need me," he says, still slurring, as he places a woolen blanket in my hand.

I give him a nod and turn for the bed. But, before I can even sit down, he reaches into the nightstand and pulls out a brown parchment envelope. "Here," he says, placing what must be at least two hundred dollars beside me on the mattress, "just take it."

There is no pride in it, but when I stare down at that stack of bills I almost consider the implication of his offer. It's more money than I've ever seen in one place in my entire life and there's something about its presence that nearly knocks the breath out of me. Two hundred dollars. A man could work years for that in the mines...and Prim, what could I stand to give her with that kind of money?

I don't allow myself to let on to this, though. Instead, I quickly flatten my expression and toss the money back at him. "I'm not going to sleep with you, Peeta."

The corners of his mouth raise as he takes on that sardonic tone I'm all too familiar with. "Think of it as a services rendered, then. Back pay."

My hand connects with his face before I even know what I'm doing. "You're a pig," I spit at him as the sting of my slap radiates across the room.

His shoulders slouch downward as he bonelessly slumps against the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm drunk, we shouldn't even be here," he says, eyes hesitant—tense—in a way that oddly reminds me of a trapped animal.

He looks almost like a child now with his hair messily slicked against his forehead and his jacket half askew. I don't think I've ever seen him so—vulnerable, and there's something about it that makes me deeply uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Peeta says, wiping his brow as he goes to stand up. He forces a smile, "Have a nice night, Katniss."

I watch him as he stumbles out of the room and half soberly closes the door behind him. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be with him—somehow so close and yet distantly removed at the same time.

I wonder for a moment, as I'm curling up in the confines of the expansive bed, if he truly thinks I'm a whore. Everything about him confuses me. How can somebody be so tender in one moment and callous in the next?

I fall asleep as the wind subsides into a gentle sway around me. I'm not sure if it's the unfamiliarity or just the day's events, but its not long before I find myself subsiding into a nightmare I know all too well.

I'm around to the part where the mine closes up on me when a hard, panicked shaking draws me awake.

It's Peeta, I know immediately from the way his fingers feel wrapped around my arms and the near terrified tone of my name being repeated over and over again.

"You were screaming," he tells me as my eyes flutter awake. He lets out an only half-relieved breath. "I thought you were being attacked."

"It was just a nightmare," I tell him with a shrug as I move to sit up. "I've gotten them since my father died."

"Oh," he "You're okay?" he affirms as he tucks the corner of the blanket over my shoulder. "You're still here."

His hand is cold as it brushes against me, and it is then that I remember the snow pattering against the roof and the seeping chill that has found me even here underneath the heavy covers.

"Stay," I tell him with a tug on his wrist. I know full well that Peeta has no place in my life, but there's no harm in keeping him for just this night, not when I've already let him take everything else I have to give.

He sucks in a breath and I can feel the hesitation even in our touch. "You sure?" he asks.

I nod, pulling gently on his arm as a thunderous boom sends a wave of light through the room. He gives in then, sliding in beside me, though not daring to slip under the sheets.

"You're staying?" I ask, perhaps too hopefully, as his arms press around my waist and I sigh into the safety that they provide.

I'm too sleepy to catch his response.


I wake before Peeta does. He looks younger when he's asleep—almost peacefully tangled up in the sheets, arms still slung around me.

Nonetheless, he reeks of liquor and it's enough to persuade me to carefully slip out from underneath him without a word. It must be at least a couple hours after dawn by the time I make my way to the merchant quarter, but much to my luck, it's practically dead on the account of the weather and I'm able to trudge into the Seam without seeing another soul.

I decide to check on the Hawthornes before heading back home. As much as I want to reassure my family that I'm still alive, I know full well that Hazelle won't be able to handle the storm without Gale's help.

It's not until after I have hauled several buckets of hot water and shoveled a path through the snow that I'm able to head back home. "You better hurry back," Hazelle says to me rather pointedly as I check the latch on her shed. "I can't say I'm not grateful, but the hours you have been keeping have been worrying us all. Take care of yourself."

I try not to think about the implications of her words as I slink back home, the cold air permeating through by now wet clothing.

My mother's the only one home when I arrive. Prim, I deduce by the lack of coat in the doorway, has gone over to watch one of the babies my mother and her birthed the other day.

"I'm home!" I announce as I fight with the wind to slam the door shut behind me. "I'm sorry I just—" I start as I toss some of my more snow coated layers to the ground.

"Peeta Mellark came by this morning," my mother cuts me off, barely looking up from her mending.

I freeze instinctively. There's something about the tone of her voice, the knowing candor in it all, that sets me on edge. "He did?" I ask, my heart pounding at the thought of all the things he could have said to her.

She nods. "He dropped off two hundred dollars for the Hawthornes. I brought it over to Hazelle this morning when the snow cleared up a bit. Can you imagine that, two hundred dollars?"

I relax slightly at that, Hazelle's words from earlier still ringing in my ears. Take care of yourself. What on earth had she meant by that? "Did he say anything else?" I ask in a tone that I hope isn't too curious.

She nods, pulling a thread through before responding. "He tried to offer me twenty dollars for my medical services."

"You refused, right?" I ask as I reach for an apple that's sitting on the counter and toss it around in my hands.

My mother's lips form a flat line. "I tried," she says with a sigh, "but he left it on the stoop anyways. It's the funniest thing, though. When I informed him that was well above my going rates, he tried to argue that the money could be considered payment for all the work you have done for the Hawthornes. Now, what I can't seem to quite figure out is how he would know about that, him being gone for the time and all."

My face falls into a flat line. "He's a powerful man. They tend to know what's—"

"Katniss," my mother's tone is short, "I know full well it's none of my business, but dear lord, I do hope you haven't gotten yourself into anything you'll regret later on."

I take a bite of my apple. "I'm not sure what you mean," I tell her flatly, my shoulders tensing.

"I know you don't want to discuss this with me," my mother swallows, sighing lightly as she brushes a stray hand of hair from her forehead, "but christ, Katniss, I hope you don't think you were—wherever you were last night—on our behalf."

"It's not like that," I tell her. "Nothing is...it's not what you think it is."

"I was young once too," she tells me as she goes to stand. "I know the way a man looks at a woman."


It's not hard to find a man like Peeta in a town like this. He's not where I expect him to be, holed up in that stupid train car with a stack of papers and another bottle of scotch, when I barge in. It's unlocked, of course, like most doors in this town, and I don't even think about the propriety of it all—or the chance that somebody else is with him—when I burst inside.

"Katniss!" he exclaims, eyes shooting open wide, when I slam the door behind me.

I ask my question with no semblance of pleasantries. "Why are you here, Peeta?"

He spits out an answer like he's standing in front of a podium. "Twelve provides very strategic access to the west. I'm going to work on redeveloping the town in order to meet the demands of a heightened train schedule."

I scoff at that. "And you couldn't hire somebody to oversee this project?"

He takes a moment to think about that one. "I could have, but then I wouldn't be here with you."

"Is that so?" I raise an eyebrow at him. "You came all the way here just to argue with me."

"Well this wasn't exactly how I saw this going."

"Oh, I'm sure." I let out a huff of anger. "Pardon me, but I'm not exactly convinced I'm such a good lay that you came all the way out to twelve to bed me again."

He laughs, shaking his head ever so slightly as he stares me down. "We're more than that, Katniss. We're more than that and you know it."

"Really?" I ask him sharply. "Because last night I was your paid whore."

He winces. "Katniss," he says, reaching a hand out towards me, "you know I didn't mean that. I know it's no excuse, but I was drunk and hurt and angry."

I slap his hand away with such force that I stumble backwards. "I don't want to talk to you any more than I want to screw you. Jesus Christ, Peeta. You went behind my back to my mother-my mother, for god's sake."

"The money was yours," he says with a shrug. "I wanted to give it to you. Your mother was merely a way for me to ensure that you're not off working yourself to death out of some stupid pride."

"It wasn't your right to do that," I feel the heat gather in my chest as I look at him. His eyes flash back at me with a near violent blue and I take a moment to let my voice settle into a quiet plead before finishing my tirade. "For the love of god, just stay out of my life. That's all I'm asking of you."

I don't expect the words that come.

He stands as he says it, enclosing his hand around my fingers as the words slip out. "I came here for you, Katniss."


Author's Note: I sincerely apologize for the great delay. I have been positively swamped for the past few months, and unfortunately, real life obligations (*cough* *cough* school) had to take precedence over my love for writing.

Please forgive me, and let me know what you think in the comments below.