Katniss

The time seems to pass slower now that Peeta is gone. The first week, I wander about the house without a purpose. The week after that Cora makes a point to task me with simple errands. They keep me busy so my mind doesn't fall to the city or Snow or how desperately I miss my family and Peeta. I have never been away from Prim for more than a day or two since she was born and I find it difficult to fall asleep without the soft lull of her breathing.

I wake just as the horizon begins to blush pink with the sunrise, revealing the snow that drapes the surrounding land in a glittering blanket. It is beautiful. The fire has already been stoked for the morning and the room is warm even as I slide out from beneath the thick covers of my bed.

I take my time, knowing that Cora will send me to town to do the shopping. It's better to let the sun warm the air before I venture out. I draw a warm bath and scrub my skin until it is pink and my fingers are wrinkled from the water. The quiet of the house seems to press in upon me at this time of day before Cora rises and prepares breakfast. I realize that if it weren't for the housework keeping her here, I would be entirely alone.

Even after my father's death, I was never alone. Prim was always there even while my mother was lost inside her mind. These idle moments find me guilt ridden that there is not more that I could be doing for my family. I dawdle about my room until the smell of strong coffee brewing draws me to the kitchen.

"'Morning Miss Katniss," Cora greets from her position in front of the stove where she flips soft, golden rounds of batter that sizzle quietly when they hit the griddle below.

"Good morning," I answer softly, surprised even after our long weeks together that she is able to hear my approach without looking. I imagine she's had many years of practice honing her ears for the sound of quiet footfalls. The Mellark boys surely gave her their share of mischief, not to mention Cora's own children whom Peeta mentioned in passing the first night we arrived at the cottage.

"The coffee is fresh if you would like me to pour you a cup," she offers, already pulling down two heavy mugs.

It's the first morning since arriving here that Cora has made coffee, typically offering freshly steeped teas instead. I have never tasted coffee before, my father having never developed a taste for it. The smells wafting from the kettle on the stove are mouthwatering though, and I readily accept the steaming beverage. Cautiously, I sip the dark contents and nearly spit the liquid back out as bitterness rushes over my tongue.

My nose wrinkles in disgust and Cora chuckles as she pushes two small crocks my way. "You'd do best to mix some sugar and cream in that, dear. Drinking it straight is definitely an acquired taste."

I can't imagine anything would make the liquid before me palatable, but I don't wish to insult Cora in her own kitchen by refusing to finish it. I am generous as I pour thick, white cream into the mug followed by two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. To my surprise, she is correct and the coffee now glides smoothly over my tongue, sweet yet still quite earthy.

Before I can thank her for her advice, Cora slides a plate in front of me that is piled high with hotcakes and bacon, two foods I haven't tasted in years. She smiles softly at the way my eyes must widen and produces a third small crock filled with thick, maple syrup. I try to be dainty as I pour the expensive liquid over the steaming pile of hotcakes in front of me, but I find it difficult to restrain myself. Mother might be horrified by my manners, but I can't remember the last time I tasted the sticky treat.

I try not to moan when the first bite hits my tongue, but sink my teeth into my lip to hold back the sound when I fail. It's delicious. The cakes nearly melt in my mouth and the syrup is overwhelmingly sweet.

"I'm glad you like it, Miss," Cora chuckles as she turns back to the large, black stove to prepare a plate for herself. "I figured you'd be needing a breakfast that will stick to your bones if you're to face the chill out there. We got more than three inches of fresh snow overnight."

I shake my head, trying to recollect the last winter that produced so much precipitation. I don't mind the snow here like I always did in the city. Here, the snow stays fresh and crisp and white even days after falling. It provides a magical backdrop for the quiet walks I take into town whenever Cora needs me to. I am much more familiar with the grey, dirty slush that normally lines the roads in the Seam the morning following any significant snowfall.

"I don't mind the cold," I supply with a hint of a smile. "I like the walk to town."

"Heaven bless you, child," the older woman answers, rubbing her left hand absently over the knuckles of her right. "These old bones don't get around like they used to and the cold only makes it worse."

I sip at the steaming cup of coffee and sigh as the warmth heats the hollows of my belly. After all my meager attempts at cooking for myself and Prim, I find that I appreciate a good meal tenfold more than I did before. Cora never fails to provide a feast for each meal, ensuring that by spring I will be fat as a prized pig.

I clear my plate before Cora even settles herself down to tuck in and I blush when I realize that she's been watching me while I eat. Something about the chill of this morning has left me especially ravenous.

"Would you like more, Katniss?" she questions, already turning back to the stove to retrieve more hotcakes. There's somberness in her voice that isn't normally there and I feel my cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.

"No," I protest, standing as she places another plate in front of me. "I assure you that I'm quite fine. If you don't want me bursting out of the new dresses you've sewn me, you'd do well not to feed me so well." I try to joke, but it falls rather flat and Cora looks at me from across the counter with a look that only a mother can give.

"You could do with a bit more skin on those bones. A strong breeze could blow you away if you aren't careful," she says firmly. Not in an angry way, but in a way that makes me think she may truly care about my wellbeing. It hasn't been the easiest path to friendship. In fact, there are times that I am sure Cora still believes I am after Peeta for his money, using his kindness for my own gain. But then there are moments like these, where she says something that is so genuinely concerned that it melts away any worry I might have that Cora will change her mind about harboring me without Mr. Mellark's knowledge.

I try to laugh but I struggle to push the sound pass the growing sensation of cotton in my throat. I glance away from the dark pools of her eyes.

"I have already gained more weight than I could have imagined since arriving." I shrug, trying to make light of Cora's concerns.

It's the truth. Already the hollows between my ribs have begun to fill in and the constant stomachache that seemed to haunt me in the Seam and keep me awake at night has vanished in these last weeks.

Still, Cora seems to have made it her personal mission to fatten me up. It's not that I mind, her cooking makes the job easy enough, but I detest the pitying glances she sends my way when she believes I can't see her. She probably doesn't believe I can do a perfectly fine job of taking care of myself.

"Then we shall just keep at it," Cora says, nudging the second plate of food closer to me.

The smell of the hot food is too much for me to resist. I dig in without further hesitation, stopping only when I feel as though I truly might burst with just one more bite. I stand, stretching my back out in hopes that it might provide more room inside my corset for my full belly.

Cora produces a folded sheet of paper that lists all the supplies we will need for the next several days. I take it, making my way to the small closet near the front door to retrieve my overcoat before braving the early morning chill.

"Try not to take too long today," Cora says as she opens the door for me. "I have an ache in my knee that has been bothering me since yesterday afternoon. I don't think all the snow is finished yet."

I look up to the clear, blue, early morning sky and chuckle. "Cora, the weather is beautiful. If it weren't for the cold, I would plan to spend all day outdoors."

"My knee is never wrong, child," she warns with a stern look.

I nod, giving the conversation up and deciding that I will do my best to make it a quick trip into town. As I trek through the fresh layer of snow, I glance over the list. It's not long today – only a few things that we have started to run low on and ingredients that must be for tonight's dinner. It should not take long to gather what I need and I only plan to make a quick stop at the post office to check for news from Peeta.

While I walk, I wonder if a letter will be waiting for me and if so what news it might contain. Over the last several weeks, Peeta has written a handful of letters, all of which were sweet and made me miss him even more than I already did, which I had believed impossible. However, there was no mention of Snow or the mob. If it weren't for the nightmares that haunt me every night, I would almost believe I had imagined Cinna's death all on my own. But at least twice a week, I am wrenched from my sleep, drenched in sweat, heart thundering inside my chest, still reaching for Cinna. I couldn't protect my friend. I know that night was not a dream.

I am certain that Peeta must be trying to protect me from what information he has gleaned since returning to the city. Certainly he must have learned something in the weeks that have passed since he departed. If I learned nothing else during our hesitant courtship, it is that Peeta is tenacious when it comes to something he wants. He won't give up until he finds an answer.

But what could he be hiding from me? What news is so terrible that he would think me incapable of handling it?

Questions like these plague me during my journey into town, and by the time I arrive I am no closer to answering any of them. The streets are still sleepy when I arrive, only a few shopkeepers can be seen bustling around wagons delivering orders. A few children shriek from down the road, diving behind one another to avoid the snowballs being lobbed back and forth.

The sight brings an involuntary smile to my lips. Prim would love to join in such a game. It is a rare site to see children playing in the snow inside the city. Many have been forced to take on the responsibility of feeding their families at too young an age. I slow my pace and linger outside of the mercantile for a moment to take in the site of their grins and the sweet tones of laughter.

When my teeth begin to chatter from the cold, I push through the door with a jingle from the small bunch of bells tied to its frame. The pinewood scent that greets me is a familiar one that I welcome along with the warmth from the large furnace used to heat the building.

"Good morning, Katniss!" Mrs. Wiress greets as she steps in from the back storerooms. She's a kindly, graying woman who is always moving. So much so that it often appears as though she's anxious for the floors to drop out from beneath her feet if she stays in one place for too long. Even now, she stills only long enough to straighten this or that before flitting off to the next thing.

"Good morning," I reply, watching her as she replaces a bolt of fabric that had been resting on the counter.

"You're out early considering the weather this morning," she observes, nodding towards the empty street in front of the store. "What brings you to town?"

"Cora needed a few things." I slide the list across the counter and Wiress takes it with a bit of a frown.

"She has you traipsing all over town in the middle of winter." She clucks her tongue before flitting off to gather what is on the list. "It is only going to get worse. Mr. Beetee was in just yesterday and said that a bigger storm is headed our way."

I grin. "And how would Mr. Beetee know?"

She waves a hand in my direction. "Oh, you know those farmers. They can always sense when there's a storm brewing. Besides he always swears by that Farmer's Almanac he carries with him and it says there's to be a blizzard this month."

"Well then," I chuckle. "I suppose I will just have to make this a quick run to town then. I only plan to stop at the post office before making my way back to the cottage."

Wiress nods, pleased that she has succeeded in her duty to warn me of the impending inclement weather. At first, she had been quite curious about me and my sudden appearance at the Mellark's cottage. However, she was relatively easy to satisfy. For all anyone in town knows, I am a cousin staying at the cottage this winter to recover from a severe fever that overcame me during the summer. It certainly doesn't hurt that people in this town take Cora's word as law. Having her back up my story silenced any further questioning about it.

"You're sure that Cora doesn't wish to stock up on further supplies?" she questions as she rings up the few items listed on the slip of paper. "There's not much here to last you and who knows how long we might be snowed in once this storm hits."

"She wrote everything she wanted me to get," I reply with a shrug, glancing out the window again and noting the heavy, grey clouds approaching from the west. "I suppose she knows what she's doing."

Wiress smiles before wrapping up my purchases. "I suppose she does. Cora has been around these parts longer than any of us."

We settle into silence as Wiress ties a bit of twine around the parcels with a flourish before handing them to me. I still find it strange that it is common to use store credit in this town. The Seam did away with that practice long before I was ever born. It was too much of a risk knowing how factory workers always struggled to make ends meet. But here, simply saying the name Mellark earns a certain level of respect. No one ever questions whether or not they will be repaid by the wealthiest family in town.

A cold wind whips down the main street just as I step outside, tugging several bits of hair from my braid and tangling them in front of my eyes. I duck my head against the biting chill and scurry across the street where the post office is just opening for the day.

"Good morning, Rudy," I greet, trying not to smile when the middle aged man nearly jumps out of his skin when I open the door. He always seems surprised that anyone has stopped by his office as though it is miraculous that anyone wishes to correspond with people living outside of this small village.

"Oh!" he yelps, turning to face me while pressing his hands over the lapels of his suit coat. "Well, good morning, Katniss. Imagine seeing you on a day like this."

"I was already in town getting some supplies for Cora," I explain, looking eagerly at the mailboxes lined against the wall over the man's shoulders. "Have any letters come in since I last stopped in?"

His eyebrows rise up his forehead until I worry they might get lost in his hairline. "Oh! Yes! I do believe one came in for you yesterday Miss Katniss." He turns towards the long line of mail slots, muttering to himself as he taps his fingers against the metal plates that label each box with an address. "Yes! Here we are."

He returns carrying a letter addressed in handwriting I have come to know almost better than my own. The gentle, looping penmanship is one that I could only attribute to a man just as gentle. My heart skitters excitedly against my chest as I quickly slip the letter from Rudy's grip.

"Thank you, Rudy," I say, unable this time to conceal my grin.

He smiles in turn with a dutiful nod. "Of course, Miss Katniss. You be careful on your way home now."

The walk home seems to take an eternity and despite the bitter cold, I am flooded with giddy warmth at the thought of Peeta's letter. It has been nearly a week since he last wrote and I pray this time that he will have more information regarding Snow and his vendetta against me. He has yet to truly divulge much about the situation and I have the strongest sense that he is intentionally withholding information in some strange attempt to protect me. Surely he must have learned something in all the weeks we have been apart, but he has yet to enlighten me. As much as I want to be angry with him, I know he means well, but my frustration is only mounting as I am locked away in the country cottage unable to help in any way.

I am just stepping onto the long gravel drive that leads up to the cottage when the first snowflakes start to fall. By the time I reach the house, I am covered in the shimmering, white flakes and my teeth chatter against one another from the cold. I quickly step inside and shut the door behind me, locking out the freezing winds before brushing off my coat.

"Katniss!" Cora says as she comes shuffling down the hallway. "I was beginning to worry you might get lost out in this snow storm. If I had known it was going to blow in so quickly I would never have sent you, dear."

I hand her the wrapped parcels with a nod, my body so overcome with shivers that I can't speak. I have lived in the city all my life where the wind blows off the lake and some days it can feel like knives cutting through a person, but this storm is unlike anything I have ever felt before. The temperature took a rapid dive on my journey back from town and now my fingers are numb despite the sturdy gloves that Cora loaned me when she sent me on my first trip for supplies.

"Oh child," Cora exclaims, dropping the parcels to the ground and wrapping an arm around me to guide me into the living room.

She sits me down beside a glorious fire before disappearing briefly only to return with several warm blankets. She wraps me in them until I am swaddled like a newborn and leaves once more. The heat from the fire starts to seep into my frozen skin, slowly bringing back feeling.

My fingers still feel as though tiny needles are pricking them when I reach for Peeta's letter where it rests in the inner pocket of my coat. The hurried clip of Cora's heels cause me to pause when she enters the room carrying a tea tray laden with golden cookies and tea.

"You need to drink something warm," she orders in a tone that leaves no room for argument. "You will catch your death from that cold if we aren't careful."

She pours out the rich amber liquid, adding sugar and milk, as she knows I prefer. I slip my hands from beneath the heavy wrap of blankets to take the teacup that she offers me and sip delicately. Cora makes some of the best tea I have ever tasted. She adds her own blend of spices to the brew that remind me of autumn and I cannot seem to get enough of it.

"Peeta wrote another letter," I say once my shivers have subsided and my belly is full of the golden, shortbread cookies that once inundated the silver tray.

"Oh?" Cora questions, trying not to sound altogether too interested. She always tries to sound neutral when I tell her about Peeta's letters and how he is fairing, but it's quite easy to see through her façade. I have no doubt in my mind that she loves Peeta as one of her own. I have no idea how she managed to function before I joined her at the cottage and she spent months on end with no news from the youngest Mellark.

"He cares about you a great deal," she says softly after a long pause where we both stare at the crackling fire. "You must know that, dear."

My cheeks warm and this time it has nothing to do with the heat from the fire's flames. "I know," I reply. "I care about him very much as well."

"His mother won't stand for it," she warns, fingering the hem of her apron with a furrowed brow. "If she finds out, she will end everything. Adelaide Mellark won't allow love to be the downfall of her family's name.

It is my turn to frown now. Peeta never spoke much of his mother in the time that we were able to spend together. I gathered that his mother wasn't much of the gentle, nurturing type. But Cora's voice turns bitter at the taste of the other woman's name on her tongue, and it makes me think there is much more to the story.

"You don't think that perhaps she would change her mind – if she saw how happy I could make Peeta, I mean?" I question hesitantly. It feels silly to say that I am the reason for Peeta's happiness, but he has told me this countless times – has even written it in his letters to me.

"Heavens no!" Cora chuckles. "That woman was born without a single romantic bone in her body. The only thing she cares for is power and wealth. Pardon me for saying so, Miss Katniss, but I don't believe you have much to offer Peeta in either of those areas."

My heart sinks into my stomach, wondering how on earth Peeta could ever believe that we will be together when everything and everyone seems to be working against us. Even if we can handle the situation with Snow, his mother would still stop anything from ever happening between us.

"Peeta has never thought much of his mother's opinions though," Cora adds with a comforting smile. "Don't fret, child. If he wants something, he will make it happen. That woman laid her hand on him one too many times for Peeta to ever truly respect her."

"What?" I demand, my eyes widening at the mention of Peeta's mother hitting him. Though my own mother leaves much to be desired, it is unthinkable that either she or my father would ever hit me or Prim. Of course, it isn't uncommon for parents to punish their children, but something tells me that Peeta wouldn't hold a deserved punishment against his mother.

Cora freezes, realizing too late what she has divulged. She sighs heavily. "I thought he would have told you about his relationship with his mother. I suppose he wished to keep it a secret so you wouldn't think poorly of him. Adelaide Mellark punished all those boys more harshly than a mother ever should. But sweet Peeta always got the worst of it. Adelaide hoped and prayed for a girl during his pregnancy. I think when he came out a boy something inside of her died. I don't believe she ever forgave him for crushing her dream."

"She hurt him."

It's more of a statement than a question as I remember the silver, puckered lines on his forearms that he claimed were burns he got on accident when he would take bread from the oven. I never stopped to find it curious that those burns would be so far up his arms. And it never occurred to me that those burns might be connected to the thin, crosshatched scars that I noticed on his back while we were at the cottage when he would put on his shirt in the early morning light.

Cora nods somberly. "I will never know how much. He was always so quiet about it. It wasn't until he was nine that he came to me asking if I had a salve. I convinced him to tell me what he needed it for. It was a burn as thick as my thumb across his chest. The poor boy –" Her voice cracks and I am speechless.

How anyone could hurt Peeta is unthinkable. He is the gentlest, kindest man I have ever met. How could his mother still be angry with him for dashing her hopes for a girl when he turned into such a wonderful person?

We sit in silence, both too caught up in our own thoughts to continue carrying on any polite conversation. The old grandfather clock in the foyer strikes four o'clock and rouses us from the recesses of our minds.

"Enough of this," Cora says, standing and straightening out her skirt before clearing away the tea tray. "I still have dinner to prepare."

I nod, pulling the swathe of blankets more tightly around my shoulders. I suddenly feel too heavy to think about moving and climbing the stairs to my room. I reach for Peeta's letter once again, this time opening the heavy, eggshell colored envelope.

His handwriting is a welcome sight and a smile tugs at my lips despite the somber thoughts of all the suffering that he has endured that still wrap themselves through my mind.

Dear Katniss,

I hope that you are continuing to enjoy your stay at the cottage. I always find that the winter snow seems to clean everything to a bright new finish. I imagine you and Cora have become closer now that you are both holed up together on the long, cold nights. I hope you find her as wonderful a woman as I do.

The city is much unchanged since I last wrote. The winter winds are whipping off the lake this morning and it's too bitterly cold for me to even dare think about going outdoors.

Last week I met with our good friend Mr. Odair once again. He has been spending exorbitant amounts of time selling his goods to the higher end restaurants and household cooks of late. It seems the city has developed a keen taste for the salt-water fish that he provides.

I also paid Delly a visit recently and I can assure you that Primrose is doing very well, if not flourishing. She has discovered the Cartwright's library and spends her free hours reading anything she can get her hands on. Delly is quite fond of her, as I'm sure you will not find difficult to believe.

Though things are going well here, I miss you dearly and I wait anxiously for the day we can be together once again.

Yours,

Peeta

I sigh, folding up the letter before slipping it back inside its envelope. It's much like all the other letters that Peeta has sent. Though it is wonderful to hear from him and to know Prim is fairing well, it is unbelievably frustrating. I want to know how his investigation is going into the situation with Snow. I know he is protecting me in the only way he knows how, but it is not in my nature to stay locked away and complacent.

Peeta

"What is this?" Peeta questions, taking the paper from Finnick. The two men are holed away in a small pub near the edge of the Seam on a cold night late in January. They began meeting on a bi-weekly basis to exchange information regarding Snow and his mob, particularly that involving Katniss, ever since her flee from the city. So far there has been little success in discovering the source of Snow's obsession with the young Seam girl.

Tonight, Finnick's eyes twinkle with a spark that Peeta has not noticed since they first began the arduous task of discovering any details about the backdoor operations and immense amount power that Snow controls in the city.

"An article about the Girl On Fire," Finnick replies simply before taking a long sip of his tonic. "It was in some small paper that the men down at the docks read. Sounds like a lot of papers are writing about her these days, what with her disappearance finally being noticed by the reporters and all."

Peeta frowns, reading quickly through the short article that talks about the young singer who was known to have stood up against Snow when he requested she work for him at his brothel. He only feels a sense of pride before something strikes him about the way the article is written.

"They make her sound like a hero," he murmurs, his fingers clutching tightly at the fragile paper. "Why did you bring this?"

"I think you know the answer to that already," Finnick replies with a shrug. "I've read a few papers now and they all present her the same way. She's an icon, Peeta. She stood up to the man no one else has. If she could defy him, why can't anyone else?"

"No." He shakes his head disbelievingly. "She never meant for this to happen. She never wanted to be a hero. Katniss only wanted to provide for her sister the best way she knew how. She would have worked for Snow if it had been safe to do so. She never meant to cause this."

"I know that." Finnick says with a bitter smile, taking another long draw from his glass. "And you know that, but the papers see her as a martyr – especially now that she's disappeared. She was a beautiful, talented woman who stood up to Snow. She did what every poor man in this city wishes he could. She gave them hope, Peeta – hope that perhaps things can change."

"That's why Snow is after her," Peeta whispers, his jaw slack with the shock of this discovery. "He wants to crush the girl who caused the spark of hope.

Finnick nods, his mouth pinched in a serious frown. "And with hope often comes the first whispers of a rebellion."

Both men realize just how dangerous a situation Katniss has unknowingly gotten herself into.

Over the last several months, there have been increasing amounts of unrest in the city. It started with quiet neighborhood meetings discussing the Socialists' and their principles. But lately things have started to take to the streets. Peeta has heard of fighting in the factories – of men walking away from their posts in protest of poor wages. It is all poorly coordinated and has not gotten the workers anywhere as far as he knows, but these are things that never would have happened a year ago. Something has caused a change, a shift in the way the Seam workers are thinking. And Peeta is now beginning to believe that that something might be his Katniss.

His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought. If that is the case, if Katniss Everdeen has become some sort of savior to the working class, her life could be in far more danger than he has ever imagined. That would make her the idol of thousands of men and women, but it would also make her a threat to all the factory owners and their livelihood. And of course, a threat to the social system and the way factories are currently run would be a major threat to Snow's regime since he had many businesses under his thumb.

The thought of how determined Snow might be to eliminate that spark of hope causes his blood to run cold. He imagines the man would stop at nothing to preserve his state of power.

"She's safe," Peeta adds after a long silence. "She's hidden away where no one can hurt her. This will all blow over by the summer."

Finnick sighs, settling back more comfortably in his chair before speaking, "We had all best hope it does."

…

Peeta and FInnick part ways just before midnight. He spent much longer at the pub than he had intended, but the news that Katniss is in such grave danger over ruled any worry he had about his family questioning his whereabouts.

He hails a hansom that is waiting outside to carry wealthy young men off to their next location of debauchery.

"Where are ya headed, Mister?" the man questions with a heavy accent. His grooming leaves much to be desired and his clothes are tattered though clearly patched and sewn by a careful hand. Peeta wonders if this man is one of the many heartened by Katniss's story.

He wonders how he could have missed the story's rise to prominence. How could he not have heard whispers about Katniss. His Katniss. She never wanted any of this. Anger twists his stomach when he thinks of how she was those many months ago. His hands can still remember how frail she was; the dips in her ribcage that wanted for any morsel of food she could find.

"Mister?"

Peeta realizes he has been silent in thought for too long. The cabbie looks at him with curious eyes. He probably sees men like Peeta all the time, slumming around the Seam. Who knows what awful deeds he thinks Peeta might be capable of.

Peeta mutters the address of the Mellark mansion and the cabbie clicks his tongue at the worn, old mare to get the hansom moving. He is suddenly exhausted, overwhelmed by his helplessness when he thinks of the motions that have already been set in place without him knowing.

How does one stop a rebellion that has already begun to grow?

And he has no doubt that it has. Katniss is nothing if not inspiring. Her spirit is unflappable even in the face of horrific poverty. She has lived through tragedy and such grief. Peeta does not find it surprising that she has unwittingly inspired men and women in the Seam. She has a quiet strength about her and her love for her family is so fierce. Were these not the traits that Peeta fell for himself? She will stop at nothing to protect those that she loves.

Peeta ponders how – even if – he should share tonight's discovery with Katniss. He is sure his letters must be driving her mad. Until tonight, there has not been much for him to share. He does not wish to distress her with the news of the protests, the strikes, the revolts that seem to be moving through the city. These stories are not new to either of them, however the frequency at which they are occurring has taken a sudden upswing. Now it all makes sense. A spark has started a fire in the hearts of the city's working class; a fire that Peeta fears will be impossible to quell.

There are not many people out at this time of night and the ride across the city is quick. When the hansom pulls up in front of the Mellark mansion, Peeta still has no idea what to tell Katniss in his next letter. The grandfather clock in the front hall is striking half past one in the morning when Peeta lets himself through the door.

A dim stream of light pours from the front sitting room onto the pale, marble floor of the foyer. Peeta shuts the door as quietly as he can manage, as though wary of rousing a sleeping beast. The dull click does indeed summon a beast, however this one is of a human variety.

"Where have you been?" his mother hisses, her voice low and threatening.

Her question weighs down on him. He is tired. So tired of this intricate dance he is forced to perform with is mother.

"Out." he replies, his voice even and disinterested. He wants nothing more than to fall into his bed.

"I know that. Don't you mouth off at me, boy!" Her blue eyes are cold and unforgiving like ice. "Where were you out to?"

The threat in her tone makes a shiver slither up his spine. Somehow he has made her furious, not just angry as she is with him on any given day. He searches his mind for a reason she might be so infuriated by his absence. Normally Adelaide Mellark is only too happy to forget about her third son.

"I was with a friend," he replies cautiously. She need never know that the friend was Finnick and they were at a pub very close to the impoverished side of town discussing the Seam girl who has stolen his heart.

"With a friend?" she repeats as though the words are sour on her tongue. "You think that is a reasonable excuse to have missed dinner? On a night when Glimmer Hamilton and her entire family joined us?"

Peeta's heart stills when he realizes what he's done. His mother may not like him, but she tolerates his existence well enough so long as he doesn't cause her any embarrassment. He forgot that tonight was one she had been planning for the last two months. His mother has still not given up hope that Peeta will cave under her pressure to propose and tonight was supposed to be a very strategic night of small talk and flirting.

Ever since he returned from the country cottage all those months ago, Peeta has been careful to stay out of his mother's way. When she chose to throw dinner parties, he acquiesced simply to avoid the arguments that would ensue if he protested.

However, his mother seems to have taken his passive behavior for acceptance and has increasingly been forcing him to interact with Glimmer. She is still hopeful she might be able to make a match of convenience; one that would cause the Mellark name to be written about in the society section of every newspaper across the city and perhaps the country.

"I forgot, Mother. I apologize," he answers, his voice quiet even in the silent mansion.

"FORGOT?" she roars, her temper finally snapping. Peeta flinches. Adelaide Mellark crosses the room in three quick strides, the final click of her heels punctuated by the crack of her hand against his cheek. "How could you forget? I have spoken of nothing else for days!" she spits out.

Peeta blinks away the stars that flash across his vision. Pain slices through his skin and he is sure his face will be bruised by the morning. He is surprised to hear her admit she has been talking about tonight's dinner for so long. He hasn't paid much attention to the dinner conversation since arriving back from the country cottage. In fact, he hasn't been able to do much other than worry about Katniss and miss her more than he thought possible.

Her hand raises to slap him again and something tightens in his chest, something that licks between his ribs and swirls in the hollow of his belly, twisting and turning like a caged animal.

Without a moment's thought, his hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping tightly around his mother's raised wrist. Instinctively, Adelaide Mellark jerks her arm, trying to release herself from his grasp. But Peeta is strong, something the woman before him has never really realized.

"Enough, Mother," he says, his voice low and even. His mother blinks several times, her muscles tense beneath his fingers.

"That's enough," he repeats after a several moments. "I have said I'm sorry. What more is there?"

"You are a fool!" she shouts, her voice tremulous in a way he's never heard it before. "An idiot like your father!"

"I am not a boy anymore," Peeta says softly, realizing the truth of his words for the first time. The thing within his chest quivers, its heat burning his throat and threatening to burst forth. "You cannot bully me forever."

Adelaide Mellark's jaw drops open and a tiny, shocked noise escapes her.

Peeta doesn't give her a chance to speak. He drops her wrist and backs away.

"I won't marry Glimmer Hamilton. That is the end of it," he informs her. He nearly doesn't recognize the voice as his own. The thing inside him pulses with joy, slithering through his veins and igniting electricity under his skin.

"And if you ever raise a hand toward me again," he adds, his words a threatening promise, "I will not be responsible for what I might do."

The grandfather clock ticks softly in the silence of the front hall. His mother is stunned to silence; something he cannot recall ever happening before. Peeta turns to leave the room and his mother calls after him

"I never wanted you," her voice shakes like a dead leaf clinging to its branch during a winter storm as she admits the truth they both know but has never been spoken. "I told your father to get rid of you the night you were born. Another boy! I prayed for a girl and you stole my chance to ever be a mother again!"

The thing inside of Peeta burst into inferno at her words, roaring inside of him so loudly that he could hear only the sound of it pulsing through his ears.

"I was a baby!" Peeta shouts, his voice hoarse from the emotion pouring out with the words. "How could you hate your own child? How could you blame me that you body was broken after I was born? How can you still blame me for every shortcoming you have ever had? I only wanted you to love me, Mother! I tried so hard to make you love me."

The thing thrashing inside him, he realizes now, is all the anger he has kept caged deep inside of him since he was just a child. It is the resentment that his mother never truly loved him, still doesn't love him. It's the bitterness that his father could never find a way to protect him from her.

"How could I love my greatest disappointment?" she demands, her words barely above a whisper.

They hit their mark though. He may be physically stronger than the woman standing across from him, but she will always know just what to say to tear his soul to shreds. Peeta closes his eyes against the pain of it. He has never given up hope that one day she might learn to care for him even though he wasn't the daughter she so desired. Tonight that tiny ember of hope he had managed to keep burning is squashed beneath her foot as she quietly walks from the room.

He doesn't know how long he stands there alone before hand lands on his shoulder.

"Peet." Axel's voice is just above a whisper. "She doesn't mean it."

"Yes, she does." Peeta argues, though all of the strength has gone from him. The fire of anger is put out. When he looks up, he is disgusted by the look of pity that fills his brother's eyes. "It's okay. We all knew that was how she felt."

Axel shakes his head. "But it's not right – what she said. You are a good man, Peeta."

"It doesn't matter," Peeta mutters stepping away from his brother. "I'm tired. I need to go to sleep."

His feet feel like lead as he climbs the grand staircase. The rage he felt only moments ago took all the life inside him with it and what is left behind is his exhausted skeleton. Never before has he felt such anger or realized he was capable of it. He hopes he might never feel it again.

He strips from his clothing and doesn't bother to dress in his nightclothes before sliding beneath the heavy covers of his bed. As he sinks into the warm embrace of sleep, his mind wanders to a single person; one who is able to calm the burns the anger created inside of him. It is Katniss who brings comfort to him, or his memory of her anyway. Her scent soothes his breath. Her hair is a feather's touch against his skin. Her smile brings his heart back to life.

He wishes she were with him now, but her memory will have to suffice. Tomorrow he shall write her a letter and tell her what he has learned. They will be in this together no matter what it may come to with Snow. He promised her that. She is his family now.

AN: Hello everyone! If you're reading this, I want to thank you. Thank you for reading my story. Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I know it has been ages (seriously it's been forever) since I last published anything. I've been going dealing with a lot in my personal life and I lost the will to write there for a while. It's back now and I'm hoping it's here to stay for a while!

Please let me know what you thought! I cherish your comments even when I don't have time to reply to them all individually. I no longer have a beta so I apologize for any mistakes. I wanted to get this chapter out because I know you've waited too long already.

As always, you can still follow me on tumblr at: therebelliondies