On an icy evening in early February, I'm helping Peeta clean up the front-end after close when there's an insistent knock on the door. I brace myself for a blast of cold air as I open it, already telling the customer that they're too late to buy anything, but it's not a customer greeting me. Gale, still in his work clothes and coat, his face smeared with soot and ash, offers a tight smile as he says hello. I tell him to come in, curious as to what he could possibly be doing here, but he declines.

"Want to take a walk with me?" he asks, looking past me to eye Peeta behind the counter.

"It's freezing outside."

His eyes narrow when they meet mine, and I sigh as I untie my apron. "Let me get my jacket," I say, and I avoid Peeta as I walk past him to grab it from the back.

The weather is as biting as I expected as we move away from the bakery, and I hold my head down to keep the wind from burning my face. "What's the matter?" I ask him impatiently, my teeth chattering.

"Follow me," he says, ignoring my question.

I struggle to keep up with his stride as he passes Prim's apothecary and the general store. As we near Rooba's butcher shop, he heads to the back of her building, and then follows the fence until he finds the section with an opening at the bottom, the one I used to bring the deer to her door months ago.

The nearest street lamp is far enough away so that we're mostly shrouded in darkness, but his eyes still dart around nervously before he slips under the fence with much less grace than he normally has. If I wasn't so cold and agitated about being pulled away from the warm bakery, I might enjoy watching him struggle. But now all I can manage is a scowl as I wait impatiently for my turn.

"What?" I ask once we're both on the other side. Why in the world is he here so late, and on a work night? Why is he insisting we go to the woods now in the dead of winter?

"Peacekeepers," he tells me once he's deemed us far enough away from the district. "Ones from the Capitol. Darius said that they're questioning him about that little girl."

L. He's talking about L. "Why does the Capitol care so much?" I ask, confused. It's not as if a child's welfare has ever meant anything to them before.

"They have our Peacekeepers matching birth registrations with families to find the parents."

"But why? What does any of it matter to them?"

"They don't care about her, Katniss," he explains patiently. "But they care a whole lot about the registration."

It makes sense, I realize. All births need to be documented at the Justice Building. It's been decades since anyone tried to hide a child to save them from the reaping; the punishment for such an offense is swift and cruel. But if it happened now, it'd be a sign of lax enforcement by our Peacekeepers, especially Darius. Things around here would change quickly.

Even after drifting apart, I can still read Gale well enough to know how heavy this weighs on him. Life in District 12 is far from perfect, but all of our burdens have lessened since Darius took over Cray's post. He's an authority figure, but he's also our friend. The mood, especially in the Seam, is lighter now.

The Capitol wouldn't hesitate to cut out Darius's tongue- or do worse- if they thought he was not fulfilling his duties here. And then a new Peacekeeper with a point to prove would roll in, and we would all feel the wrath.

"There's no match, is there?" I ask, but I already know the answer. Whoever L's parents are- or were- they didn't have her birth recorded with the officials.

"He went through each one from the last six years, and every child is accounted for one way or another."

I study Gale in the pale moonlight. "So what are you thinking?"

"You have to talk to you mother, Catnip. Convince her to do something none of us wish she had to do."

He leans against a tree and folds his arms across his chest. He's waiting for me to ask what he wants, and I'm waiting for him to just come out and tell me. He gives in first. "She's going to take her births and deaths ledger to the Justice Building at the end of the month," he says. "And there's a name on it, that if she took off..."

I wait for him to continue, anticipating that I won't like what he's got to say. He's obviously not very happy about it, either.

"A little girl died last week. She was only about two years old, maybe three at the most. Your mother said she had a cough that they couldn't do anything about." He looks away from me, instead staring up at the cloudy sky. "It could work, Catnip."

"What about her family?"

"It was just her parents. Her daddy was one of the miners that died in the explosion last year, and her mother hadn't been right since, but she's completely gone off now. Won't talk, won't move."

"And what if she does?" I ask with exasperation. "No mother would ever agree to something like this. Pretending her baby never existed-"

"I know it's terrible, Katniss. I know that. Every single one of us knows that."

This no longer feels like a plan between the two of us, with my mother reluctantly involved, and I realize it couldn't be. Not if it were to work. The stakes are too high, and there are too many other factors. Neighbors, coworkers, maybe some distant relatives would have to know the truth. "So what, this is a big lie half the Seam would be in on? And I'm just hearing about it now?" I shrug off the implication that I'm somehow no longer Seam like the rest of them. That's not what's important right now.

"You have to understand how serious this is."

"I understand," I say. "I fully understand it. But are you thinking everything through? What if the process of elimination wasn't enough evidence for the Capitol? What if they wanted to test blood?"

They wouldn't have any of the other little girl's blood on file; they don't bother with that until children begin school, since quite a few never reach that milestone. But L is at the home, and I'm sure it'd be easy enough for them to check if she was related to the grieving widow being passed off as her mother.

Gale grabs my arm to pull me along with him, as if a few extra feet between us and the fence will offer extra protection. "There's talk about uprising in some of the other districts," he whispers harshly. "Districts 7 and 9, last I heard. Darius says that the attention is on that. They're not going to make something out of this if they think the birth registries are up-to-date."

"There are so many things that could go wrong, Gale. What if her real parents come forward?"

"If there's anyone alive that knows who she really is, then they don't want to be found," he insists.

I shake out of his grip and turn away, heading back toward the fence. There's too much to think about.

"Catnip," he says, jogging through the snow to catch up with me. "Listen, I know it's a lot to ask of you. It's a lot to ask of your mother. But it's our only chance to keep Darius and the district safe. He has two weeks to finish his report for the Captiol."

He knows I'll go to mother before I do, but I can't promise him that I'll convince her. I'm not even convinced myself yet. "I'll try," I say.

Before we reach the fence to return to home, he stops me one more time. "Darius didn't want you to know anything about this," he confesses. "He wanted to keep you out of it. To protect you."

I nod before turning away. Gale's last statement was both a plea to keep Darius ignorant of my role, and a reminder of what a good friend and person he is to us.

Back at the bakery, Peeta's waiting for me when I return. He doesn't ask what Gale wanted, but I know he's curious. I shrug and make some flippant remark about hopes of an early spring and planning our next outing. I'm sure he doesn't believe me, but that's not surprising, since I'm not a very good liar. That's probably reason enough to keep me out of this scheme.

The next morning, I leave the opening to Peeta and head to the Seam to see my mother. I already know it won't be easy to sway her, and the task will be that more difficult because I'm not sure it's the best idea, either. I may want to protect Darius and the district, but this proposal isn't fair to anyone involved.

"It's not right," she says as she takes a seat across from me at the dining table.

I take a sip of the peppermint tea she made for us as I plan what to say next. She's right, though- it's absolutely not right. So I tell her as much. "I know."

This seems to surprise her, and she takes a moment to compose herself. "Doreen's lost her husband, her daughter, and her mind," she finally says. "I was in a dark place once, too, but at least I still had you girls. She has absolutely no one left."

How do I reply to that? I can't think of anything to say, so I don't say anything. For once, I decide to enjoy a visit with my mother. I turn the subject to Wilson, managing to convince her that I've come to terms with her moving on. She seems relieved by my change of heart, and as she talks, I pretend to listen while I go over what I'll say to Gale about all of this.

xxXXxx

Several days later- and a week before Darius's report is due to the Capitol officials- my mother comes to the bakery to see me.

"Doreen died last night," she says solemnly. "She took her own life."

She doesn't seem as shaken as I would be after making such a discovery; maybe my mother is even more practical than I am. She doesn't say it- it's will never be spoken aloud within the fence- but I know she'll remove the little girl from her deceased list. The truth will be buried with the Morehouse family. At least they're at peace now, we reason. And there's no sense in the rest of us having to suffer more than we are.

The three are reunited when the last thin pine box is lowered into the ground in the Seam cemetery. And then begins the intricate web of lies to absolve Darius and to give L an identity. She's now Baby Girl Morehouse, the name recorded on a list almost three years ago on June 17th.

A name and a birthdate that aren't her own, and an official status as an orphan is all L can claim. When I visit her again, holding her in my arms as she holds Daisy in hers, I hug her a little tighter. I'm sorry, I think.

But Delly is thrilled about L's lineage, and lucky enough to not be burdened by the truth. "This is good news, Katniss," she says brightly. At my look of confusion, she claps her hands together and smiles. "Now L can be adopted!"

xxXXxx

"I think it should be a little darker, right?" Peeta asks, and I blink back at him, dazed. It's very easy to get lost in watching him paint, and it's an excellent escape from all the worries I've got lately.

"What?"

"The color for the petals," he says, looking down at the plant book. "They're supposed to be light red, according to your description. But I think this shade is too pink."

I glance down at the flower he's bringing to life on the page. It looks just like the ones that pepper the hillside outside the fence in the summer, and I can't see any flaws with the coloring. "I think that's perfect."

He seems pleased with my response, and after finishing the page,he gathers his brushes to take them to the sink. I follow him into the kitchen and watch as he cleans up. Peeta's extremely cautious with his paint set, taking great care to not waste a drop. Despite his best efforts, there's still a streak of paint near his right elbow, just missing his rolled up sleeve, and another small smear on his cheekbone. He's oblivious to it, and I resist the urge to brush my thumb against his skin where the soft pink meets his natural blush.

I suddenly want to confide in him, to reveal everything I've been keeping secret these past three weeks. It's been weighing on me constantly, and I want to share it with him. I want him to tell me it'll be okay, because he's the only one I'll believe.

I go back into the living room and grab a pencil and one of the loose pieces of blank paper from the back of the book. Returning to the kitchen, I take a seat at our folding table and ask Peeta to join me.

I want to tell you something, I write on the paper before sliding it over to him.

There's a hint of a smile on his face as he scribbles his response and passes it over to me. I hope you haven't lost your voice.

I roll my eyes as I read it and shake my head. This is safer, I write.

You think someone is listening?

He obviously doesn't, as the quirk of his brow tells me. But I can't risk it. I underline my last response, pressing down on the pencil so hard that I almost break the point. Peeta takes the paper back and stares down at it for a moment before pushing his chair out and standing. "It's late," he says. "Let's go to bed."

I'm not sure what to make of this, but I stand to follow him as he moves to the stove. I watch as he places the paper over the burner, catching the edge on fire and then dropping it into the basin. He rinses the ashes down the drain, and then I trail behind him as we go to my room.

As he pulls back the covers, I slip off my robe- the old one that once belonged to him- and then unplait my hair. He faces me as I settle beside him, and once our heads find our pillows, he asks me to talk. "We're alone here," he whispers. "You've told me every story you have about hunting, Katniss. I really don't think anyone else is listening."

He's probably right, I think. So, very softly and under the cover of darkness, I tell him about L. I leave out the fine details, like names, but I tell him everything else. He's quiet after. He might even be upset. But then he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear and lets his fingers glide down the side of my face. "It'll be okay," he says, and my eyes fall shut with relief.

He says it again as I drift off to sleep, the words as warm and comforting as the blankets over us.

It'll be okay.

xxXXxx

Months after returning to the home, L still spends almost all of her time in the nursery, lying in the crib, a shut door separating her from all the other children. I know that Delly pays extra attention to her whenever she's not tending to the others, but she's the only one to do that. The rest of the workers barely spare L an extra glance. She's thirsty for acknowledgment, hungry for any sign that her presence is known. When I visit, which is almost daily now, she pulls herself up by the railing and smiles at me. It's a smile I can't resist, and I lift her up into my arms and hold her against me for as long as she'll allow it. When she wants down to stretch her legs, I walk alongside her, nervous that she'll take a tumble on the concrete floor.

She makes a game of it, toddling faster to get away from me, turning her head to flash that same sweet smile as she races toward an imaginary finish line. I stay right behind her, my arms out to catch her in case she falls. She takes that as a challenge, and she shrieks happily as she moves faster around the room to evade me.

I end the fun when I sweep her up in my arms to settle her down. Sometimes she fights it because she wants to play more, but mostly she snuggles against me, content to be held. I'll sing her a song or tell her a story as she clutches Daisy, and I try to get her to fall asleep so she won't see me leaving. On the days when she stays awake, she cries as I edge out of the room. "I'll be back tomorrow," I always tell her, but it does little to console her. I try to coax another smile from her on my way out, but her face is always bright pink and tear-stained.

Her cries are muffled in the other room, where more children seek my attention. I feel so guilty as I'm ushered outside by another worker, scolded for staying past the visiting hour. The children are on a schedule, they always remind me. They can't have someone getting them all riled up before quiet time.

The snow melts and the first day of spring approaches, but the sky stays cloudy and the ground stays cold. This winter feels like every winter, and I always wonder if it will ever be warm again.

xxXXxx

Prim seems to be in a good mood when she lets me into her shop. Her bright eyes and smile, highlighted by the rosy glow of her cheeks, must set us apart even further. I don't think anyone who saw us together, particularly now, would ever guess we're sisters.

"What's wrong?" she asks, the smile falling when she sees how somber I am.

"I have to ask you a favor," I say.

Her eyes widen, probably never expecting I'd say something like that. "Of course," she says quickly. "Whatever I can do."

"Adopt L."

"What?"

I move around the counter to stand in front of her, staring up into her eyes so she knows how serious I am with this request. I've never asked anything of my little sister, and I hoped I would never have to, but L is more important than my pride.

"She can't stay there anymore. And I know it's not what you wanted, and I'm sorry, but she's wonderful, Prim. You'll love her just as much as you'd love your own baby." I brush away my tears, still so shaken from my visit that I can no longer hold them back. "Maybe it was meant to happen like this."

All traces of happiness are gone as she drops her eyes. "I'm pregnant."

I don't think I heard her right. "What?"

She repeats it, shaking her head sadly. I'm sure she didn't imagine it playing out this way, that she'd be anything less than ecstatic to tell me this news. But I can see it in her eyes now- she regrets letting me down. And because I'm an awful, selfish person, I feel let down.

I don't know what to say now as she rambles on that it's very early, and they just found out, and she was going to invite me to dinner tonight to tell me, and she's sorry. She's so, so sorry that she can't do the only thing I've ever asked of her.

"I have to go," I tell her, backing away. I'm too preoccupied with L now, and I'm not thinking rationally. I don't want to say something I'll regret.

I rush out of her shop and straight towards home. Peeta has a line of customers he's serving, and I don't acknowledge his greeting as I speed past them all to go upstairs.

I realize, a few minutes into my tantrum, that Peeta will follow me upstairs the first opportunity he has. It's not fair to him to have to close up, even temporarily, just to console me. I stop sulking and return to the bakery to help him. He thanks me quietly as I take over at the register, and he disappears into the back to tend to the ovens. I'm grateful for the distraction working provides, and after checking out the last customer, I go back to the kitchen to talk to him.

"What's wrong?" he asks as soon as he sees me, and I wonder if he's tired yet of dealing with my mood swings. Peeta's someone who manages smiles and kindness no matter what he's feeling inside, and I don't think I could ever pull that off.

"Prim's pregant."

"And that's bad news?" he asks, obviously confused.

"It's not," I sigh. "I just...I've been holding out hope that they would adopt L." I sound like a petulant child. But he humors me, taking the seat next to mine and smiling sympathetically.

"It's only getting harder on her, being there," I admit quietly. Peeta's had to keep his distance from L since her scare when she first met him. We've made one more attempt to introduce him as someone she didn't have to fear, but it didn't go over very well. She's like that with any man she comes into contact with.

"She had a cut above her eye today," I tell him. "Cora said she was trying to climb out of the crib and fell, but I'm not sure I believe her."

"You think someone there hurt her?" he asks, as if he never imagined that was a possibility. Considering his own childhood, I'm surprised he's so naive.

"Didn't you ever notice the home kids when we were in school? They always had marks on their faces."

He grows quiet, and I clench my fists in frustration. It's a terrible feeling, being helpless. I hate it.

"We could get married," Peeta says suddenly, and I nearly fall out of my chair.

"What?"

"If we got married, we'd be eligible to adopt. We could bring L here to live with us."

I try to find something to say, anything but another repeat of what, but I can't think of a single word. Certainly not yes. But I'm just as reluctant to say no.

The front bell rings and I use it as an excuse to escape, leaping from my seat to race out of the room. Prim's waiting for me on the other side of the counter. She pushes back her hood and unbuttons her heavy sweater, still necessary in late March. "Hi," she says meekly.

"Hi," I manage. I'm not sure what language I'm speaking. I don't know if anyone can understand what I'm saying. I feel light-headed and tired, and all I can hear is Peeta saying, We could get married.

"I'm sorry, Katniss," Prim says tearfully. "I wish I could do something else to help you with L."

"Don't cry, Prim," I say, trying to focus on her. "You don't have anything to be sorry about."

She pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and dabs it under her eyes, which light up as she looks over my shoulder. "Hello, Peeta."

"Hi, Prim," he says kindly. "I hear congratulations are in order."

She averts her gaze as her cheeks flush. "Thank you."

Peeta moves next to me, and I tense up as he nears, instinctively stepping away from him. I see the hurt flash on his face, and Prim doesn't miss it either. "Is everything okay?" she asks, looking between the two of us.

He shrugs off any pain with a light laugh. "Oh, she's just a little skittish because I proposed."

She must think it's a joke, too. There's a hint of a smile when she asks, "You proposed?"

"Just a few minutes ago in the back. It was very romantic." I can feel him looking at me now, trying to catch my eyes. "I haven't heard an answer, though."

I head into the kitchen area again, annoyed by such a ludicrous suggestion. They both follow me, and Prim seems to be on the same page now. "So you could adopt L," she says. "You know, that could actually work."

I can't believe she sees any sense in it. It's a crazy idea. My expression reflects my thoughts, and she bristles as I stare her down.

"What?" she asks innocently. "I think it'd be the best thing for her to be with you. She's crazy about you."

"I know it's extreme, getting married, but you're already living with each other. And most of the district thinks you're together anyway-"

"Prim," Peeta gently interrupts. "Maybe we should talk about this more later. Give her some time to think it over."

She agrees with a nod as she buttons up her sweater again. "Alright. Well, you know where to find me." She says goodbye with a sweet smile, and after she's gone, I turn to Peeta to glare at him.

"Do you even realize what you're suggesting?"

"Yes, and I considered it carefully in the last five minutes." I emit what can only be described as something like a growl, and Peeta tosses down the dishtowel he was clutching and sighs in frustration. "I know I just blurted it out," he says quietly. "And I know what it means. But I want to help her too, Katniss. And most of all, I want you to be happy. I know how you feel about her. I've seen your face light up when you talk about her! She should be with you."

"She would have to be with you, too, though. Don't you get that? This isn't just about me. You'd be tied to us for the rest of your life. This would be forever."

"I know that's not what you want," he says softly, and I want to correct him, because he never wanted this either. At least not with me. But I wait for him to continue, too curious to hear what he'll say next. "But if you decide it's the best option, and you want her here with us, then know I'll do whatever I can to protect her, too."

He brushes his hand through his hair, mussing the waves he combs so carefully in the morning. "Katniss, I promise…I would never be like my mother," he tells me.

"Peeta, I never thought you would be."

He seems relieved by my response, which is the absolute truth. There are a million things I'm not sure about and worried over when even considering this, but Peeta's capability as a father isn't one of them. He would be amazing with her, if she gave him a chance.

"You'd have your work cut out for you just to get her to let you near her," I say with a smile.

He smiles, too. "Guess I'd just have to be patient and try to win her over."

It's getting hard not to imagine it, which feels like an indulgence I shouldn't allow. But if we pulled it off and the adoption was approved, she might actually have a nice life with us here. I never really gave much thought to the future before, but now I can almost see one, and she's in it. Peeta, too. I don't want to consider any kind of tomorrow if he's not involved.

"Well, we both know the truth about her," I say. "There's probably some good in that."

He's watching me intently, seeing that I'm warming to the proposal. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Are you sure?" I ask somewhat desperately. "I mean, really sure?"

He answers with an unequivocal yes, and I'd give just about anything to have some of that confidence right now.

"She'd be with us all the time," I remind him. "It's going to be a lot of work raising her. Nothing about it will be easy."

"I know that. The timing is actually great, if you think about it. What else were we going to do once we finished the plant book?"

I don't fall for that smile this time, and I scowl at him to let him know now is not a time to joke. This is all so much, and it's happening so fast. I'm trying hard to not feel completely overwhelmed. So I take a deep breath and consider it one more time.

"Okay," I tell him. "I'll marry you."

xxXXxx

We agree to keep the news to ourselves for awhile. Peeta tells me that it's okay if I change my mind, and I wonder constantly if he'll change his.

But it's surprisingly easy to continue on just as we were since the engagement. We still work together on the plant book each evening, with Peeta painting the final pages of the entries as I supervise. We eat all our meals together, and when I'm not out in the woods hunting, enjoying the warm spring weather, I help him with the bakery.

At night, instead of trading stories while lying in bed, we now share our plans. There's a thirty day minimum wait between filing marriage papers and an adoption request. "We should do this as quickly as possible," I tell him. "We need to get her out of there soon."

I visit the home every day. As I sing L to sleep, tracing the curve of her cheek as her eyes flutter closed, I worry as I always do about what it's like for her when she wakes up in a dark room all alone. I worry that she thinks I won't come back, my whispered promise falling on sleeping ears. I worry that she'll be upset with me for leaving her, even if it's not my choice to do it.

But today, after I place her back in her crib and tuck Daisy next to her, I realize that there's going to come a time when I'm with her when she sleeps and when she wakes, and that she'll never have to wonder where I've gone because she'll always know I'm right beside her.

I shut the door quietly behind me and spot Cora across the room. She sees me and turns away, so I march determinedly toward her, wishing I had my bow with me so I could make my threat a good one. "Cora," I growl, grabbing her elbow to spin her around to face me. "We need to talk."

"I'm busy."

"You'll make time for this. I want you to know that I'm watching you. And other people are watching you. If you touch any child here, if you so much as look at them the wrong way, I'll find out and you'll be sorry."

She pulls her arm out of my grasp. "I already got that message from the Peacekeeper you've got in your pocket. Now leave me alone so I can do my job."

She flounces off, leaving me perplexed. What would Darius know about this? The only other person I told my suspicions to was…

"Peeta," I whisper, remembering a couple nights ago when he left with two loaves of raisin nut and returned home an hour later with only one.

I skip my visit to Prim in favor of returning to the bakery early. It's quiet inside, not a single customer browsing at the moment, so I duck into the back where he's working. "Did you bribe Darius with bread so he'd warn Cora?"

He looks up from the cake he's icing. "Hello to you, too. And I didn't have to bribe Darius with anything. He was more than happy to do that."

At this moment, I'm so incredibly happy that he's the person in on this with me. "Here I thought my threatening her would be enough."

"Well, you're definitely scarier than Darius, that's for sure."

We share a smile and I resist the urge to wrap my arm around him as he works. "Thank you," I say instead, the words surprisingly easy to utter. "For always keeping your head and knowing the best thing to do."

He looks over at me, that soft smile growing a little wider. He's about to say something when we're interrupted by Prim, who pokes her head in and apologizes for interrupting us. "I'm on my way back from the Undersee's. I figured you stopped by and saw I wasn't at the shop."

"Should we tell her our news?" Peeta asks me in a mock whisper.

We already agreed I'd tell Prim today, and once Prim knows, everyone else will know soon after. "We want to adopt L," I tell her.

She knows exactly what this means, and she squeals like a child as she rushes toward us, her arms outstretched. Once she releases us, she pulls back and grins. "You should have a toasting! I can plan everything."

I immediately notice the way Peeta's face falls, and he's shaking his head as she's still rambling about details. "Prim, no. That's not necessary, really."

"Everyone has a toasting," I say quietly. "It'd go a long way in convincing other people this was real."

That's the part we both fully understood, or so I thought. That if we're going to do this, no one except those closest to us should know that we're not actually together. It has to appear genuine to everyone else because you can't deceive the Capitol in any way without risking its wrath. You just can't.

"We don't need a toasting," he says, an edge of finality to his words. "We'll sign all the papers and file for adoption, but we don't need to do a toasting. That's just a silly tradition."

That's an outright lie on his part. Peeta respects everything about a toasting, and I don't believe for a second that he never thought about his own, even if it was as simple as wondering which kind of bread he would use.

Or, I realize, he's given plenty of thought about his toasting, imagining how every part of the day played out. But I wouldn't be the one at the hearth with him. Now I know why he doesn't want to do that with me. Because I'm not Madge.

I step away from him, inexplicably hurt by this, even if I know I shouldn't be. Prim tries to compensate for the sudden awkwardness by announcing that she'll get us a present. "That I insist on," she says.

She squeezes my hand on her way out, and promises to meet with me later to discuss the details. We were planning on going to the Justice Building in a week or two, trying to move things along as quickly as possible so we can file for adoption. That's what all of this is about, after all.

Prim leaves and we're both quiet. Eventually the silence dies off as the hours pass, and he asks me about my day and tells me about his. We eat dinner. We work on the plant book. We go to bed.

Our routine is the same but something's different now and we can both feel it. There's a wall up that wasn't there before.

xxXXxx

Prim and Bryce tell us about our wedding present a day before we're supposed to sign the papers at the Justice Building. Their gift is our dining table, the one we delayed the second half of the payment on so we could buy things for children at the home. I tell her it's far too much, and Peeta echoes my words, but they both insist that they want us to have it. It'll be delivered in a few days, Prim says. After.

My mother brings another gift the next day, hours before we're to be married in the eyes of the Captiol. When she arrives, my palms are slick and I've just counted my heartbeats in the last minute in order to calm down. I'm almost grateful that she's dropped by. Right now, any distractions are welcome.

She comes bearing a soft green dress that she's had since before running off with my father. The dress is still in excellent condition, having been carefully tucked away for years. I've been second-guessing everything all day, and it's resulted in me being in a terrible mood that reaches its pinnacle when she hands it me. I remember being a young girl in the cold rain, clutching Prim's old baby cloths, which were nothing more than tattered rags at that point. What would this have fetched at the Hob?

"I want you to have something nice to wear today," she says as she presents it to me. "I think the only other dress you have is the one I gave you to wear to the reaping." She looks weepy and wistful, like a mother in need of a heartfelt talk on this important day, and I don't have the patience for it. So I do what I've been telling myself to do this whole time in order to stay collected: I think of L.

"Thank you," I tell her coolly, taking the dress from her. I dismiss her offer to help me with my hair and she takes the hint, saying she should start home then.

I take a long bath, and then I braid my own hair with shaking fingers. After changing into the dress, I go to the kitchen and sit at our old folding table. The clock is ticking so loudly that my head aches. I try to hear past its annoying clicks to listen for Peeta, but there's no sound of him.

When I can't stand it anymore, I head down to the bakery to see what's keeping him. He's in the back, hunched over the table as he works diligently at something, but I can't see around his broad back to know what. "We have to leave in half an hour."

It was meant to be a gentle reminder, but he startles suddenly and something crashes to the floor. He curses under his breath and turns to glare at me, and I step back in surprise. My first instinct is to tell him it's his own damn fault that happened, but it's so rare to see Peeta upset that it throws me. All I manage is a weak, "I'm sorry."

I look down to see what fell. It was a small cake that's now a big mess, with cream colored frosting splattered across the tile. I didn't realize he'd be filling orders right now. I crouch down to clean it up, careful to not get anything on my mother's dress, but he stops me. "I'll do it," he says softly.

"Who was it for?" I ask, worrying that he'll upset a customer.

"Us," he sighs. "You. For today, and your birthday next week. I thought we could at least have a small cake."

"Oh."

I leave him alone to take care of it, feeling as confused as ever. Now I feel like we can't do this soon enough, like I just want to get it over with. It's the wait that's making it worse. Each minute ticking buy, the seconds counting down...it's a slow torture.

Peeta cleans up the ruined cake and then goes to get ready, and I stay by the front entrance so we can go as soon as he returns. I hear him on the stairs, his tread as heavy as ever, and when I turn to see him, I'm surprised by how nice he looks. He's wearing a white collared shirt- one of I've never seen before- but he's still rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. I want to pay him a compliment, but he beats me to it, smiling as he looks me over for what seems like the first time that day.

"You look beautiful," he says. I don't know what to do with words like that, but I guess it's expected on days like this.

"My mother brought the dress. It used to be hers."

"Looks like it was made for you though."

"Well, you look nice, too." This is exactly the kind of thing I'm not good at, and I've practically got one foot out the door already.

"Katniss," he says, gently taking my hand and turning me around. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I'm sorry that you have to do this. I'm...I'm sorry I ruined our cake."

"Peeta-"

"I never want you to have to do something you don't want to," he finishes.

"Peeta," I say, more firmly this time. "Remember- for L."

"For L," he repeats.

He still has my hand in his as we leave the bakery and walk to the Justice Building. It's a beautiful day out, the sun warming our skin as birds chirp in the distance. We don't say anything, but my hold on him tightens as we near our destination.

I let Peeta do all the talking, and he tells the clerk that we have an appointment to sign marriage papers today. The woman leads us to another chamber where an elderly man is sitting at a huge wooden desk. He smiles kindly, standing to greet us. "Peeta and Katniss," he says, looking over the papers in front of him. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir," Peeta smiles. He squeezes my hand as reassurance, or maybe as a reminder. I force a smile too, quietly whispering another thanks.

The man hands us the paper and asks us to read it over. I lean against Peeta to see the page better, but really it's so he can bear the brunt of my weight now because I feel dizzy. I barely skim the words. It's something about the promise to ourselves and Panem, that we vow to stay together for all days, and to offer any children produced by our union to the reaping. I try not to blanch at that word, reaping. I can't even think about that right now.

"Sign here," he instructs us, and I let Peeta use the pen first. He hands it to me after he's written his name in elegant curves just above the line. Then I sign too, hoping that my usually steady hand doesn't betray me now.

"Congratulations," he says again after, and Peeta and I just look at each other.

"That's it?" I ask.

The man laughs as he signs his name on the line just below ours. "That's it. I'll send in the form for your name change, and by this time next week you'll be Katniss Mellark."

As I process what he just said, the smile on the man's face drops, his expression transforming into concern as he looks at me. "Are you alright?"

Peeta's at my side, his arm around me to hold me up. "Katniss?" he whispers.

I can feel a tear rolling down my cheek, and I want to tell them both no, that I can do all of this but not change my name. Katniss Everdeen. That's who I am. Katniss Mellark sounds like a stranger.

Prim changed her name. All women do. It's tradition. If my mother were to marry Winston, which she just might, she'd change hers again, too. And that would mean that the Everdeen name died with my father. There'd be none of us left.

"It's an emotional day," Peeta says, brushing my tears away in a gesture that's so lovely I notice it even in this haze.

I stand up straighter, coming back to my senses. For L. For L.

"That's understandable," the man says. Now that the mood seems to have lightened again, he takes the paper we've both signed and folds it up. "This is where I tell the couple to seal the deal with a kiss." His smile is back as he looks to us, waiting expectantly.

I can feel Peeta tense up next to me, and I want to tell him that it's okay, to just kiss me so we can go, but I feel frozen in my spot. I manage a nod, almost imperceptible to anyone not paying much attention, but it seems to be the signal Peeta was waiting for.

He leans down to press his lips to the corner of my mouth, just catching the spot under my nose. I blink and it's done, he's drawing back. That wasn't much of a kiss, I think quickly. It was hardly a peck, and it wouldn't be convincing to anyone.

I pull him in, determined to do this right. With my hand on the back of his neck, I guide him toward my mouth, touching my lips to his. His warm breath tickles me as he exhales, pulling away ever so slightly before leaning back in. This time his lips mold to mine in a new way, as if they were parts always meant to fit together.

All I can register is what my senses take in: the smell of his soap, the firmness of his kiss, the heat of his skin against my palm. My lips part to move with his, my arms around him tightening. He lifts his hands to cradle my jaw, and the tips of his fingers slide through my hair, catching in my braid.

I barely hear the faint sound of laughter in the background, but he says, "Okay, you two, that's enough." He has to repeat it again before we release each other, both of us breathless.

I don't know what got me so carried away, and I keep my head down as we walk out of the Justice Building because I'm embarrassed. He offers his hand but I don't trust myself enough to take it. We make our way back to the bakery in silence, not talking and definitely not touching.

Peeta does his best to keep things light, but I can barely look at him without remembering the scorching heat of his mouth. He gives up trying to have a conversation during dinner, and the last thing he says to me in the kitchen is another mumbled apology over our fallen cake.

I'm thankful for nightfall, for the chance to put this day and all its confusion behind us. But Peeta stops at my door rather than following me to bed.

"It's funny, huh?" he says.

"What's funny?"

He slips his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "Here we are, married, and now it feels wrong to sleep in the same bed."

I raise my eyebrows at this, because I never considered not having him next to me tonight. "I think I should sleep in my room from now on," he says, sounding almost remorseful.

"Fine," I say, hurrying into my bedroom and shutting the door behind me. I pull off the green dress and slip on his stupid old robe, and then I fall back onto my mattress and stare up at the ceiling.

My throat tightens with tears, but I don't feel like I have the energy to cry. Everything about life right now is exhausting. Even sleep seems like too much effort.

'For L,' I repeat until the night's shadow stretches across the walls and shrouds the room in total darkness.

For L.

A/N: We've reached the conclusion to the first half of this story, wooo! The next chapter will pick up after the prologue.

Thank you for reading! I'm on tumblr as everlarkeologist if you want to stop by and say hello.