Turns out writing Peeta's POV (especially after seeing him so tortured in Mockingjay!) is wayyyy hard. Without mellarkymia (formerly justmellarky, still acciograce, she is a woman of many identities) this chapter would still be making me a mad mess. Thank you K for all of your help.

And thank YOU, fabulous reader, for sticking with this story. This chapter is named "Behind Blue Eyes" after the song from The Who and also because it's a very Mellark brother song.

As always, reviews are awesome and my tumblr is always open! starks-and-mellarks

Chapter 10 Part 2: Behind Blue Eyes

December, 1978

Peeta

I don't realize how recklessly I am driving until I skid around a corner and nearly take out a fire hydrant. I pull the Camaro over and grip the steering wheel tight.

A thousand thoughts run through my head and I can't seem to focus on only one. I'm angry, betrayed, upset, disbelieving and something else I can't begin to figure out. How could Katniss just blurt it all out like that?

The funny thing is, I thought I was making progress with her. It isn't easy to get a full conversation out of Katniss, much less a friendship, but we've gotten closer in the past six months. Sure, maybe it would never live up to the stupid dream I've had in my head since I was five, but it was something good. I was grateful to have her in my life.

Now I wonder if I can ever look at her the same way again.

"Fuck," I mutter. I'm more careful for the rest of my drive but it does nothing to ease my mood.

When I walk into the house I am momentarily taken aback by how warm it is. We have multiple fireplaces and I know my father likes to keep them on once the cold weather hits. We also have heat and my gut clenches when I think about Katniss and Prim in their cold apartment.

Katniss might not be my favorite person at the moment but I don't want her and her sister to freeze to death.

I find the information I need after my shower and put on my best "Mellark" voice for the call to her landlord.

"So the problem will be fixed tomorrow?" It's a trick I learned from Will: you ask the question in a tone that means there is only one answer. Tristan just liked to threaten people. To each is own I guess.

"Of course, Mr. Mellark." Mr. Donner is quick to answer. "Tomorrow, of course." I hang up the phone and hear the front door open. It's my mother, carrying more shopping bags than she can handle.

"Need a hand?" I ask.

"What does it look like, Peeta?" She's annoyed and I bite the inside of my cheek. "And don't talk to me like that, use complete sentences. I knew we should have sent you off to boarding school." She throws a few bags at me and I follow her up to her "dressing room" (one closet for her clothes isn't enough).

Mother has been threatening me with boarding school and Tristan with military school since we were five years old. Sometimes I wish she sent us off, but I know we would have had to come back here anyway.

Tristan doesn't come home until after dinner and he heads right to the fridge, grabs a six-pack of beer and goes to the back porch. He's already lit a cigarette when I shut the sliding door behind me

"I need you to work for me in the bakery tomorrow."

"Hello to you too." He leans against the railing and doesn't look up at me. A gust of wind picks up and I cross my arms. I should have predicted Tristan would be difficult and grabbed a coat to keep warm.

"Are you going to do it?"

"Why, did you fuck things up with Everdeen?" He lazily glances over and I feel my face fall at her name. "That was an easy guess."

"Never mind why, will you just do it Tristan?" I'm uncomfortable and annoyed now. "I've never asked you to before-"

"Jesus, settle down you're killing my buzz. Here," He hands me a beer from the six pack.

"Thanks."

"I'll work your shift tomorrow." I relax and walk over to where he is leaning against the railing. Tristan takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. "You want one?"

"Nah." I've smoked a few cigarettes before, all with Tristan, and I frankly think they are disgusting.

Another gust of wind rustles the trees in our backyard and I sip my drink and gaze out. We have a large property and spend a lot of money keeping it perfectly landscaped. Our family used to throw a big party on Easter Sunday and I remember hundreds of plastic eggs scattered across our lawn and the race to collect the most.

As a kid you don't question things and sometimes I wonder if that's why kids are so happy. They run around without a care in the world, unaware of the faults in their parents and the obligations that wait for them when they grow up. Kids aren't scared of the future because they don't spend their days worrying about it.

Unlike me.

I want to ask Tristan these questions, but we don't have the kind of relationship where we talk about personal stuff under the stars. I settle for a more general question.

"Do you ever wonder what father was like as a kid?"

"I haven't had enough beer for those thoughts, Peet." I know he is rolling his eyes but I continue.

"Or how he and mother met? Did she know what she was marrying into?"

"You've met our mother Peeta, she was marrying into money and that's probably all she gave a shit about." I realize he is probably right and we are quiet again for a minute. "Does this have something to do with Everdeen?"

"No." I emphasize and he smirks.

"Look Peet, your last name's Mellark. And there are a hell of a lot of perks that come with that name but you also have to remember there's responsibility." Tristan takes another drag on his cigarette and I scoff.

"You're going to talk about responsibility?" That's a laugh. He gives me an annoyed look.

"You have a responsibility to this family."

"You hate this family."

"Maybe." He shrugs and puts his cigarette out on the deck. "But what the fuck else are we supposed to do, huh?"

"The bakery and the dry cleaners do well-"

"You want to live on a baker's salary? You think you'd be driving a Camaro if our father had decorated cakes for the last twenty years?"

"You know I hate that side, I'll be shit at it-"

"Bullshit. You're scared because you know you're better at it than any of us." I give him an incredulous look. "Save it Peeta, I saw you that night when we fought Snow's men and I see you in the bakery when one of our boys comes in. You know people, how they tick-"

"That doesn't mean-"

"You are already good at 'that side'. You can talk all you want Peeta, you're a Mellark and this shit is what we do."

"Even if it's wrong." Tristan's silence is an answer and I grip the rail of the deck. I'm about to open my mouth, about to argue that we should be better than this, but Tristan speaks first.

"It's weird we never call him dad, right? He's always father." Tristan opens another beer. "You know, he used to call his old man 'dad.'"

"Really?" I don't have clear memories of my grandfather. He died when I was really young.

"Yep. You know, Grandpa Mickey is the reason we got so rich." I start to tense up again because I know where Tristan is going with this. "This life ain't perfect, but it's the one we've got. You want to fight the business and how we got here, you take it up with the dead. Father is just doing what he knows."

"And what about us? Are we just supposed to do what we know?" We stare at each other, at odds as always.

"I guess so."

We both turn back to gaze at the backyard. So much for a meaningful conversation under the stars. If possible, I feel even more confused than I have all day.

Tristan finishes his beer and stretches.

"I gotta hit the hay since some of us have work tomorrow."

I try to smile but I doubt there's a trace of happiness in it.

"Thanks again for covering for me."

"Yeah, yeah you owe me."

—

I tug my hat lower onto my ears as I stretch out on the hood of my car. The trees are almost bare from leaves and the meadow is quiet except for occasional gust of wind. I glance warily at the sky.

The clouds are just gray enough to predict rain but I'm finally starting to think clearly so I risk staying out for a bit longer.

My sketchbook is open and a blank page stares at me. The pencil is in my hand, but I haven't even drawn a line.

The truth is, I can't get Tristan's words out of my head. "You're already good at that side."

I don't remember how old I was when I realized what being a Mellark meant, but I remember I was fifteen when I decided I wanted nothing to do with it.

I had just started working at the bakery. Tristan and I would go with our father before school and help him open the place and prepare it for the day. Will had already started work full time at the dry cleaners when he graduated. Father told Tristan he would be working in the bakery and I begged to come along. I hated the smell of the dry cleaners.

One morning a man knocked frantically at the front door. It was a half hour before opening time and I was out front writing prices on the chalkboard.

"Father!" I called to the back and the man's knocking grew louder. "Can I open the front door?"

"Who is it?"

"I don't know," I felt uneasy and was yanked back from the counter by the collar of my shirt.

"Go back with your brother." My father's voice changed and I followed his orders.

But it didn't stop Tristan and I from spying.

The man was dressed in shabby clothes, his hair was greasy and he had puffy purple bags under his eyes.

"Its pretty simple, Mitchell. I help you so you can feed your darling wife and those little twins. And in return you run an errand for me. Now tell me, Mitchell, why couldn't it be simple?"

"The cops were on to it, I had to split before they found me-"

"Are you more afraid of the police than of me?"

"They coulda locked me up-"

"If I do not have five thousand dollars in my hand in twenty-four hours you will wish you were looking at a jail cell." Father didn't have to raise his voice to deliver the threat: the haunting tone of his voice was enough.

"Yes sir." The man takes a shaky breath and opens the door. Tristan and I jump back and pretend to busy ourselves with bread dough.

A few days later I was reading the newspaper, trying to find an example of a well-written article to bring to my English class. I caught sight of a picture in the upper left corner of obituary page and my stomach dropped.

It was him. It was Mitchell, looking bright and happy in the picture, much different from the man I saw. The obituary said it was an accidental drowning in the river.

I knew it wasn't an accident.

It took two years to come up with the plan: before I graduated high school, I would sit down and talk with my father. I would explain that I really wanted a feel for the baking side of the business before I started anything else.

I would tell him that the more I knew about running a bakery the better I could figure out how to hide any discrepancies in the ledger. If I knew how much we needed to sell to hit certain numbers I could work with those numbers and keep us out of investigation. I practiced my speech in the shower so I was certain no one would overhear it.

It paid off: after our conversation, I was pretty sure my father thought the whole thing was his idea.

I had six months of baking only (even though that meant keeping eye on a few "packages" that "patrons" would pick up during a shift) and then I would learn about everything else.

My six months will be up next month. And I'm no closer to figuring out what I can do.

I've thought about running away, about just packing up the Camaro and leaving town. Changing my name, never looking back. But then Katniss started working at the bakery and part of me felt like I couldn't leave her behind.

The other part of me worried that I would miss my chance with her.

Now I don't know what to think.

"Jesus," I mutter when the wind picks up. I look down at my blank sketchbook and contemplate making a list of reasons I should forgive Katniss. The anger has faded from last night but I'm still left confused and hurt.

She said the detective knew she wasn't Prim's guardian, which probably meant he held it over her until she agreed to cooperate. I rub my hands together for more warmth and sigh.

Katniss is just a piece in the police department's game, just like I am a piece in my family's. We think we have choices but is it really a choice when it's between safety and what they want?

"What am I supposed to do?" I shout at the gray clouds but the empty meadow doesn't give me an answer.

Instead, the clouds open up and it starts raining. I scramble to get into the car and throw my sketchbook on to the passenger seat.

"Peeta…these are extraordinary."

I believed her when she said it last night and I want to believe her about everything else too. My anger is fading and I realize I just want the truth from Katniss. I want the truth and I want to believe her and maybe then I'll know what to do.

—

She opens the door and her expression turns to surprise when she sees me. The first thing I notice is her tear stained cheeks and my heart tightens a bit.

"Hi." Her voice is hoarse and she seems unsure of herself.

"Hi." I repeat, not surprised at how shaky the simple word sounds.

"Do you want to come in?" She takes a step back and I nod and follow her. Was I really here 24 hours ago? I shrug off my wet jacket and she takes it and hangs over a chair near the radiator. "The landlord fixed our heat today." She bites her lip and I know she knows I made the call.

"That's good." I reply and she gives me a small smile but doesn't bring it up. For that, I am grateful: we are already being awkward enough.

"Peeta-"

"Katniss-"

We both smile as we talk at once.

"You can go first," I say. She leads me over to the worn couch to sit. There's six inches between us but we face each other. Katniss takes a deep breath.

"Peeta, I'm so, so sorry I blurted it out like that. I'm sorry that I agreed to do it, I'm sorry that I kept it from you. You've always treated Prim and I so well and I just….you deserve a lot better than that." She keeps my gaze but I can tell it's hard for her. Her chin wobbles but her eyes stay dry.

I wasn't expecting such a heartfelt apology, not right away and it takes a second to figure out what to say.

"I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"No, I deserved-"

"No one deserves to be shouted at like that." I cut her off and shake my head. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. It's just…" I run a hand through my hair. "I have so many questions…but I don't know if I want all of them answered." She nods in understanding. "You said he knew about you and Prim?"

"Yes." Katniss bites her lip. "He knew I wasn't her guardian and he said he could help me if I helped the department. I couldn't see another way at the time so I agreed and gave him information for a month."

"Just a month?"

"I guess word got around about the fight when we all went out to the club." I tense, remembering that night and how wound up I felt. I realize now how easily I slipped into a different version of myself. The version my father always wanted me to be. "He said if Snow was involved it was too dangerous for me."

"He's right." I rest my elbow against the couch cushion and lean into my palm. "I don't know a lot about what's going on between his men and my family right now, but I know it's not good." A look of worry flashes across Katniss face and my stomach drops.

All of the sudden it hits me.

The damn detective knows more about what's best for her than I do. I asked Tristan the questions about outsiders being involved with our family because I thought, when it came down to it, it would be Katniss' choice.

The safest thing to do would be to take that choice away from her, to make sure she stays as far away as possible. But I know I can't do that.

"I'm a such a selfish person." I look down at my lap and shake my head. "I shouldn't have hired you at the bakery, I'm only putting you in harm's way. My family is dangerous but there are worse things out there and-"

"Peeta!" Katniss' hand reaches out to cover mine and it's only when I stop talking that I realize how fast I am breathing.

"It's not worth it, Katniss." I try to make her understand. "Your safety, Prim's safety…being close to me will only mess that up. It's not worth it." I'm not worth it, I think and somehow Katniss knows. Slowly, her hand reaches up and cups my right cheek.

I can tell she's wrestling with her thoughts; she wants to say something but isn't sure how. Yet all I can think about is the last time she cupped my cheek she kissed me.

As much as I want her to stay away from me and keep herself out of harm's way, the far larger part of me wants her to kiss me again.

God, I am such an ass.

"You said last night you didn't know what was real anymore." She says softly. "I'm so sorry for everything Peeta and I don't blame you if you can't forgive me. But you have to know, the feelings I have for you? Those are…well they're real."

Real. A glimmer of hope slowly starts to shine through my feelings of dread.

"It's probably not a good idea to have feelings for me," I say in one last attempt to convince both her and myself.

"Too bad." She lightly shrugs and the corners of her mouth pick up into a smile. "I don't want to keep secrets from you anymore."

The sound of a key turning the door lock startles us both and Katniss' hand drops from my face. I immediately miss it and I know all of my willpower to keep her away is probably gone forever.

"That rain is awful! It just soaks you to-Peeta!" Prim's face lights up when she sees me and she quickly turns to Katniss with a knowing look. "Well it's so nice you're both here. I'm going to go in my room, don't worry about me!" She nearly skips to her bedroom and I chuckle at the slight blush that colors Prim's cheeks.

"Subtle." I give Katniss a wink. She rolls her eyes and I sit up straighter. "I should get going anyway."

We stand up and she walks me to the door but I turn to her before I walk out.

"I want you to know, I'm not angry with you." She looks like she wants to tell me I should be so I keep talking. "I shouldn't have even defended my family last night, I mean I of all people know how, uh," I can't find the words but Katniss shakes her head.

"Families are complicated." For someone who doesn't usually use a lot of words, Katniss sure knows how to pick them when she does.

"Are you scared?"

Katniss contemplates my question for a second.

"A little. Are you?"

"Always." I answer honestly and her expression slightly falls. "Katniss, I…I don't know what I'd do if something happens to you because of me."

"Nothing's going to happen to me." Her voice is so honest that I almost believe her. "And even if it did, it wouldn't be your fault." She's wrong but I don't press the issue.

"Just stay safe, okay?" She nods but I still hover in the doorway. Something won't let me leave yet. "You promised no more secrets and you're staying safe, right?"

"Real." And she says it with the sweetest little half smile that I act on impulse and pull her into my arms. She smells like lavender and she holds me on to me as tight as I hold on to her.

My family is not the affectionate type. In fact, the only person I regularly get hugs from is Delly and she's usually bouncing around that it's more of a shake than a hug.

This is different. This is warm, comforting and tender. We don't say anything but I've never felt more in tune with Katniss or felt like someone understood me more than in this moment.

I hold on tight and I know I will not be the first to let go.