"The war is over," comes the news one day. The war is over, but that doesn't change the fact that Pa won't be coming home anymore, a martyr to the cause. A cause our side has lost.
"It doesn't matter," Gale tries to assure me when he at last returns home himself. "The South will never go along with what those dirty Yankees want from us."

I say nothing, but I have my doubts.

Gale is proven wrong. The North has us so tied down, it's a wonder we're able to continue to feed ourselves anymore, let alone continue a battle in an already lost war. In fact, many of us can't feed ourselves. The news comes every day of another neighbor who has died of starvation. Or consumption. Or any number of things.

The men have slowly began to trickle back home. Gale, my fiancé, was one of the first, but others have followed. I was over at Annie Cresta's with my knitting when Finnick Odair returned. Yelling his name, she ran across the ruins of her family's plantation into his arms. They were finally married not long after. Everyone always knew they would, since the time we were all little children. Finnick was always a flirt, but we girls knew it would always be Annie he'd settle down with in the end. But when war was declared, and each year looked bleaker than the last for our side, anyone could see Annie was finding it harder to keep her doubts. Finnick's return was a blessing. It was nice to see, too, I will admit. It's expected for a lady to marry, but most of us settle down with someone for what the match can provide for us. My engagement to Gale, for example. We have been friends since childhood, but there was never anything between us. When he returned from the war, he wanted to settle down and start a family. I was the logical choice.

Others weren't so lucky as Gale was to return home. My Pa, for example, died on the front lines. Probably at the hands of some Northern boy. I try not to think about it, because by now, with all the help we had around here cleared out thanks to the Emancipation Proclamation set up by President Lincoln, it takes all of us to keep ourselves alive. That's why I agreed to marry Gale when he asked. We needed his help, and he was willing to give it. He gets a quiet life; I get security. That's about as romantic as it gets between us.

Rumors have been coming in from travelers that the North has been forcing good Southern homes to house their Yankee soldiers. At first it's brushed off as wild hearsay, but when the first soldier, a man by the name of Cato, comes striding in one day and takes up residence in the Undersee's household, we're forced to face the truth.

All the ladies keep their mouths closed, sticking to only the most superficial of topics when we gather for our knitting. The men boast about how one night they'll band together and drive him out of our neighborhood, but it never happens. Life continues, as we all struggle just to put food on our tables. Never mind the empty fields of what had once been blooming crops of cotton and tobacco.

I'm walking home from the Odair's one day, when I meet another one on the road. A knapsack slung over his shoulders, his hair is blond and curly, his chest broad, his arms strong. He looks the picture of health. I can't help hating him for it.

"Howdy," he calls out to me and he has the audacity to smile. I don't return it, instead eying him suspiciously.

"Howdy," I say slowly, the very word disgusting in my mouth.

"I'm looking for the Everdeen Plantation. Do you know it?" he asks me.

Bitter dread courses through me. Not us. Why us? "Yes," I'm loath to admit.

"Really?" he seems pleasantly surprised. "You're the first person I've come across who has. No one else has heard of it."

I'm amused by this. Everyone in a ten mile radius knows who we are, because here in the South, everyone knows everyone. If folk were really telling him they didn't know us, it had to be because they were fibbing to him. Something akin to pride runs through me. But it doesn't change the fact that I've betrayed myself. I briefly consider my options here. I supposed I could still lie to him about the location. But eventually he'd find out, and would wind up in our home anyways, things likely worse than before. So I decide being honest with him is the best option.

"That's strange," I say, forcing what I hope is a convincing smile, "most around here know who we are."

The soldier looks surprised. "Oh! That's your place, is it? I beggen your pardon, miss," he says, tipping his hat to me.

I ignore him. "I'm on my way home now," I tell him, "you can follow me."

"Thank you, miss… Everdeen?" he asks.

I nod, and say nothing.

"My name is Peeta. Peeta Mellark," he tells me, even though I didn't ask.

I raise an eyebrow. "Peeta?" I say. "Not… Peter?"

"No, miss," he says. "My family was Dutch." I nod and say nothing, but I do notice the way he mentions his family in the past tense. I turn and move on silently, up the road that leads to our plantation, or what remains of it, and Peeta Mellark follows me. He makes a few attempts at conversation, but when he sees I'll have none of it, he eventually gives up. As we walk, I wonder how Mama and Prim will react to having a Yankee soldier stationed in our home.

Gale is outraged when he finds out. He begins shouting things about how no dirty Yankee had better think he can lay a finger on his girl, and who did the North think they were, forcing this on us? We have our rights! It's what the South went to war for in the first place! I let him smolder, though. The thought of me ever being taken with a Yankee is laughable, anyway. Even if I did have time for that kind of thing, it most certainly would not be with Union soldier Peeta Mellark.

Peeta settles in quickly to our household, though. As aggravated as I am by his presence, he's not that bad of a guest. Mostly keeps to himself, eats the meals Mama, Prim and I work so hard to put on the table with authentic gratitude. I know he must go off to attend to Yankee business when he's gone during the day, but he's gracious enough to keep it mostly away from our place. Once in awhile one or more of the others show up, but it isn't often. I suppose, if we had to have a Yankee soldier stationed in our home, we could do a lot worse.

One morning, I'm out drawing the water from our well to clean the laughable amount of laundry we still have left to do. I'm singing to myself, something I don't do too often now because it reminds me of my father. It's a lullaby he used to sign to my sister and me when we were children, one that's been passed along these parts for generations.

As I turn around, bucket in hand, I'm startled to see Peeta standing a few feet behind me, watching me. He looks guilty, as though he's been caught spying on me. In a way, I guess he has.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes once he realizes he's been caught. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. I heard your singing, and well, it's a song I was raised on," he explains to me, and I can tell he feels guilty. "You have a lovely voice."

I hitch my breath, then press forward. "Yes… well, consider yourself lucky, Mr. Mellark. That's not something you'll hear again."

"Why not?" he asks, as he follows me back up to the house.

"I don't sing anymore. Not since my father…" I trail off, and understanding dawns on Peeta's face.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry," he says. This irritates me, considering the circumstances. The Yankees and Confederates both should be apologizing for what they've done, as far as I'm concerned. For stealing my father away from a family that needs him more than their stupid cause does. But Peeta's apology rubs me the wrong way. He was out there with the rest of them, and now he thinks he can apologize for the loss of one? For all I know, he was the very soldier who took my father's life. I decide to ignore him, and continue on with my chores.

He disappears completely for the remainder of the day, a fact for which I'm grateful. He still shows up in time for supper, however. And as we sit around the table, sharing the measly scraps we call a meal, I swear I catch his eyes trained on me more than once. But they flit away as soon as I'm looking, and I'm never sure if it's just my imagination playing tricks on me.

Months go by, and between the heavy taxation on the plantations the Union is imposing, the halt on imports, and the general disarray the South has been in since the end of the war… we're barely making by. Prim and Mama do everything they can to help me gather food from the ragged remains of our crops, but it isn't enough. We don't tell Peeta this, though, since the last thing we'd be caught doing now is admitting to any Yankee that we're as vulnerable to their power as they want us to be. It's our last ditch effort to prove that we'll never truly be defeated by the North.

But we don't know how much longer we can make it. The food sources are slowly depleting. Prim is growing more and more wan. Mama is, too, and, I realize, I must be as well. Though I never bother taking the time to check in the mirror to see if it's true.

Peeta knows something is up. I can see it in his eyes, the way he looks at us with concern. It makes me sick to think about it, but to his credit, he says nothing. One day, though, we know that the gig is up. The cupboards are bare, the fields are empty, the gardens picked raw. There is virtually nothing left for us to prepare for his meal, let alone ours.

When he walks into the kitchen that day and sees the three of us seated around the table, his expression is sober as he takes us in. Prim is crying, Mama has her head in her hands. I just scowl at him as he approaches us.

"What's the matter?" he asks, "what's happened?"

"Nothing, Mr. Mellark," I say crossly. I still won't give him the satisfaction. But Mama betrays our position. She stands slowly, faces him.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Mellark," she says, "but we have nothing left to feed you with. The food is gone"

"Nothing?" he repeats, and she nods.

"Nothing at all?" he asks again, look carefully from Mama to Prim to me, and back to Mama again. I'm not sure why he's doing this, because I know we aren't his only hope for a meal around here. Any one of his Yankee friends would gladly make the families they're staying with provide for him, if need be. All though, I realize, the other families probably aren't any better off than we are. Still, he has a lot more options here than we do.

"Nothing!" I shout suddenly, leaping to my feet. "Don't you understand? Your side has won! We'll wither away, just like you wanted!" I'm angry to have to admit such defeat. Peeta only looks at me with an unreadable expression, and before more words can be exchanged, I push past him and storm out of the room.

I keep going until I reach the edges of the woods that surround our plantation, where I fall in a heap and allow myself to let the tears come. I'm bitterly angry at everything now. That they've won, that the only battle I ever actually cared about - the one to protect my family - has been so utterly, completely lost. I'm there for hours, letting the tears fall. The sun is setting before I finally work up the courage to go home, hoping against hope that Peeta has already followed through the request to be transferred to a station with better rations, however unlikely it is. At the very least, maybe he'll be off getting supper at one of the other houses.

The odor of baking bread greets my nose as I approach the house, though. As I cautiously push the door to the kitchen open, I'm surprised to see Peeta standing over the oven, eyes trained steadily on it.

"What are you doing?" I ask as I approach. I'm nervous for some reason, and I can't quite put my finger on why. Maybe it was the way I behaved earlier.

"Making bread," he says without moving his eyes from the oven. "I used to be a baker back home," he explains.

"Oh," is all I say, and think for a minute as the implication settles in. "What- how were you able to get the materials for that?"

"I have my own money to buy things," he says, looking up at me at last. I'm surprised to see his blue eyes, which are normally so gentle, have a hardness to them. "You should have told me you needed help."

I feel defensive. "Why would we tell you that? So you could laugh at us? Mock the poor Southerners who are forced to have you in our homes, sacrificing what little we have left of what the Yankees have already stolen from us for your sakes?" My voice has risen in my anger, and I'm glaring at him now.

The hardness has dropped from his expression, and instead he's looking at me with a mixture of shock and concern. "Is that what you think" he asks "That I'm here to mock you? That I look down on you for being from the Confederate states?"

I nod stubbornly. The tone he's taking is making me feel like I'm being ridiculous, but I won't give in at this point. I'm surprised when he gently places his hands on my shoulders, urging me to look at him.

"There's no way I could think that about you," he tells me as he gazes into my eyes, blue on grey. I'm caught up in them for a minute, noticing how striking they are, the way they look out from behind his long, blond lashes which I don't see how they don't get all caught up whenever he blinks. I also become more aware of the strong arms he's using to hold me in place, firm but gentle. Unexpected warmth rushes through me, to my utter surprise.

Peeta is also leaning into me, I realize, and for a second I brace myself for what's about to happen next. But Peeta just gives me a shy smile. "Okay?" he asks me.

I nod, and feel as though I'm coming out of some sort of trance. "Okay," I mutter, and he lets go of his grasp on my shoulders. I tear my eyes away from him and move to exit the kitchen so I might check on Mama. Just as I'm about to turn the corner into the hallway, though, something makes me look back over my shoulder at him.

This time, I know I didn't imagine him watching me.

Prim and I are outside early the next morning, setting to work on picking the weeds that have overcome our garden. It's a vain attempt, really, since at this point it's all weeds and no vegetables. But nothing will convince us to let go of the fool's hope that this time we might find something we hadn't before. We work quietly for some time, but after awhile I see Prim looking up at me, the wheels in her mind clearly turning. "That was nice of Mr. Mellark to bake us that bread last night,' she says at last.

I wipe the sweat from my brow, but keep working, never stopping to look over to her. "Yes," I admit. I can tell she's watching me still, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "He's not so bad. For a Yankee," she's quick to add the last part as she pretends to be concentrating on the clump of grass she rips out of the earth.

I shrug. "I suppose."

The sound of the back door opening grabs my attention, and I look over to see Peeta coming out. I watch him as he rounds the corner of the house and disappears. When I look back, Prim's smile has broadened from watching me watch him. I frown at her. "Get back to work," I say, and I hear her chuckle to herself even as she obeys.

I'm still thinking about Peeta and the bread he made that may very well have saved our lives, when my hand lands on a dandelion, and something clicks. I unwittingly make an excited sound, and Prim looks up at me, her eyes questioning. Then they too fall on the dandelion, and then the same revelation clicks in her mind.

"We can eat those!" she squeals. I nod, and tell her to begin looking looking for as many dandelions as she can. I'm trying to help, but the dandelion has opened a whole floodgate of memories in my mind. My eyes drift to the trees that surround our house, and, slowly, I begin to remember that there is a whole dearth of things we can eat out there. "Keep going, I'll be back later," I tell her as I take off back towards the house.

Up in the room that once belonged to my father, I halt for a moment in quiet reverence at the memory of him. I then make my way over to a chest where I know he used to keep some of his best hunting gear. My father was skilled in all means of the sport, but the only thing he ever allowed me to try was the bow and arrow. It's this weapon that I reach for.

A short time later, I find myself lurking in the cool darkness of the forest. I'm a bit nervous - hunting is hardly something a proper lady should be doing, and besides that, I've never actually done it before. But by this point I could care less. I decide to practice shooting for a little bit before I try for actual game. And I'm horrible at it. My first attempt fails miserably. But I keep on it, and after several hours working at it, I've managed to score a couple of possums and a small squirrel. It wouldn't be considered much by the standards of a proper hunter, but it's enough to feed my family for the day. And Peeta, I remind myself.

Prim is nowhere to be found as I return, but Peeta is also returning from whatever Union duties he had disappeared off to earlier. When he spots me crossing the fields as I make my way back, he pauses mid-stride and waits for me to close the distance between us. I can see him eying the game I have slung over my shoulder as I grow closer. "Where did you get that?" he asks suspiciously, and then he spots the bow. "Oh, Katniss..."

"Just help me get this inside," I tell him. I can tell he's not pacified, but he nods and lifts the animals off my shoulders, throwing it easily across his own broad ones.

As we turn together to continue our walk back, a thought occurs to me. "You can't tell them about this" I say under my breath to him. "If Mama, Prim or Gale found out... why, they'd throw a fit. Please, Pee- Mr. Mellark," I'm quick to correct myself.

He looks at me a minute before he responds. "Okay," he says at last, "your secret is safe with me."

And he sticks to it. When Mama and Prim settle around the table for supper later that night, Peeta tells them it was him who went out and shot the game. Mama and Prim heap praise on him, but after they've quieted down and have begun to feast on my game and the dandelions harvested earlier, Peeta's eyes meet with mine from across the table.

Thank you, I hope mine say. I don't think I imagine the slight nod of his head he gives me.

We fall into a pattern of this, me sneaking off to the woods to hunt, and Peeta covering by taking the credit each night. Mama and Prim are really starting to warm up to him over this. A small pang of jealousy hits me each night that they praise him for my handiwork, but I remind myself that it's better this way. Prim might understand, but Mama definitely wouldn't. She needs to cling, however desperately, to the familiar ways from before, when a lady would never dream of soiling her hands in such a way. It's better to not to take any chances on her finding out the truth.

But I quickly realize that I won't be able to hide it forever. Gale notices how rough my hands are becoming one night as he sets outside with me on the porch. "What have you been doing?" he asks as he holds them, examining them.

I snatch them away. "Nothing," I say defensively and hide them in my lap. "Things aren't so easy around here," I confess after a minute. "There are things I have to do for myself now. Someone needs to keep this place going, and if I don't, then no one will. It's just us, now."

"Us," Gale repeats. "Meaning you, your mother and Prim, right?" he leans forward, clearly annoyed. "Doesn't that no good Yankee boy you're saddled with ever help you?" he spits.

"Yes," I insist a little too loudly. I'm not really sure why I'm defending him, except, I guess, because he's doing me a great service by keeping a secret I can't trust with anyone else. Gale looks at me suspiciously, and leans back against the chair.

"I don't like the way he looks at you," he tells me.

"What?" I say, surprised.

Gale shakes his head as if he just realizes what he said. "Nothing," he mutters, "it's nothing a lady should be hearing about."

I frown, partly because I don't think I like what he's implying about Peeta, but also because of his comment about being a lady. I don't really feel like I'm much of one anymore. It seems to be draining away from me slowly, day by day.

After he bids me goodnight and begins the journey back to his own home, I head back inside to the parlor. I'm surprised to find Peeta sitting in a chair, his head hunched over something, deep in concentration. I move quietly so as not to draw attention to myself. But when a board in the floor creaks under my tread, he jumps with a start and sees me.

"Sorry," I tell him. My eyes flit down to the book that's laying open in his lap. I can see illustrations of something filling up the pages from where I stand. "What are you doing?" I can't stop myself from asking.

"Oh," he says as he glances down at the book and then back up to me, "just sketching. I used to do it all the time as a boy. I guess I like to do it now because it reminds me of my life before the war. My family."

I nod, understanding. "Do you miss them?"

Peeta stares ahead, his eyes taking on a slightly vacant look for a minute before nodding his head in answer. "Yeah."

"Will you go back to them after you're free from your duty?" I ask, and I'm surprised to realize that the thought of this actually makes me sad.

He shakes his head. "No," he says. "I mean, I may go back to the Nebraska Territory. But my family is dead, except for one brother. The rest died of an outbreak of something a few years before the war."

I lower myself into a chair. "Oh," I say, "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah," he says. "My mother was a bit strict, but I miss my father. He was the town baker," he smiles over at me. I think back to the incident with the bread, and how told me he baked before the war.

"That makes sense," I nod.

Peeta studies me for a long time. I'm just starting to fidget under his gaze when he speaks again. "I really am sorry you lost your father in the war, Miss Everdeen,' he says. "War is hell to go through."

I know he means well, but this isn't exactly the world's most comforting thought. "Well, he and the others sure seemed to think it was worth it," I say.

He nods thoughtfully. "It can be," he admits. "But it's still hard to go through. I witnessed things that... well, that I hope I never have to see again." He looks so haunted at this revelation, that I can't help how bad I feel for him. I wonder what he possibly could have seen out there; if they were the same things my father saw before he was killed. Or if he even had a chance to before his life was stolen from him.

"Did you think it was worth it?" I blurt out.

"Sure. To free the slaves, at least." He says it so casually. I dart my eyes around to be sure we're the only ones around, because now we're entering into dangerous territory.

"But why would you care about them?" I hear myself ask.

Peeta looks at me, perplexed at my question. "They're people, too, Miss Everdeen."

"But they're not like us," I counter.

He shrugs. "So what?" he asks me, "do you think that means they can't suffer like we can? Look around you. You know better than anyone what it feels like now, under these circumstances.

I'm surprised by how easy it is for him to make these omissions about his own side. To talk against the opposing side is one thing, but voicing concerns about your own? I really don't know what to make of this man before me anymore. "I don't think we should be talking about this," I say.

"Why not?" he says. "No one ever wants to talk about anything. Look where that's gotten us now."

Something inside of me is telling me he's right, but it goes against every single thing I've ever been taught about these things. I don't know what to think anymore. I'm exhausted even thinking about it. When I say nothing, though, he tosses his sketchbook to the side and stands up to leave. "Goodnight, Miss Everdeen," he calls over his shoulder and leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I don't know why, but Peeta pervades my dreams that night. No matter what happens, he's there: leading me into some surreal battle on the fields in Pennsylvania, baking a loaf of bread that never seems to finish baking, taunting me, asking me to understand him. By the time the dawn approaches, I'm no better rested than I was the night before.

Nothing shows this more than when I misjudge a step in the woods that afternoon, and slip and hit my head on a rock. I sit up, woozy, bringing a hand up to where the impact occurred. I feel something wet, and pull my hand down to see blood on it. I know I have to get home now, and slowly get to my feet, struggling with each step I take.

Peeta is waiting to greet me in the field, like he always is these days. I'm a little irritated to see him, since he's the source of all this, but his eyes widen in both shock and concern at the sight of me as he rushes forward to catch me as I fall forward.

"What happened?" he asks, and there's an urgency in his voice.

"I just slipped and fell," I tell him, but my own voice is faint. I try to insist that I can walk by myself, but it's clear I'm quickly fading. "Come on," he says, and scoops me up, cradling me against him as he carries me back to the house. I'm surprised by how comforting I find it.

Mama and Prim fuss over me when we arrive, and Peeta makes up some story about tripping when I went to the well. We have no bandages, so Prim tears up some old white sheets, and Mama sets to work on applying them to the wound. There's a lot going on, but through it all I can see Peeta is standing in the background, watching as they work.

"Will she be alright?" I hear him ask in a low voice after they finish.

"She'll be fine," Mama tells him, "she just needs to rest."

I'm still resting two days later, when word arrives that Annie is ready to deliver her baby. Mama and Prim race around getting things together, preparing for the event. "I want to go, too," I tell them as I stand huddled as close to the fireplace as I can. The days are growing colder.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Katniss," Mama tells me, "you're still recovering from your wound."

"It's not that bad."

"I still think it's better if you stay here," she insists. "I'm sure Mr. Mellark would be happy to look after you." She must really trust him a lot to say this, since most would frown deeply on leaving a young lady alone with a young man like this. I suppose dire circumstances demand exceptions, though. Mama and Prim are some of the best midwives around, too, even if there isn't much competition right now.

"Sure," Peeta agrees as he enters the kitchen, an arm full of firewood that he begins feeding to the flames. "I'll take care of her." His eyes linger on me a moment as he says this.

"Okay," I give in, "but be careful out there."

"We will be," Prim says, giving me a hug as they leave. "You be careful, too."

"I'll be stuck inside the house," I respond, "what could happen?"

Peeta and I stay out of each other's way for the first part of the morning. I go about finishing as many of the morning chores as I can, and I don't know what he does. But at about mid-morning, the snow begins to fall and he's forced back inside with me.

"I suspected it would start to snow," he tells me as he warms himself by the fire in the kitchen, "it was mighty chilly out there."

I nod, trying to keep myself from watching those arms of his as they wrap around his body ain his attempts to heat himself. Looking out the window instead, I tell him, "I hope Mama and Prim are able to get home this afternoon."

"I'm sure they'll be all right," Peeta tells me in a comforting tone.

"Yes. You're probably right," I admit. But when the snowfall only grows heavier over the next few hours, layering the ground in several inches of its white blanket, I can only grow more worried. Peeta volunteers to go out and check for them, if only to make me feel better.

When he comes back in a short time later, I can feel the icy temperature coming off of him. Snowflakes pepper his hat, clothes, and even dot those long, blond eyelashes of his. It's hard for me not to grow a little fixated on them as I help him out of his coat.

"Looks like no one's getting through tonight," he tells me. Then, seeing the concerned look on my face, quickly adds, "Sorry, Miss Everdeen."

I only sigh, and cross my arms as I head to the window to look out at the seemingly endless stretch of white surrounding the house. A thousand different scenarios of ways they could die or become hurt run through my mind.

Finally, Peeta interrupts my thoughts. "Look," he starts, "they left well before it started. The Odair's don't live too far away. They were there by the time it started, and probably had enough sense to stay for the night. It takes some time to birth a baby anyway, right?"

I don't know why his words are able to get through to me, but they do. "You're right," I say, "Finnick and Annie would let them stay as long as they needed."

"That's right," he agrees, "I'm sure they're there still."

I turn around at last to face him, and am surprised when I'm greeted by the sight of Peeta in nothing but his drawers and shirt. I can feel my cheeks grow hot, despite hiding it. He raises his eyebrows in me in question, before he understands.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry. Is this- of course, what was I thinking? I'll go change, Miss Everdeen."

I shake my head, though I can't meet his eyes. "No, no, it's all right. You must have been chilled to the bone," I say, and begin to move towards the kitchen when a stab of pain hits me. "Oh!" I say, lifting my hand to the wound on my head.

"What's the matter?" Peeta asks me, his voice full of concern. "Is it your head wound? Lie down."

"I'm fine," I insist, waving him away since by now he's crossed the room and is hovering around me like a bee would a flower. I am fine again after a minute, and to prove my point, I continue into the kitchen to check on supper. To my annoyance, he follows.

"Are you sure?" he asks me, clearly not convinced.

"Yes," I say pointedly, "why do you care, anyhow?" I don't know how, but somehow I know this will give him pause.

I'm right, as this seems to pull him up short. "I… uh, I-" he stutters, searching for an explanation, "I guess I just care about you Miss Everdeen," he finally admits. The expression on his face is so earnest, and he's looking at me with such a strange new intensity the likes I've never seen before, that I'm taken by surprise when I feel something flutter in my stomach.

My eyes drop to the floor. "You?" I ask.

I can see Peeta nod out of the corner of my eye. "Yeah. I guess I do," he says.

"I'm sure your Yankee superiors would be pleased to hear about that," I tell him.

He just shrugs. "I don't rightly care," he admits. I look up at him, surprised, although I'm not really sure why. He's been so kind to us, really, even when he had no reason to be. I think of the bread he baked on his own penny when he found out we were actually on the brink of starvation. The way he's helped us with the chores around here, even though there was no expectation for him to.

I'm also surprised to see that in the short time I was caught up in considering this, he's moved so that he's basically closed the space between us. He's so close that I can see every muscle move in his arms, the way his chest lifts and falls steadily as he breathes. I also notice the way the light bounces off the blond curls of his hair, and the soft blue of his eyes as they stare at me from behind his long eyelashes.

"Thank you, Peeta," I whisper.

He raises his eyebrows. "What for?"

"For- for helping us when you didn't have to."

He smiles a kind of crooked smile. "Are you complimenting me?"

"Never," I shoot back. "I'm just saying that for a Yankee-"

"Still hung up on that, huh?" he interjects, and I'm taken aback to notice the frustration etched on his features.

"We just don't care too much for them around here," I say in a small voice, suddenly feeling bad.

"I've noticed."

"So to actually thank one of you is… it's-" I'm struggling to find my words, but it doesn't matter because Peeta leans in and stops them with a kiss. I'm completely taken aback at first, but as he brings a hand to tip my chin up so that my lips are better angled against his, nothing can stop the warmth that surges through me. My hands find their way up to his chest where they curl against it, resting there.

We finally break apart, though only slightly so, and our foreheads rest against each other. We're both slightly panting.

"Sorry. You were saying?" he asks me with a grin.

"Just… I was saying… consorting too much with a Yankee would be social suicide here." And he kisses me again, bringing a hand up to cup my face, while I wrap my arms around his neck.

"Social suicide, huh?" he asks me between kisses, and I nod the best I can through the haze overtaking my mind. My body seems to become more and more alive with each and every kiss he gives me, my skin tingling with a sensation I've never felt before. So much so that when his lips leave mine and begin to wander downwards towards my neck, I don't even stop him.

"Katniss," he groans my name against the skin of my shoulder, his warm breath tantalizing, "if you don't tell me to stop now, I'm just going to continue."

He's asking permission, I realize, and I'm surprised by how easily I'm willing to grant it. If consorting with a Yankee is considered social suicide, I don't even want to think about what we're doing now would be. If anyone were to walk in on us right now, we'd… why, we'd be… but I quickly banish the thought from my mind. "Don't stop," I whisper.

Peeta straightens up to kiss me again on the lips, this one deeper than any of the ones before. I feel his arms slide up my body; I shiver against them. My own arms find their way up so that I can run my fingers through his curls, and I'm delighted at the way he shudders at this. "Katniss," he says my name, his voice husky. I only smile and continue my actions.

I feel his hands move to my chest, and I can't stop the small noise that comes out of me when they lightly brush against my breasts. He smiles, and then I can feel him begin to work on the buttons of my dress, unfastening one after the other in a teasingly slow fashion. When he finally undoes the last one, he slips it off my shoulders, and it falls to pool on the ground around my feet.

I'm in nothing but my undergarments now. The urge to cover my chest with my arms rises in me, but Peeta is holding them in place with his own wrapped around my body. Through the thinner fabric of my chemise, I can feel his hard chest, as steady as a rock. Between this and the feeling of his warm arms engulfing me, I'm surprised by how safe I actually feel here with him. Impulsively, I rest my head against one of his broad shoulders. I feel him lift a hand to my head, running it gently through my hair. He lowers his lips to kiss me on my forehead.

"We can stop if you're uncomfortable," he says in a low, soothing voice. But I shake my head, and look up into his eyes. They're dark with lust still, but they also haven't lost their gentleness. I reach up and kiss him, and to prove that I really do want to keep going, I begin to unbutton his own shirt, softly planting a kiss on his chest after each one. I'm getting dangerously low now, and I can see the muscles contort in the place just below his stomach as I do. Peeta quickly deposits the shirt, and it lands close to the spot where my dress lays, forgotten, on the ground beneath us.

As if drawn by an invisible force, I cannot resist the urge to run my hands all over his bare chest. Meanwhile, Peeta begins fiddling with the hem of the shirt half of my chemise. I feel a thrill run up me as he finally dips his hand underneath, and skirts them up my body, gently gracing over my skin in the process. Goosebumps run down my arms. Peeta has also lifted the shirt up and over my head, until I stand naked from the waist up. If I felt vulnerable before, it's nothing compared to how I feel now.

But Peeta is looking at me with a genuine giddiness that makes him look all of ten years old. His eyes are darting back and forth between my eyes and my bosom, a large grin stretched out across his face. Finally he holds my gaze long enough to ask, "Can I- is it okay-?" I nod, but I'm not prepared for how it feels when he gingerly takes each one and cups them in the palms of his hands. A gasp escapes me, which only makes his grin grow wider, if that's at all possible.
Working slowly, he begins to massage them, gently rubbing the nipple on each one until they grow harder than I ever thought they could underneath his touch. While he's doing this, he starts kissing me again, his tongue lapping against mine, then returning to my neck to deposit kisses in the crook of it. My arms are wrapped around him, my hands grasping onto his bare skin franticly. My heart is beating so fast, I think it may actually fall out of my chest.

When Peeta suddenly lifts me up, I let out a small shriek. He carries me over to the sofa in our parlor, and lowers me down, positioning himself on top of me. I watch in fascination as his lips finally descend beyond my neck to the unexplored territory of my chest. His lips, hot against my skin, move down to the valley between my breasts, and he deposits a kiss at the base of each one. Then he continues downward, his lips driving me wild with every move they make. They finally stop just low of my bellybutton. I let out a disappointed groan when they cease their journey, because by now my lower regions are on fire. Peeta looks up at me and smirks, though. He moves back up to my lips to kiss me there. "Not yet," he breathes against them. I can only manage a nod.

He then moves back to my chest, and, without warning, takes one of my breasts in his mouth and sucks. I gasp much louder this time, and my hands immediately find their way back to his hair, my fingers curling into his golden locks. His mouth is warm and wet, and feels absolutely amazing. He licks the nipple, sending another thrill running through me.

I'm surprised when I notice one of his hands has traveled south, and slipped underneath the waist of my pantaloons. They slide down between my legs, and I visibly shiver when they carefully slip in between my lips. He plays with them for a minute, and I can feel my hips begin to grind against his hand as they do. Then, repositioning himself, he pulls off the rest of my chemise. As he pulls them down past my most private area, he lowers his head and kisses the area where my thigh connects to my body.

Peeta shocks me next by kissing me right on my lower lips, slipping his tongue between the slit and up into my entrance. I let out a loud shriek at the sensation. "Where did you learn that?" I manage to choke out.

He stops, sitting back on his haunches and looking at me thoughtfully. After a minute he says, "There are a lot of things soldiers do in their spare time during a war. Places- and people- we visit…" he trails off and doesn't finish the sentence. I'm grateful, though, because he's said enough, and I don't really want to hear the rest.

"So… I'm not the first one you've…" I can't finish the sentence either. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed.

Peeta kisses my knee. "I'm sorry, Katniss," he says quietly. "I'd take it back now if I could."

I nod, because somehow I know he's telling me the truth. "I understand," I tell him. He doesn't look completely convinced, but he slowly moves back to his place between my legs. When his hot tongue finds its way inside me again, I realize I don't care who else he's been with if this is what he learned from it. My hands return to their place on his head, this time pulling gently on his hair. Peeta groans, and I realize he likes it.

I want to cry out in protest when he stops, pulling his tongue away from my heated center. I'm aching down there, but Peeta moves back up and kisses me on the lips. I can taste myself on him, which is strange, but I'm so wrapped up in us that I don't really mind.

Peeta's hand replaces his mouth down there. He sticks a finger inside of me. "You're so wet," he smiles against my mouth as I arch against him. I pull him back to me for another kiss, and while we do so, his fingers find that sensitive nub and begin to set to work.

I've never felt anything like this before. I begin bucking against his steady body, whimpering and occasionally calling out his name as I writhe against him. I'm just to the point where I think I might burst when, again, he stops. I look at him, disappointed. His eyes have grown darker, and he's breathing heavy as he lowers his head to mine, gives me a lingering kiss, then breaks away just far enough that his lips still graze mine as he speaks.

"Katniss," he whispers, pressing his body against mine fully for the first time, and I can feel how hard he is through his drawers. "Do you… do you think we can…"

Understanding dawns on me, and at the same time I realize just how badly I'm aching for him. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply before I nod. "Yes," I whisper back.
Peeta says nothing, just kisses me one last time, then sits back on his haunches to pull his drawers off. I can't take my eyes off the sight of his erect manhood, and I can tell that this pleases him, though he doesn't say it. He positions himself back over me, and I ghost my hands up his chest, down his back before I dare to let them travel further south and carefully grasp his butt. I can feel him twitch at my entrance as I do so.

"Are you ready?" he asks me after a minute of this.

I'm nervous, but I tell him I am. He gives me another kiss and pulls back, his eyes searching mine. "Katniss," he says cautiously, "I should warn you that this is probably going to hurt at first…"

My maidenhood. I've heard about this before, whispers in passing from the married women around the neighborhood. Annie once let it slip before she turned a deep shade of crimson and refused to talk of it any further. I'm so torn between want and nerves at this point, though, that I just want to get it over with. "I know," I tell him, "it's okay."

He nods, kisses me again, and then positions himself at my entrance and begins to push himself in.

It does hurt. In fact, I can't stop myself from cringing as I wince at the pain, and I'm vaguely aware that I'm digging my nails into Peeta's shoulder. I hope I haven't hurt him too much. He looks down at me in concern.

"Are you okay?" he asks me. I nod, though I'm still wincing. "Just keep going," I whisper.

"Okay," he says, and slowly, gently pushes further into me. It continues to hurt for a little while, but eventually I feel the pain begin to fade away and my body begins to loosen. "Okay," I nod up to him at last. He smiles a sweet smile down at me, and then he begins to move in a slow rhythm.

It's awkward at first, I have to admit. I'm not used to having anything inside of me down there, and the sensation of him filling me up only feels weird. Peeta seems to sense this, though, and begins working on the rest of my body, dropping kisses on my neck, my breasts, my lips, my nose. And after a while, the awkward feeling of him inside me begins to ebb away as well, as it begins to feel nice. Good, even. I even let a moan slip out of me as I hook my arms around Peeta's neck, caressing his skin as I feel him moving inside me.

"You're so beautiful," Peeta pants from above me, and I have to admit, I understand the feeling. He's dazzling himself, his body straining, his skin slick with a sheen of sweat, his curls now mussed and damp against his head. I take his face in my hands and kiss him passionately, never wanting to let go.

He breaks us apart with a groan, though. "Katniss… I'm going to…" he sputters, and I understand. His hips are thrusting faster, and his whole body is heaving. Finally, I feel him tense up under my fingers, and he jerks himself out of me as fast as he possibly can before letting himself go with a loud groan.

He collapses on top of me, and I wrap my arms around him, kissing his head gently and grazing my fingers along his backside as he composes himself. Finally, he turns his head and kisses my jaw. "Are you okay?" he asks me.

I can't help laughing that this is the first thing he thinks to ask me after what we just did. How could I not be? "Yes," I tell him, and he kisses me before pulling away like he just remembered something.

"But you… you didn't finish," he says, his eyes searching mine with concern.

"Oh," I say, "was I supposed to?"

"Yes," he smiles. "What do you want me to do?"

I think about this for a minute. "I'm okay," I finally say.

The skin between his eyes wrinkles in confusion. "Are you sure," he asks me.

I nod. "Yes. I… I don't really think I could finish, anyway," I admit. "It's just… it's still too new for me."

Peeta nods, then shifts us so we're lying side by side, and pulls me to him, wrapping me in his arms and pulling my head down to use his shoulder as a pillow. I can't help letting my eyes close and relaxing for a bit – here, in Peeta's arms, I feel completely safe. For this brief moment in time, it no longer matters what's going on in the world outside, or that he's even from the north. No one else has made me feel this safe in a long, long time.

Eventually I remember that supper was cooking for us, and grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around myself, I make my way back to the kitchen to finish it. I'm sore, but it isn't too bady. Peeta follows again, only unlike last time, I'm actually happy instead of annoyed. He presses kisses into my exposed shoulder while I work until I brush him away, and then he sits at the table, grinning at me like he'd be happy to keep looking at me like this forever.

After supper, we sit with a blanket wrapped around us, still undressed, arms draped around each other, foreheads pressed against one another's while we pass kisses between us. Eventually he lets out a sigh.

"What?" I ask.

"It's just…" he searches my face, and looks slightly sheepish for a second. "I wish I could freeze this moment right here, right now, and live in it forever."

I feel so warm and relaxed and safe with him, that I just let it slip out. "Okay," I say.

He grins. "Then you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it," I say. He's beaming at me. But unfortunately, his words have actually achieved the opposite effect of reminding me of the world outside, that we'd forgotten as we let our passion get the better of us. My mind begins to drift to my mama, Prim, Gale…

The thought creates a knot in my stomach. Gale. What would he do, how would he react if he found out I just did the unspeakable with Peeta Mellark, Yankee? I'm a horrible fiancée; possibly the worst in the world I realize. I'm no lady at this point, either. No real lady would ever do what I just did. I can only imagine the talk that would unleash on the neighborhood if anybody ever got wind of the fact that Peeta and I had been intimate with each other without even being engaged, let alone properly married.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Peeta…" I begin slowly, "what if I'm… with child?"

He grows solemn, and thinks for a minute. "You shouldn't be," he finally tells me, but it's not enough to chase away my fears. "I won't abandon you if you are," he adds quietly.

I sigh. "This isn't the Southern way…" I begin.

He lets out a laugh. "This isn't exactly how we do it in Nebraska Territory, either," he says. He regards me silently for a minute, his eyes thoughtful, gentle.

"Katniss," he begins at last, "be my wife."

I'm pulled up short by the suggestion. "Your- your wife?"

"Why not?" he shrugs.
I scowl, and feel anger begin to rise up in me. "Why not?" I repeat, spitting the words out in disgust.

"Oh, Katniss, no. I didn't mean it that way," he rushes to assure me, "I just meant… what do you have to lose, really? I know you're not in love with Gale."

I think about this for a minute. I want to protest, but I realize he's right. I don't actually love him.

"And you think I am in love with you?" I ask him.

"I'd like to think so, yes. Especially after this," he kisses me again. I think about it. He has a point - up until today, behaving this way with somebody was a virtual impossibility. Even the thought of doing it with Gale, after a proper ceremony, made me uncomfortable. There had to be something that existed between Peeta and me to make it different tonight. But I push this thought away because I don't want to dwell on it. Because there are still more important things I have to consider. Which leads me to…

"Mama," I say, "and Prim. I couldn't leave them."

"Prim is almost grown. She'll be married herself in a couple of years."

"Mama, then," I say. "She still needs me."

"Then I'll stay here, too."

I blink at him. "You'd do that?"

"Of course," he says. "I can start a bakery here, after they release me from the army. That's the only thing I have to look forward to back home anyways"

It's starting to occur to me that this may not be a marriage of convenience in his mind, a way to ease his guilty conscience for what we just did. Maybe… it's possible…

"Why?" I ask.

His face softens, and before he answers he leans in and kisses me. "I love you," he breathes quietly into my hair. "I have since I first heard you singing the Valley Song that morning I saw you drawing water from the well."

"You do?" I ask, surprised for some reason. If I think about it - the way I would catch him looking at me, the bread he baked for us, his covering for my hunting, our events from tonight, even our conversation from a couple of minutes ago - it should have been obvious.

"Yes. I love everything about you," he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I love the way you're so dedicated to taking care of your family. The fact that you learned to hunt just to provide for them. The little habits you have when you think no one is watching. And," he leans closer into me, dropping his voice a couple of octaves and grinning playfully, "the fact that you'll let a dirty Yankee like me make love to you no matter how unladylike it may be."

I close my eyes; take three breaths while I turn this over in my mind. "Okay," I say at last, "I'll marry you."

"Really?"

I nod. "But we'll have to go about it the proper way. Tomorrow you have to start courting me like a proper gentleman. You'll have to sit with me with an escort so nobody gets the wrong idea. Or… right idea, I guess."

Peeta laughs.

"What?" I ask.

"You. Planning out our chaste courtship. After what we just did."

I frown. "I'm serious, Peeta. You have no idea how unwelcome either of us will be here if they found out that… that we…"

"Okay, okay," he says, and holds me closer to him. "But you're mine? You'll marry me?"

"Yes," I say, and feel a smile play across my lips. Tomorrow I'll have to go about the unpleasant business of breaking things off with Gale. I think he'll take it okay enough, at first at least. I can only imagine his reaction when he realizes it's a Yankee I've left him for, though. But the truth is that I don't care right now. Only Peeta matters to me tonight, it turns out.

"And this starts tomorrow?"

"Yes," I repeat myself, nodding. "Why?"

He grins mischievously as he leans in to kiss me again. "Because we still have all night to be improper," he says as he gives me another passionate kiss. He stands, scoops me up and carries me to his room where, after another session, we curl against each other under his quilt, me resting my head on his chest as I listen to the steady beating of his heart, enveloped in his warmness.

Note: This story will remain a oneshot. But a multi-chapter follow up will be posted in the near future. Subscribe to my account if you're interested, or you can also check out my Tumblr (linked on my profile) for news.