Hunger Games 1. IKatniss

___Rated Adult for Sexual Situations, and Language._

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_Thank you to my Beta, __Scoutchick104 for her help with this chapter and work all together.  
_

**_Stubborn Love_**

**_Notice: There are Sexual Situations in this chapter. Please Be a Responsible Reader._**

_i. when we were young ,oh, oh, we did enough_

_**KATNISS**_

The sumptuous coloring of dusk had flooded into the dark undertones of night long ago, even before I had made my exit from the Hob. The recent influx of the Peacekeeper force had caused the Hobs crowd to thin, which in part made it that much more difficult to make a profit. I had been thankful when business had picked up earlier on in the week, but it also meant that I wouldn't be able to return home until long after the sun had set. So now I find myself pushing my sore body every step as I trudge through the coal lined paths of the Seam. My legs are heavy with exhaustion and I miss the days when a mile trek through the woods was easily done. I want to curse my aging body, the physical pain feels far beyond the actual number, and the years of struggle begin to weigh on me, especially when my mind is so tired. The source of light is minimal, my body moving more from muscle memory and routine than actual sight. Most of the lamps, positioned at the door frames of the Seam homes, have been extinguished, the price of kerosene reaching new heights each year, an expense that most families in the district see as a luxury next to food and heat used inside the home. I have to find my way by memory and hope that the path is clear, not wanting to injure my sore body further. I breathe a sigh of relief when my eyes fall on the weathered façade of my home; a few shutters are hanging by the nails, something I'll have to repair when I find the time. I have to hold in an aggravated groan when I see that the lamp is still lit above our door. I add it to my list of offenses he's made this week, and I have to remind myself that he's still only a child, but the exhaustion only kindles my temper.

The porch whines underneath my weight as I turn the knob, pushing the door open. I have to hold back a sigh of relief when I'm met with the darkness of the first floor, indicating that he at least remembered to blow out the flames of the kerosene lamps, we tend to use when the electricity goes out in the Seam. I'm careful not to step onto the squeaky board that's directly in front of the door as I step over the threshold bringing the door closed behind me. My eyes land on the sparsely furnished room we use as a living area and dining space alike, I don't entertain much which suites me, as I'm in favor of keeping to myself as much as possible. The lone day that I venture more than between the Hob and my home is on Sunday, our appointed time to have weekly dinners with the Hawthorne's, one of the only traditions I had been willing to carry on after my mother had passed away and Prim began her own life.

My feet lead me to the door adjacent from the kitchen, which mainly consists of a deep, oval sink, an ice box, and a few counters where the wood is beginning to rot from years of use, another project which I'm not looking forward to tending to with my minimal amount of spare time. I assume this action is more out of routine than anything, but I've found on the few times that I decided not to check up on him after I arrived home, I would wake from disturbing nightmares and rush to his room, shaking him like mad to make sure he awoke. When he was younger it would startle him and we would both weep from the intensity of my actions, but as he got older he would hug me tight and pat my back soothingly, tending to me as a parent would. The guilt of those situations never seemed to ebb, when I knew that it was clearly my position to reassure him and not the other way around, his selflessness was just another trait he held that reminded me of his father, which in return caused the guilt to eat away at me once again. It was all a never ending cycle of self hatred and fear that I had lived with since I was eighteen, and as he grew the suffocating terror that he would be taken from me or chose to leave on his own volition seemed to become more of a reality than a fleeting nightmare. The distance to his room is slight as I push the door open to reveal the cramped space that is wide enough to hold only the weathered wardrobe that had been mine as a child and the twin bed that had seen better years. I remember our argument when I had insisted that if the bed was pushed up against the far wall it would enable him to walk more freely through the space but he had of course wanted to place it beneath the window where it would be in the way of the door opening, only because the light shining through into the room was favorable for sketching. I had to stop myself from having an anxiety attack when he had expressed his wishes, because it was yet again another reminder of how similar is to his father, and I dreaded the moment that it would become obvious to everyone else in the district. So when I take in the sight of his right side hanging off of the bed, while his left arm clutches onto the sketch pad pressed against his chest, the quilt having been kicked off to lay at the foot of the mattress I can't deny how much he resembles the man that helped create him.

The moon light creeping into the room lands on his face, accentuating the sharp Seam bone structure he inherited from me before the light shifts to his dark blonde curly hair that is in stark contrast to my straight raven hair, another attribute his father contributed. To my dismay as he ages he resembles the Merchant class more than he does those of the Seam who surround us which only sets him apart even more among all the olive skin when his fair skin tone is evidentially different.

_My James_

His breathing is steady, and I can't stop my sigh of relief that he's still here with me. I've found myself in a routine of watching him sleep ever since he was born; a habit my mother and sister found alarming after the first two months of his life, when I would go without sleep to just sit beside his cradle to make sure his chest was rising efficiently. But then my thoughts always reminisce back to the night that set my life and everyone else's involved with mine on a path that I still find myself traveling down.

_I try to ignore the pain at the small of my back from where I had caught the barbed wire fence when I had crossed back into the district; my mind had been elsewhere as I physically went through the motions. However when I felt the tug and initial tear of my shirt and then the sharp puncture at my skin did I give my full attention to the present. I went on to my usual trade route- first to the Hob followed by my regular Merchant stops. I had been grateful when he hadn't been the one to answer the back door of the bakery and if I was honest with myself there was a part of me that wouldn't have for once cringed if it had been his mother. Thankfully though the baker, his father, answered the door with his normal zeal and bright smile that always seemed to set everyone at ease, even me, who was on a good day awkward and weary in social situations, with few exceptions I didn't venture very far from my family and Gale. Although the nagging reminder of the feel of soft, wet lips against mine adamantly corrected my former thought, that recently there was one individual that had facilitated a place in my heart where I held those I was fond of or even loved. I mentally rolled my eyes at myself as the baker kept his place at the door frame waiting for me to initiate the conversation, something he did I think to not cause me to become overwhelmed. The man had a kindness that he willingly exercised with everyone in the district, Merchant and Seam alike. However there was always something that seemed sad in his eyes when his wife was near, I assumed it was due to the woman's hateful demeanor. It was an open secret in the district that she was normally on some sort of tirade, often yelling out her disappointments, and it wasn't farfetched to assume the origin of the welts and bruises that her sons were seen sporting throughout the years. I clear my throat, as the image of a warm mouth pressed onto mine floods my mind once again._

"_Good afternoon, Mr. Mellark." I hope he can't see the grimace on my face when I hear my voice crack and sounding uneven._

"_Katniss, I've told you many times to call me Luka."_

_I shift the game bag as I nod. "Alright, Mr. Mellark." Commotion behind him catches my attention, it isn't unusual for the back of the bakery to be busy, but for some reason this doesn't seem to be normal bustle that I'm used to witnessing. Mr. Mellark's broad shoulders hide most of the scene from me but I can still see glimpses of blond hair rushing around, and Mrs. Mellark's booming voice echoing orders off the steel ovens. "Is everything alright?"_

_Mr. Mellark brushes my concern off. "Oh, you shouldn't worry about any of that." He motions behind him before stepping closer to the threshold bringing the door to close slightly. "Should we get on with business? You no doubt have plenty more to do after fooling with an old man like me."_

_I try to smile, even though I can't help but be curious about the events going on inside. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry." I pull my bag from my shoulder, opening it to reveal to him the haul that I have left from trading a few rabbits to Sae, I peer down into the bag scanning the contents. "I still have some pretty fat squirrels and a rabbit left after trading at the Hob."_

_He slaps his hands together, pleased. "You never do disappoint, Katniss."_

_I curse the blush that floods my cheeks, my embarrassment clear. "I appreciate it, sir."_

_He nods as he reaches out for the few squirrels I hold out for him after rummaging through my game bag. His fingers grasp the tails to hold the animals up inspecting them, until signaling for me to wait for his return as he walks into the kitchen, the commotion from inside floats out onto the back porch where I wait. I think for a brief second I catch the sight of his curly blonde hair and broad back as he stands in front of his mother, while his father closes the door to gather my trade. I don't have to wait long until the door opens once again, the agreed upon loaf of bread in one hand while the other clutches a brown sack. _

_I raise my brow, questioning the parcel before he answers my inquiry. "I wanted to give you something for aging out of the reaping. The spirits know how relieved I was when all my boys were free of that hell, and Peeta was the last one I had to worry about…and you of course." A faint smile crosses his lips as he hands me the loaf and bag. "I still remember you running around with two braids, and James carrying you on his shoulders as he came to trade."_

_The mention of my father nearly makes my grip falter on the baked goods, as I open up the small paper bag the scent of sugar cookies causing my mouth to water. I look back to him a wide smile gracing my lips. "Thank you. Prim will be so excited when I show her, and I appreciate your concern. I am relieved to be free of the reaping but I still have Primrose to worry about and since I'm too old to volunteer for her now, it only makes me worry more."_

_He reaches out to place a hand at my shoulder, reassuringly. "You're a survivor, Katniss. Not many around here can say that about themselves even in the times we live." He withdraws his hand giving me a tight smile as he walks back into the bakery bringing the door closed, leaving me to stand alone._

_His behavior was odd, but I brush it off as I turn to make my way back to the Seam, my hands full of game and baked goods. The cut at my back has stopped bleeding but I can feel where the material has stuck to my skin and I grimace at the appending pain I'll feel when my mother has to inspect it and patch it up._

_I settle back into the sofa, the quilt that we keep draped over the edge has fallen over my shoulders from my movements, and I throw it to the side to land at the arm, as I tuck my legs underneath me. I look out the window seeing that the sun has already set and I hope that my mother and Prim were able to make it to the Olsen's home, before it became too dark. My sister had been excited to tag along since mother had decided that at sixteen, Prim was old enough to take point on a delivery. I had been and still am as proud of her, as though she was my own child. I sigh loudly, as I reach back to trail my fingers over the shallow cut, thankfully mother had deemed it not as dire as I had assumed but it was still painful as she prodded at and brushed over it. My discomfort was apparent and I wasn't afraid to snap at her when a sharp pain had occurred, she only reminded me that I had endured worse and there was always the pain from child birth I would experience someday. I again snapped at her, reminding her I was never bringing a defenseless child into this desperate world, and that having to live through two more years of the reaping while Prim was eligible was enough pain and hell for a lifetime. She only gave me that indiscernible look she always seemed to have ready when the topic of marriage or children was discussed in correlation with my future. I was now eighteen and free of having to be sent to an arena to die, an age where most young women settled down with a beau, who soon along with paperwork from the Justice Building and a toasting, would acquire a husband and within the year give birth to the first of many helpless mouths. I found it ridiculous and beneath anyone with sense to entertain such a thing, a notion that few in the district seemed to agree with. _

_A knock at the door brings me out of my thoughts, with an annoyed sigh I bring my legs out from underneath me, I had been more than comfortable and now I was forced to move. Standing up I stretched slowly trying not to aggravate my back, before I turned towards the door walking bare footed. I hoped it wasn't someone too dearly injured because I wouldn't be any help at all since for the most part I was closer to vomiting than helping when my mother was forced to tend to someone at home. I jerk the door open ready to inform the poor soul that they're damned to suffer a painful death but if they were willing to wait for my mother, on the porch of course, they were welcomed to. It takes my vision time to fall onto his blonde head of hair, the crown shining like a halo from the light cast down by the lit lamp above the door frame. I shift my eyes to his own; a short gasp escaping my lips as I take in the sight of him. The left side of his face is bruised and swollen with one eye nearly shut, while a dozen shallow cuts cover his cheek bones, I can feel my stomach bottom out when I realize that the light is only minimum where he stands and when his face is fully visible the extent of his injuries could be worse. He stands there stationary, his shoulders slumped so that he barely clears my height, which is usually not difficult since the top of my head normally only reaches his chest. _

_I try to keep the alarm out of my voice but I can feel it waver before I even utter a word. "Peeta? What are you doing here? What happened to you?"_

_He brings his hand up to work it through his unruly curls, a nervous habit I've learned to recognize in him, but by the way he winces as he moves his arm up I can decipher even from my limited knowledge of healing that his ribs are injured. "I left my house and I just kept walking." He looks around twisting his upper body which only incites another grimace to wash over his battered features. "I didn't realize I ended up here until I was standing on your porch." _

_I stand to the side opening the door wider, hoping he understands my silent invitation. It takes him a few seconds to act and I don't know if the apprehension is from his injuries or the fact that he doesn't want me to know the severity of his condition. I resist the urge to reach out and help him over the threshold; I want to allow him to at least retain a semblance of dignity. That is; until he's halfway into the house, the light from inside bathing his face that, I see the injuries to his face extensively. Out of instinct, I suppose, my hands go to his wrapping my fingers around his to ease him pass the door, so I can push it shut. I notice that his gait isn't as steady as it normally is and that he's favoring his left side, as I lead him to the back of the couch. He hasn't looked me in the eye since we entered the house, our hands are still clasped, I turn his hands over to inspect his knuckles. There aren't any defense wounds, which only gives a limited supply of options as to how he became hurt. I know for a fact that Peeta can easily defend himself unless he chooses not to, and that only makes me feel as though I want to vomit._

_He hasn't uttered a word and I try to prepare myself for what I'll see when I finally look up to his face to closely inspect the damage. His head is caste down when I finally lift my face towards his, a few scratches are littered at the crown, the flesh there red and irritated, an injury you would expect caused by someone being grabbed by the hair forcibly. I have to stop, the tears already threatening to spill as I remove one of my hands from his to place it on his strong jaw, the skin there inflamed. My fingers brush against a bruise which causes him to wince as I lift his face up. I can't fight the stray tear that falls down my cheek to run over my lips when his eyes meet mine. The lighting from outside had done nothing to prepare me for what I'm now seeing, the extent so much more severe than I could have expected. The swelling of his left eye is alarming, and I can see what appears to be the beginning of a deep bruise at the corner that spans over the bridge of his nose. His good eye is glistening from his unshed tears, as he glances everywhere but at my eyes. I move the hand resting at his jaw over to the side, sliding over the bottom of his lip where a cut is located, the blood has already dried, I watch as his tongue darts out to lick the metallic tasting fluid. I have to stop the shiver from running down my body, it affects me when the tip of his tongue makes contact with the pads of my fingers. I withdraw my hand while pulling my other one from his, where he had gripped onto it tightly. I turn away from him to gather my myself before turning back towards him, working my sweaty hands down the sides of my shirt. He's still looking at me when I resume eye contact with him and I can't stop the rapid pace of my own heart beat._

_I brush back the few strands that have escaped my braid, his eyes are locked on my action and I again feel the urge to shiver. "My mother and sister are out right now, they had to assist in a delivery but you can wait if you've like. I'm sure it's discouraging to come to the healer's home and find she isn't here."_

_Peeta clears his throat, his voice coming out smaller than I'm used to hearing it. "I didn't come here for a healer, Katniss." He gives off an attempt at a laugh but it only comes out as a choked sob. "I came here for you, because at the time it was the only place I wanted to be. Being near you felt right, it's the only time everything feels natural."_

_I push my hair behind my ear, because apparently I have the same nervous habit. "Because we're friends."_

_His eyes shift back to mine and I suddenly feel far too warm. "We aren't just friends, Katniss. You and I both know that, and just because we've haven't been that physical with each other doesn't change anything."_

_My hands all of a sudden feel idle and I flex my fingers at my sides to stop them from reaching out to him. "Peeta it was only a simple kiss."_

_He shakes his head slowly, causing his bangs to wisp across his forehead. "There was nothing simple about it. Maybe I didn't kiss you like they do at the slag heap where it's all tongue and roaming hands. But I know that I've never felt more alive than when my lips were chastely pressed to yours. You gave me a feeling of contentment that I've never experienced before, Katniss."_

_I can feel my anxiety rise and all I can hear is my heart beat thrumming on my ear drums. "Peeta this is all too much for me." I turn from him to walk over to where my mother left the water basin and spare cloths when she had inspected my cut from before. "I can only deal with simple in my life and you don't fall into that category, at all." _

_I attempt to busy myself with the items when I feel the weight of his hand at my shoulder; the contact does nothing to quell my rapid pulse. I can feel my balance going slightly off kilter when his hand travels from my shoulder down to the small of my back sending a warm tingle on the way. The pads of his fingers press into my cut and I wince, Peeta pulls his hand back before he lifts up the hem of my shirt to inspect the source of pain. To his credit, he seems more concerned with my scratch than he does with his own injuries._

"_What happened to you, Katniss?"_

_I turn into his side, as I reach down to push his hand away but not before he has the opportunity to trace over the cut causing a wave of shivers to trail down below my stomach. I keep my hand at his wrist, as I look up into his face. "I don't think I'm the one that we should worry about right now." I pull him down onto the sofa, I'm mindful of his injuries, as he winces when he finally settles into the worn cushions. "We need to clean this all up for you."_

_I slip one of the clean cloths into the cool water, soaking the tip of the material before bringing it up to the bottom of his lip where I had smoothed over earlier. He watches me intently while I try to avoid his eyes, the warmth that had been at my stomach has already traveled down between my thighs. I shift my position slightly, but he only takes this as an invitation to scoot into my space further. I use my free hand to trail my fingers over the bruising, and I intentionally look away from the swelled flesh of his eye._

_He clears his throat, until he speaks. "Aren't you going to ask me again about what happened to me? I know you were inspecting my knuckles to see if I had fought back which I naturally would have if another man had attacked me."_

_I begin to respond until he continues. "I know you better than you think, Katniss. And I'm sure it probably irritates you beyond reason too."_

_I pull the cloth from his mouth, setting my hands in my lap. "Was it a man?"_

_He tilts his head to the side attempting to gain eye contact again. "I don't think I need to tell you no? Do I?" I can feel his hand at my cheek, pulling my face towards his. "See you know me too."_

"_Why would she do this to you?"_

_Peeta began to stroke my cheek and I couldn't help myself from leaning into his touch. "I wouldn't go along with her plans. She had gotten it into her deranged mind that I would willingly go along with an arranged marriage she had set up with the blacksmith's daughter."_

_I can't help the scoff from escaping from my lips. "You mean that big, burly, girl that looks more like an exact replica of her father?"_

_He laughed low, but it only caused his ribs to throb once more." That would be the one."_

_My hands move to his ribs, trailing the material of his shirt lightly. "I think your ribs are injured. Does it hurt to breathe?"_

"_Every time I'm around you."_

_I can't stop my eye roll. "I'm being serious, Peeta."_

_I keep my hands at his sides as I look up into his eyes. He has a serious expression, the mirth from before is gone. "So was I."_

_I try to ignore his retort. "I know that's she's not a tolerant woman, but why would she go to such extremes?"_

"_She was desperate for the small dowry that the blacksmith had saved up over the years."_

_I nod my head as his father's behavior and the commotion in the bakery from before suddenly makes sense. "So, that was why everyone was more than crazed this afternoon?"_

_Peeta raises an eyebrow. "You were there earlier?"_

"_Yeah. To trade. Your father would barely leave the door open enough for me to see into the kitchen."_

_He continues to trace my cheek, the movement there lulling me into a relaxed state. "My mother had earlier gone into a fit of hers over how much time I had been spending with you after the reaping had passed. I think my father was in part trying to keep her calm and also attempting to protect you in his own feeble way. I love him but he never did have enough strength, emotionally or mentally to stand up to her."_

_I motion to his injuries with a nod of my head. "Is that how this got so carried away?"_

_Peeta nodded. "Among many reasons. But I think it's clear to her how I feel about you, and when I up and refused to marry Beatrice Burns, in front of her family and mine it was the last straw for her in a long string of disappointments. I think it just opened the flood gates. My brothers had to eventually pull her off, thankfully she only got a few shots in with the rolling pin." I think he can see the concern in my face because he continues. "It's looks worse than it really is, I promise."_

_I snort sharply. "Really? Because it looks like hell, Peeta."_

_He shifts his body to face mine as he places his other hand at my cheek so that he's now framing my face. "I don't want you to worry about any of that."_

_Before I can argue, his lips crash against mine and I can already faintly taste the blood that hadn't been wiped clean from his lip. I try to be gentle knowing that any physical contact could injure him worse but the light touches to my face only seem to spurn me on. It becomes apparent that this kiss is different than the one we shared before, that had been measured and controlled, a contrast to the one we now shared with its passion and desperation. I'm so lost in the sensations that his lips on mine cause to occur between my thighs that I almost missed the moment that Peeta bucked his hips into mine, which only caused the warmth on my skin to increase. I return the action which seems to encourage him as he runs his tongue over my lips asking for permission, I moan in return while opening my mouth to him. He presses his tongue against mine and I can't stop the tremors rising up through my body. I've never felt more out of control and in a normal situation this would trouble me, but having Peeta's hands work their way into the strands forming my braid I can't help but feel content. His touches are soft but I can feel him increasing the pressure and I haven't missed the fact that he shifts his hips more than once as the seam of his pants become tighter with each stroke of my fingers and tongue._

_He's the first one to pull back, the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing, the blue of his uninjured eye is darker than I've ever seen it and I can't quite read the emotion pooled there. "Katniss, I think we should stop." His fingers have now freed my thick hair from its plait and I can feel him tug and curl the strands around his fingers. "It's the rational and responsible thing to do."_

_I trail my fingers down his jaw line and past his neck where I can feel his pulse point pounding to rest my fingers at the top buttons of his shirt. "You're right. Continuing would only lead to something we wouldn't be able to undo."_

_I glance up to see Peeta close his eyes as the edge of my nail lightly scratches at the expanse of skin that isn't covered by his clothing. He clears his throat before opening his eye. "I want nothing more than to be with you in that way. Hell, I've thinking about it for years now, but I don't want you to make such a serious decision because of how I look now."_

_I stop my movement and I can hear him whimper in protest. "Do you really think I would have sex with you out of pity?"_

_He removes his hands from my hair to grasp mine that rest at his chest. "No. I just wouldn't want you to regret something that would mean everything to me."_

_I nod before shifting my body until I've risen off of the sofa to straddle his lap, I'm careful to be gentle around his ribs as I settle into him. I can feel his erection press into the center of my pants as a deep moan escapes both of our lips. His hold on my hands wavers a bit as I shift my hips towards him reveling in the sensation of his need against my center, even with the barrier of clothing, the pressure sends an overwhelming warmth to my core. I close my eyes to gain my composure, until I begin working the buttons of his shirt while I look up into his face, his uninjured eye watching me closely. With every inch of skin revealed I can feel my pulse increase as I trail my fingertips down to his waist where the last button lies. Peeta hasn't uttered a word, instead he's continued to keep his eyes on mine, and I can only imagine the expression on my face as I marvel at the taunt, muscular expanse of his chest and waist. When the shirt is completely open, I begin to push the material to the sides allowing myself a better view of his upper body. I make it halfway to his shoulders before he takes over, pressing into my chest to sit forward as he slips the shirt free of his body, discarding it to the floor. My roaming vision falls on the area at his ribs where a deep bruise has already formed as I ghost my fingers over the coloring that mares his fair skin. He takes a sharp breath which causes me to pull my hand back quickly, fearing that I had injured him further, but he only reaches for my hand to place it back._

"_I didn't do that because you hurt me." I tear my eyes away from his broad chest to look up into his face; a smirk now graces his full lips. "It was quite the opposite. I liked how you were touching me. I like when you touch me, Katniss." I can already feel the deep blush forming at my cheeks and I fight the urge to duck my head. I'm too involved in my own head so I almost miss the moment when he speaks to me again. "Can I touch you?"_

_I swallow hard before nodding, and I can feel the muscles at his torso tighten at my answer. His hands are hesitant at first when he reaches the hem of my shirt but after a few seconds he slips his fingers underneath the material to circle the skin around my belly button. I flinch, from both the sensation of being tickled and the eroticism of something so simple, but the tremors only increase when his hands reach the bottom of my cotton bra. I can feel his hands still and I know he's debating whether to continue, it's all very overwhelming and neither of us are clearly that experienced. I curl my fingers into his sides, lightly scratching the skin there, an action I've noticed he enjoys, my hunch is proved correct when he moans softly as his hands move over my breasts, the pads of his thumbs brushing over my already pebbled nipples. I now release my own string of moans and this only seems to spurn him on as he palms both of my breasts, and I push him back against the couch, my hands still at his sides. Before he can react, I press my mouth to his forcibly, ignoring my previous decision to take it slow. My own want and drive are now controlling me and all I can concentrate on is how he takes my bottom lip between his teeth before sliding his tongue against it asking for entry. I'm more than willing to allow his access, and for a few minutes were joined in a flurry of roaming hands and deep moans that vibrate off of the walls. I can already feel how wet I am, my arousal has never been this out of control, even on the occasions that I tended to my own carnal pleasure. Peeta's fingers tuck into the cups of my bra to gain better access to my breasts and it's then that I have to make the decision of how far this entire situation will go. _

_When I push off of him, I can sense the tension in his fingers as he reaches for me until I am standing directly in front of him. I watch his face intently as a wave if emotions wash over his battered but handsome face; lust, confusion, anger, and surprisingly enough love. Here he is sitting in front of me, his arousal clear as he expects to be denied, and still he cares for me. I wanted to assure him that I only stood up so that I could remove the offending clothing, but as always I preferred to act than use words. Peeta shifts his eyes from me as he searches for his shirt preparing to bend down to retrieve it but I move my hands to the button of my pants, and the sound of my zipper lowering catches his attention causing his movements to cease. Everything seems to slow down, and it's as though I can feel every fiber of my being heating up as his vision lands on the lower half of my body as I push my pants along with my panties down the rest of the way, kicking them off and to the side. It isn't until I remember that the hem of my shirt stops exactly at my waist line, that a deep blush sets in over my entire body. I shift my footing as Peeta's attention is on my most private place, and I can only imagine that he can see the evidence of my own arousal. My thighs are already slick and the friction of my movements are only making me more turned on._

_I watch him sit back up his hands going to the button of his slacks with his zipper following until the waist line has been pushed past his bottom; now only his thin boxer shorts are between my eyes and gazing upon his length. The material is tented and it only makes me more bold, I'm surprised by my behavior so far, and I find myself enjoying the freedom of it all, the decision to give in to my wants._

_I step forward gaining some of the confidence I had before pulling away from him, my hand reaches into the slit of his boxers, the pads of my fingers finding his erection and pulling it free. He feels full in my hand and the girth makes me moan, with only a bit of apprehension settling down into my stomach. Peeta places his hands at my hips as I prepare to straddle him and ultimately sheath him within my walls. Our movements are awkward at first as I bump my knees against his as I straddle him; Peeta still has his hands at my hips as he helps me hover over his erection. I can feel the heat from him, and I'm ready to sink onto him, to feel our bodies joined. _

_Peeta keeps us apart as he searches my face until speaking. "Katniss, are you sure?"_

_I lean forward to kiss him softly on the lips as I lower myself onto him, everything is a barrage of sensations until an over powering sense of pain hits me. I cry out sharply, and I can hear Peeta gasp, his hips pulling back, but I move my hands to his shoulders to still his movements._

"_It's normal for it to be painful the first time, Peeta."_

_He shakes his head while he's filling me to the hilt. "I should have thought about that."_

_My lips are still against his and I swipe my tongue over the cut on his lip eliciting a deep moan. "I want us to be like this. Please just stop worrying about everything else and just feel it all with me."_

_Peeta answers by pressing his mouth to mine fully, his hips bucking into mine until he begins to rise me up and then to follow by pressing our hips flush against the others. It isn't long until the pain has ebbed barely, my full attention on the feel of him inside of me. It suddenly registers that my shirt is still on and I move my hands to the hem but Peeta stops his movements as he shakes his head._

"_Katniss, I don't think I'm going to last as it is and if I see your breasts I may go off right here."_

_I let out a laugh which morphs into a deep moan as he presses me down onto him again. Our ministrations turn frenzied and rough, and I find myself desperate to be closer to him, wanting to give him all of me. I can sense that he's close by the way he throws his head back onto the back of the couch, strangled breathing escapes his lips and I too am breathing erractically. It isn't long though until I can feel him seize inside of me, and a deep moan that is twice the volume as any of the one we've expressed so far, vibrates the space around us. When he's finally recovered he raises his face back towards mine, searching my face until his eye widens._

"_You didn't… you weren't able to-" I place my fingers at his lips to stop him from speaking._

"_You'll just have to make it up to me next time."_

_He raises his brow. "Next time?"_

_I smile softly before leaning forward to kiss his swollen eye, and then the bruises and cuts that litter his handsome face. I utter a sorry to each injury, as his arms circle me in a tight embrace while he's still inside of me and I've never felt more content in my life._

I'm forced out of my thoughts when out of the corner of my eye I see him begin to stir. He kicks the remainder of the quilt further down the bed, freeing his legs; however the act causes his sketch pad to fall down onto the ground. His eyes shoot open as he heard the thump of the book of paper hit the floor boards. I continue to lean against the door frame waiting for my son to be alerted to my presence, as he slowly rolls onto his side to reach down for the pad. His free hand works through his hair, a nervous habit he's inherited from both Peeta and I, when he finally sees me watching him he jumps up, his eyes startled.

James tosses the sketch pad onto the bed; it hits the wall with a soft thud. He swings his legs over the edge to sit up; his back hunched as he narrows his eyes in my direction."Mom, you know it really freaks me out when you watch me sleep."

I fold my arms over my chest, opting to ignore his previous comment. "Rabbit, we still need to discuss what happened."

James rolls his eyes at me. "Can you not call me that?" his voice comes out as a whine, a tone I only hear from him when he's attempting to get out of an obligation or annoyed with my nick name for him. "Hawthorne gives me shit about it every time he finds one in the snare line."

I sigh before walking into his room to sit on his bed alongside him. "I don't care, James." I try to prepare myself for the appending argument, or should I say the continuation of the one we were having earlier in the day when he had mentioned what he had done. "Taking out tesserae and then giving it to someone else to use is stealing in the eyes of the Capitol. It's an act punishable by death. Do you think I want to see my only son shot to death?"

James lets out a low laugh that only seems to annoy me. "What do you describe what I do when I go hunting beyond the fence? Isn't that seen as stealing?"

I place my hands over my face attempting to calm myself down but I can't stop my temper from controlling me. "That's in order to survive!"

"So was me taking out the tesserae."

I shake my head willing the tears not to fall in his presence. "I don't know how to get through to you that throwing yourself in danger for someone else isn't the way to live your life."

James keeps his tone steady as he turns towards me. "And what is mom?"

I push myself off of his bed walking towards the door and bringing it closed behind me. "Go back to sleep, Rabbit."

His response is quiet and I can hardly hear it over my own pulse."Night, mom."

* * *

_A/N: This is one of the numerous new works I'm currently working on. Please let me know what you all think. And as always...**PLEASE REVIEW**._


	2. IIJamesIIIKatniss

_HOLY SHIT! I am so blown away by the response this story has gotten and with one chapter no less. It just proves how special this fandom is and how unbelievably awesome Everlark shippers are. I love you all and our strange fangirl makeshift family. All of the reviews, follows, and favorites make me so happy and smile when at times I debate to stop writing all together. So again, thank you all._

_I am such a dork for not saying how old James is, it is told in this chapter, but to just let you know he is sixteen._

_And because I'm a super!geek, I have picked the faces for James and Amelia (who you will meet in this chapter). And for those of you who also enjoy Teen Wolf you'll know who they are right off,lol._

**_Daniel Sharman as James Everdeen (Mellark)_**

**_Gage Golightly as Amelia Bowman_**

_As always thank you to my Beta and number one fangirl __Scoutchick104.  
_

_I can be reached on tumblr under the username: stacylk._

**_Notice: There are Violent Situations in this chapter. Please Be a Responsible Reader._**

Chapter Two

_ii. when it got cold, ooh, ooh, we bundled up_

_**JAMES**_

The halls are more crowded with my fellow sixteen year olds, than I would have preferred, mostly because it seems that my presence doesn't seem to quell the gossip but only fuel it; even after all these years I'm still the topic of most rumors. I try to keep as invisible as possible as I weave through the bustle of the upper school, walking close to the walls lined with faded murals depicting Capitol propaganda. It's a sight I should be used to by now but it never fails to turn my stomach, settling down in my gut to simmer into a rage that I have to vent or else I feel as though I'll explode. The weekly hunting excursions that Garrett and I take beyond the fence are a convenient time to blow off any steam, and more times than most my best friend has more of an opinion on the topic than I do. Which; if I'm honest is to be expected seeing how Mr. Hawthorne has always been vocal about his dislike towards the Capitol and his children share the same disgust. Over the years he and I have had our discussions over the mistreatment of the districts and the enforcement of the treaty that allows the Capitol to force our children into arenas. It's a time I look forward to, seeing how my mother refuses any discussion resembling rebellion to take place in our home. I don't mistake her refusal for any loyalty towards the Capitol, but for fear of our safety and the lengths the Capitol would go to prevent the events of the Dark Days reoccurring, other than The Hunger Games.

I push off of the wall when there's a lull amongst the body of people, and begin to walk down the center of the hall, passing the Applied Sciences classrooms, courses that in reality are nothing but a precursor to a life spent down in the mines. I try to fight the shiver that runs down my back when I think that in only a few years that'll be my fate and I know how much sleep my mother looses over that inevitability. My pulse has begun to race at the mere thought of it and I attempt to calm my nerves, sweat already forming at my temple. When I round the corner I pass a wall of windows that looks out into the courtyard that exists between the first and upper school. I stop in front of the glass to inspect my appearance, as I reach into my head of disheveled curls. My attempts only cause the ash blonde strands to become messier and I exhale in annoyance, my hair has always been an irritation; the appearance of it being in stark contrast to others from the Seam. The steely grey of my eyes catch my attention, as I see the flecks of blue littered there. And it isn't long till I'm studying the rest of my features from my strong jaw line to my broad shoulders, characteristics that I share with the Merchant Class instead of the Seam ; its residents the only family I've ever known. I've lost many hours staring at myself in the mirror, trying to decide what features I inherited from my mother, so I could accurately find what had came from my father. I'm constantly searching for something, an answer to a question possibly, but there are times that the search resembles the need to belong more than anything.

Suddenly, my body collides into the glass and I hold my hands out to brace myself when I feel a strong hand at my shoulder, pulling me back into a standing position. Before I can utter a curse I notice the smirk on my best friend's face as he playfully brushes my shoulders off with an exaggerated wave of his hand. I push him off which only earns me a string of laughter, that shakes his lanky form, causing him to hunch over.

I reach down to the hem of my plain button up pulling the fabric down. "Damn Hawthorne! You know I hate it when you do that shit."

Garrett runs a hand through his dark hair as he attempts to steady his breathing. "You… you are too easy."

I roll my eyes trying to fight my own smile as I continue down the hall leaving him behind me until he catches up, now walking at my side. "Why am I even friends with you?"

Garrett scratches the scruff at his jaw feigning deep thought, before snapping his fingers. "Because: no one else will?"

I nudge him playfully in the ribs as I nod. "Damn right."

"I'm a special breed of asshole that only, James Everdeen can handle."

A throaty laugh escapes my mouth and I can't stop the wide grin from forming. "I suppose I should be honored?"

Garrett laughs before his face becomes solemn. "Did your mom absolutely freak out about the tesserae?"

I turn to him in mid-step, raising a brow. "What do you think?"

Garrett nods, side stepping past a group of Merchant girls who giggle as he passes. I glance back at them but their attention is fully on him and he doesn't seem to pay them the least amount of mind. Garrett's fairly transparent about his feeling toward the Merchant class, but that hasn't stopped him from taking a few of them out to the slag heap and in doing so has earned himself quite the reputation. I myself on the other hand couldn't be farther off their radar even if I ran through the district completely naked. They continue to giggle and brush their blonde hair behind their ears as we round the corner out of sight and I release the breath I was holding, even after all these years I still feel nervous around the Merchant class, especially the girls, and one is particular.

Garrett is still oblivious as we continue down the hall. "How pissed off was she?"

I work my hand through my hair as my other holds onto the few worn textbooks I was issued. "Let me just put it this way, she was quiet most of the time." I stare off for a few seconds before continuing. "I don't know, man. I think I broke her heart."

"And I'm the fucking jerk that accepted it." I can hear the doubt in his voice, his usually bravado is gone and it worries me that he's beginning to blame himself for my rash decision. I look over to my best friend, who in reality is more like a brother, his shoulders are hunched over and the vulnerability he's exhibiting is a far cry from his usual cocky demeanor. Garrett isn't one to show weakness and I know how self conscious he can be about his health, something that only a chosen few in the district are aware of. We were just twelve, when we had begun to take over the hunting and gathering duties for our parents. My mother had her work at the Hob, taking care of the stall that she shared with Greasy Sae, and Mr. Hawthorne had to take on double shifts at the mines. It had been something we had both waited for since we were five, and we marveled at the freedom that the space beyond the fence held.

It was only a few months later ,when after inspecting a snare line Garrett had collapsed, I at first rolled my eyes at his attempt to tease and irritate me, something he found mirth in most of the time. However, after a few seconds of watching , his body became still and I threw my bow and quiver down, running over to him. The sharp rocks that littered the ground dug into my knees as I rolled him over onto his back, I gasped as I saw how blue his lips had become, and I knew I needed to act. At twelve I hadn't yet grown into my broad shoulders and most of my baby fat was still present, but Garrett was taller by more than a few inches and he had already begun to grow into his features. So acting primarily on instinct I grabbed hold of his shoulder and hoisted him onto one of my mine and made the mile hike to where the fence was.

After my grandmother and aunt, the district's healers had leveled out his breathing, it was discovered that he had a heart defect, something they called a murmur, that could be treatable with herbs, so Garrett wouldn't lose any of his strength or activeness. Even at twelve the reality that the Hunger Games now loomed in our future didn't escape me, or the fact that even though Garrett could continue hunting, his heart may not be able to handle the stress that comes from participating in an arena death match. So as the years passed and we were spared as tributes, I breathed in relief, but recently when his father could no longer pull double shifts at the mines, the Hawthorne's were in desperate need of the extra grain and I didn't need to think twice to act.

My mind comes back to the present as I wave him off trying to ease his mind. "Don't worry about it. Besides we can't change it now."

Garrett exhales slowly. "You're right. I just want you to know-"

I hold my hand up cutting him off. "Hawthorne, gratitude doesn't fit into your personality. So let's just let it be."

Garrett laughs as he glances at me. "We're a pair aren't we? The boy with the crap heart and the one without a proper name."

I roll my eyes. "You know I hate those bastard jokes, and anyway aren't you more comfortable with being an ass than being funny?"

He shakes his head before punching me in the arm, causing me to lose my balance. I can hear the footsteps behind me but I can't find my footing before I fall back into something, or specifically someone. I'm about to apologize my hands landing at the nearest wall, when I turn around and find her hazel eyes. The rims are red and swollen from what I can assume is an irritant, but when my eyes travel down to her cheeks and I see the tear tracks, I know she's been crying over something. I feel frozen in place as I marvel at how beautiful she is even in her distressed state. A few strands of her dirty blonde hair have escaped the usual bun that sits at the nape of her neck, and I fight the urge to brush the hair away. I'm not sure how long we've been watching the other, but a loud cough behind me breaks our gaze as I glance over my shoulder to see Garrett eyeing me warily. I roll my eyes at him before turning my attention back to the girl in front of me, the one with the hazel eyes and blonde hair that sets off her fair skin, especially when the sun light shines off of the strands. She's the girl with a light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose, freckles that I want to gently kiss each time I see her. I'm now looking into the eyes of Amelia Bowman, Merchant girl and Mayor's daughter that I've been in love with since I was six years old.

I can't seem to find my voice and instead of speaking like a normal human being I give her a crooked smile and run my hand through my hair, the curls tangling in my fingers. Her eyes flit up to my hand and I try to seem calm and collected but my fingers become caught and I have to pull my hand free. I want to kick myself for acting like such a damn fool in front of the girl I adore, but then I have to remind myself that there's a reason she's walking on the side of the school where you usually only see Seam kids. Why she's not surrounded by any other Merchant girls, the usual suspects that I see hanging around her, and why her face is flushed and her eyes swollen. I finally feel as though I can speak when Amelia gives me a weak smile and walks around me, my eyes follow her until her petite form rounds the corner.

Garrett steps in front of me, his eyes serious. "You need to forget about that one." I raise a brow trying to feign ignorance, but he's not convinced as he shakes his head. "I see the way you've always watched her, hell Maizie piss whines about it every damn time she catches you ogling the Merchant girl."

I furrow my brow, genuinely surprised now. "I don't ogle and why would your sister care about who I supposedly watch?"

Garrett lets out a low laugh. "Come on, you have to know how long she's had that annoying crush on you."

I shake my head trying to clear it. "Alright, but other than Maizie's …affection. What makes Amelia Bowman so off limits?"

Garrett actually snorts before he replies. "You mean other than the fact that she's a Merchant? And let's not forget the mayor's daughter or that they're wealthier than anyone else in the district."

I hold my hand up quickly, pointing at him. "Don't give me that, you've boasted more than once about having your hand under plenty of Merchant girl's skirts."

"Yeah, but I don't look at them like I have real feelings for them like you do with this girl." I begin to open my mouth to speak, to argue his very real accusation but he cuts me off. "And if you even did have a chance with her, you wouldn't want to try."

I'm more than dumbfounded at what he's insinuating. "What are you talking about?"

I watch Garrett scratch the side of his face, the lines at his brow worried. "You really haven't listened to what people are saying today? Have you?"

I lean my head back exhaling dramatically, before facing him again. "Hawthorne, you know that I of all people don't listen to that shit."

I can see the apprehension on his face and I try to prepare myself for whatever he's about to say next. "Some of the Merchant guys were talking, and not just them but most of the upper school." He shifts his eyes to the side before giving me his full attention once more. "It's going around that your dream girl had sex with Mitchell Donovan and a couple of his friends at the same time, and I don't have to tell you how scandalous that is for anyone but especially a Merchant."

I narrow my eyes. "And you believe what they're saying?"

Garrett nods his head and I suddenly feel angry. "It gets to the point where you can't help but believe it."

"Says the guy who's never had anything spread around about him, but I have and it's pretty shitty to have people think about you like you're just a piece of gossip."

"Why are you getting so worked up over this? You don't even know this girl."

I try to seem indifferent but I can't stop the fury that's welling up in my gut. Instead of responding I decide I need to gain as much distance as I can as I step around Garrett heading down the hall towards my next class. I can hear him yelling at me to stop but I don't slow my pace till I'm at the door and the bell rings above my head signifying my tardiness. I groan as I push the door open dreading the lecture I'm sure to get from Mr. Wilford.

I spot him at the board scratching the white chalk over the surface, his comb over slipping over his forehead each time his neck cranes up, and I have to fight the urge to snicker as he pushes the hair back for the second time since I've walked into the room. The noise level is still high since he hasn't instructed the class to quiet down in his usual nasally voice, which earns him more than one mocking glance each time he speaks. I look up to the chalk board reading the same phrase I see each time I step into the room; History of Panem, I roll my eyes at the name since it's safe to assume that most of the curriculum is bullshit propaganda. I turn into the row of desks that lead to the one in the back I usually occupy, but my boots decide to squeak when I'm directly behind the surly man and I can see his shoulders tense, I'm not exactly one of his favorite people.

He keeps facing the board as he speaks, the nasal tone causing me to slightly cringe. "Mr. Everdeen; how pleasant of you to join us."

I grit my teeth as I keep my place. "Oh, the pleasure is all, mine sir." I don't wait for him to respond as I walk down the row, occasionally waiting for someone to lean back into their seat as they conduct their discussions while nearly hanging out of their desks and into the walk way.

The chatter seems to be heightened more than usual and I just attribute it to the last official school day before the reaping comes along in a few short weeks. Everyone always comes across more intense before the start of The Hunger Games, and I suppose the unknown of it all can set anyone on edge, well that and the impending death of two children from our district. I finally make it to my seat, setting my books down as I slip my sketch book free, flipping to a blank page; I pull the pencil I had placed between the pages and begin to draw. It always seems to calm me, and seeing as I'm still agitated from my talk with Garrett I need to relax. Pushing the lead over the thick paper is already making me feel more like myself again when I hear the door close over the noise of the room and then everything goes silent, eerily so.

I look up to where I notice everyone else's eyes are trained and I see her standing there, her books clutched to her chest, her arms shaking. From where I sit I can see that her face is even more flushed than it was in the hall, if that's possible, and I fight the urge to walk over to her. She looks so frightened and a bit broken, so unlike the lively girl I'm used to seeing. And then as quickly as the chatter had stopped it starts up again, and wails of laughter echo through the room, primarily from the group of Merchant boys at the front. I crane my neck to see the ring leader in the middle, and it doesn't surprise me when I notice Mitchell's short blonde hair, he's motioning something with his hands, but I can't quite see what he's doing, although it does earn a louder round of laughter from his friends. Amelia's eyes fill with tears once more before she turns to run out of the room and the room explodes with laughter again, until finally Mr. Wilford attempts to quiet everyone down. I don't pay attention when he begins to talk laying out the same lesson plan that we learn every day, instead I keep my eyes trained on the spot where she had been standing. I keep replaying the expression on her face, it was utterly defeated, and I feel a fury towards the ones terrorizing her, but more so I'm angry at myself for not standing up for or at least going to comfort her. My grip tightens on the pencil in my hand and the lead snaps when I press down too hard causing it to break.

The rest of the day goes by without anything noteworthy occurring, and I'm at least a bit thankful for the routine. However, I can't stop my concern over Amelia invading my mind, as I search for her in the crowds of people throughout the day. I haven't seen Garrett since our disagreement either, and I'm almost dreading the moment when I'll have to apologize for over reacting, he can be blunt at times and it's been known to irritate me but I suppose he was only trying to look out for me. A cool breeze picks up as I sit at one of the outside tables located in the courtyard, the ends of the pages of my sketchbook lift up a bit and I hold the book down as I work on the drawing I had started this morning. The dark pencil mark from when I had broken the point is barely noticeable now, but I can still see it and I wonder why I keep searching it out. A shadow settles over the page and I look up to see Garrett standing in front of the bench watching me closely.

A tight smile forms at his mouth. "So I'm thinking I was being a complete asshole earlier."

I shake my head, as I close the book. "You know that you and thinking is never a good combination." He lets out a loud laugh as he sits down across from me. "I was a jerk too. You were right though. I don't know her, and the likelihood of her noticing me is slim. I mean I'm a bastard from the Seam, I'm my own cautionary tale."

Garrett leaned over to push at my shoulder before sitting back. "It pisses me off when you talk about yourself like that."

I'm about to respond when I see Amelia cross in front of our table, and for a split second her eyes connect with mine and everything slows down, the gold flecks of her hazel eyes are glowing from her crying and I think I hear myself gasp from how beautiful she truly is, but all I can hear is my pulse thrumming in my ears. Her thick blonde hair is completely free from its bun and it runs down her back in waves, and I'm absolutely stuck in the moment of watching her movements and then as fast as it slowed down time seems to wind forward and everything returns to normal speed. And in an excruciating act she tears her eyes from mine to walk across the courtyard towards the Merchant Square. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Garrett watch me warily and I know he's still worried about my affection towards Amelia.

I'm still looking in the direction of where she disappeared around the corner when I hear footsteps approaching and by the smell of cheap cologne I don't have to turn around to be positive that a group of Merchant boys are standing behind me. My back tenses up when I hear their movements behind me and I can see Garrett's hands curl into fists on top of the table. He's glaring up above my head but I stare at him until he looks at me and I shake my head slightly. There's Peacekeepers walking by and I don't want him to get punished for coming to my rescue, we've manage to stay out of any real trouble so far and we don't need any attention since we're known poachers.

I'm trying to keep calm when Mitchell sits down beside me, his legs straddling the bench. "I saw you watching the Bowman girl, and I think I should let you know that she's not as much as fun as she looks." I close my eyes trying to remain calm but I can feel him lean forward. "But I guess a bastard like you will take any pussy he can get, even the tight little bitches that can barely keep a guy hard."

He begins to laugh, his friends joining in and it's then that I see red. I'm barely aware of what I'm doing when I turn towards him to grab a hold of his neck, my nails digging into the skin there as I slam the side of his face into the table. The wood shakes from the action and in a second we've both tumbled onto the ground in a flurry of punches. I'm able to gain the upper hand, my fist connecting with his jaw more than once before his friends pull me off of him and try to deliver their own damage. Only one shot is sent to my ribs, as I bend over in pain before Garrett is throwing one of the guys to the ground. Mitchell is still writhing on the ground holding his face as I head butt the Merchant boy that still has a hold of me. I'm about to punish Mitchell further when Garrett shakes me trying to gain my attention. I look over to where he's motioning, a couple of Peacekeepers are walking our way and Garrett quickly gathers our books, pulling me towards the opposite end of the courtyard. I try to fight him off but he tells me to be quiet leading me to the Merchant Square. My lips burn and I can taste the blood from my split lip on my tongue. I'm assuming he's taking me to my Aunt Prim, the district's healer, and I dread her questions but even more I fear the disappointment I'm eventually going to see in my Mother's eyes.

* * *

_iii.i can't be told, ah, ah, it can't be done._

_**KATNISS**_

A gust of coal dust hangs in the air as my feet kick up the dirt while I run the short distance between the Hob and my sister's home, where she has her business as a healer set up. I know that I may seem like a wild woman to the people that I pass on the dirt road, but my mind is racing over all of the possibilities as to why my son is in need of a healer, and all the scenarios lean towards the dire. I try to push myself to go faster but my physical capabilities are nowhere near what I wished them to be in this moment. My anxiety hadn't lessened but only increased, since Bristol Hawthorne came up to my stall at the Hob and informed me that her son Garrett had to take James to my sister, because he was hurt. She had no real information and I tried not to resent her for her ignorance as I ran from behind the counter, barely murmuring an explanation to Sae, before I was pushing through the thick crowds and heading for the door.

As I round the corner to where Prim's home lies at the edge of the Seam, a fortunate location since most Merchants refuse to venture far into our neighborhood even after all these years. It also helps that my sister is the only competent source of medicinal help, since the current apothecary is severely inept. I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot him sitting at the edge of the stairs, his head in his hands as the oldest Hawthorne child stands over him. The crown of his golden curls shine in the sun light and I'm struck with how much he resembles his father, a fact which causes my steps to falter but the speed as to which I run never decreases. I slow down my pace when I'm halfway there, and I push the stray strands that have escaped my braid behind my ears. I'm nearly in front of him until he lifts his head to face me, and I try to hold back a gasp as I kneel down to take his face in my hands. James won't meet my eyes as I inspect his bruised jaw and split lip, the skin is inflamed and a vision of similar injuries belonging to the only other boy I've ever loved flashes in my mind. He's staring over my shoulder and head as I turn his face to each side, further taking in the damage, my tongue clucking with disappointment.

I release his face as I stand up, my hands at my hips, as my worry has now ebbed and I'm on the verge of being furious. I turn to Garrett who averts his eyes from mine, both he and James have their shoulders hunched over, expecting the scolding that I feel entitled to give out.

I place my hands over my face attempting to calm my breathing. "You both can understand my confusion and out right fear when I had to hear from your mother Garrett that my only son was at the healers. She didn't have any more information than that. So please tell me boys, what the hell happened?"

I look to James who now meets my eyes, his expression stoic and unreadable. "Does it even matter now, mother?" I narrow my eyes trying to size him up but he has too much of Peeta embedded into his personality and it's difficult to manipulate him into anything he's not willing to give. However, I can hear Garrett shuffling his feet beside me, clearly nervous, he too is too much like his own father but unlike Peeta, Gale was easy to read, and so now is his son.

I feign a smile as I turn to the dark haired boy, his eyes darting about like a scared child after he's done something wrong. "Garrett, sweetheart what exactly happened?"

Garrett opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly and I can see James sit up from the corner of my eye. He frantically shakes his head as he attempts to mouth speechless words to his friend, but I step into Garrett's line of sight. His eyes widen as I continue to stare him down and I can physically see his resolve crumble.

He gives a heavy sigh. "It was a fight with some Merchant boys." I wave him to continue on as I hear James groan behind me. "One of them was dogging James over the Mayor's daughter, Amelia."

I furrow my brow. "Why would that initiate a fight?"

I can hear James jump up from the stairs, but Garrett keeps eyes contact as a smile spreads over his lips. "James has had a thing for that girl since we were in first school." He looks over my shoulder as his face falls. "You didn't know? Did you?"

James walks around me to stand at Garrett's side. "No, but she does now, thanks, buddy."

I shake my head as Garrett turns to my son, his voice not as low as he would have liked. "Sorry, but your mom scares me." He mutters an apology to me and places a hand on James' shoulder as he turns to walk down the path that leads further into the Seam.

I wait until he's out of ear shot until I step into James' personal space, at sixteen, he already towers over me by a good three inches, something he inherited from his father. However, I don't let the height difference deter me from scolding him as I reach up and poke his split lip.

He steps back, swatting at me as he holds his lips with the other hand. "What was that for?"

I cross my arms over my chest, ignoring his comment. "The Mayor's daughter! Really, James?"

He drops his hands, his expression pinched. "I never thought I'd get the disapproval over the classes mixing speech from you, mom."

I narrow my eyes. "This has nothing to do with that and I would hope you respected me enough to not think of me as so narrow minded." I exhale a breath. "But it does have to do with the risk of you getting into frivolous fights over a girl. Do you want the Peacekeepers to keep a closer on eye on you?" He shifts his eyes over to the side as I step forward. "What we do by hunting outside of the district is dangerous, and even though they're all aware of it, they only allow it to happen because they are also benefitting from it." I can see his shoulders tense and sense that he wants to argue but instead he keeps silent. "What do you think they'll do when they deem you a problem? You have to be careful, James. You need to, rise above all of this teenage foolishness."

James shakes his head, as he scoffs. "So I'm supposed to be the exception, and not interfere even when I should?"

I'm already exasperated, as I throw my arms up in the air. "Yes!"

He turns to me, his normally soft, eyes are hard and I can see the muscle at his jaw ticking, he's obviously upset with me and a part of me doesn't blame him, because I've just asked him to deny his nature and even to me it feels like an act of betrayal. I'm about to speak, because the silence that has fallen between us is so stifling I'm beginning to feel ill, but my words are cut short when I see someone jogging up behind James. I attempt to keep my expression indifferent but a scowl forms over my lips anyway, and I'm once again irritated over the effect, Peeta Mellark has over me.

His golden curls, which he wears shorter now that he's older, are disheveled from the exertion I assume, and he runs his hands through the strands as he approaches us. His eyes lock with mine and I see that they are wide with worry as they shift over to James who isn't yet aware of the older man's presence.

Peeta attempts to steady his gate, but I can that he too has loss the stamina that comes with youth, although he seems to recover sooner than I would have assumed. He slows his pace as he walks over to my side to stand in front of James, causing his posture to relax and I can't stop the tinge of jealousy that runs through my mind.

I'm still frozen, in shock of him showing up unannounced but Peeta has already shifted into a state of confidence as he turns to me, tipping his head in greeting. "Katniss."

I grit my teeth and hope that James cannot read me as well as I presume he can. "Mr. Mellark." I keep my eyes on James, because if I look at Peeta I know that it'll become difficult to quell my temper.

He seems to be unaffected by my cold demeanor, as he turns his attention to James who's taking in our interaction. "I saw the Donovan boy practically crawling to the apothecary's." Peeta gives a light chuckle before he continues. "It serves him right that he would go there since the current apothecary is a hack."

James gives him a genuine smile and I again feel that ping of envy. "I appreciate you coming all this way to check up on me, Mr. Mellark."

I finally turn to Peeta who glances at me before turning back to James. "Yes, it was quite a ways for you to come." My voice is clipped and I can see his shoulders tense, until they resume their previously relaxed state.

Peeta's words wash over my irritation as he addresses James. "I was working the front of the bakery when some customers came in chatting about it."

I open my mouth to give him further grief as he steps forward gently grabbing hold of James face, inspecting his injuries. James is more willing for him to look over his bruises than he was when I was doing so, and I try not to obsess over the reason why.

I hear Peeta give off a low whistle as he releases James' face. "I have to give you credit kid, you seemed to give more punishment than you sustained." He reached up gently touching one of the bruises at James jaw before dropping his hand again. "I would get plenty of bruises when I was wrestling in school, fat lips too. They should heal up nicely, but let Prim take care of those." He leans in to James lowering his voice. "Besides, a few bruises are worth it to make sure that Mitchell Donovan becomes a little less pretty." James gives him a toothy grin as he laughs. "His father was an ass too, I think it's genetic." They both begin to laugh, as I'm left out to watch their bonding from the side lines.

It's all too much for me at once as my temper reaches a boiling point. "I don't see what's so funny here! James you could have been seriously injured!" Both men look to me; as a flush forms at my cheeks, and I know that I'm visibly fuming at this point.

The smile at James' lips falters for a moment. "But I wasn't mom."

I work my hands through the loose strands that had escaped my braid, as I try not to look over to Peeta who I can feel watching me. The tension is palpable, and I nearly feel like crying as the adrenaline has begun to ebb. The opening of the front door is a temporary reprieve as my sister walks onto the porch, her blonde hair is pulled back, but still falls down her back in golden waves.

Her eyes shift between Peeta and I, and I can almost read her thoughts as she gives me a questioning lift of her brow. I shrug as she nods at Peeta. "Well Peeta, what a pleasant surprise."

Peeta does the same, a smile at his lips. "You too, Prim, as always."

The air is heavy and I fight the urge to inhale as the last few minutes of tension threaten to suffocate me. I see Prim eye me with concern before she wipes her hands on the skirt of her dress and waves James on.

Her smile is bright and inviting as ever as she looks to her nephew. "Come on, sweetie. Let's treat that cut."

James nods as he gives me a glance, I reach out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. "I'll be here when you're done, rabbit."

He looks behind his shoulder to Peeta as he walks up the steps to join Prim on the porch, she wraps an arm around him in a partial hug and ushers him in. I wait until the door is shut, leaving both Peeta and I alone, before I turn to him.

I can already feel my muscles tensing in anger as I unleash on him. "What are you doing here? You can't just show up. Peeta people are going to wonder why the bachelor baker was so concerned with the child of an unmarried Seam woman."

Peeta shakes his head as he works his hands through his hair, a habit he does to calm himself down. It's odd that after all these years I still know him better than myself. "And you shouldn't be angry with me when I'm concerned about him." He rubbed at his face harshly. "Besides, I don't care if people do connect it all. You try so hard to keep all of this a secret because you think you're protecting him but all you're doing is more damage. Why?"

I step into him. "He's my son. I'm his mother."

Peeta's eyes began to hold an edge to them that I hadn't seen in years. "And I'm his father."

I can feel a few tears begin to gather at the corners of my eyes. "I know that."

He studies my face before speaking. "Do you?" His eyes have softened a bit but I can clearly hear his pain reflected in his voice. "I just had to see if he was alright. You have no idea how frantic I was when I saw that Mitchell kid all beaten up. I can only assume how crazed I looked to my customers as I ran out of the bakery."

I gave him a small smile , remembering how I too had panicked when James' situation had gotten back to me. "I can imagine."

Peeta sighs as he continues to lock eyes with mine, and I'm suddenly reminded of how handsome he still is. "You can't reprimand me for caring about him, and you should recognize the hell I've had to go through all these watching him from afar." I can see his own tears begin to build as one slips down his cheek. "It's like someone has torn a part of my soul away, and it's always barely out of arm's reach."

I turn my back to him because I'm not sure how much longer I can see him in pain. I have always reminded myself that the arrangement was for the best, and keeping Peeta out our lives was easier for me than having to see the harm I've caused him up close."You remember our agreement, it's to keep him safe." I hug my sides, attempting to not fall apart while standing in my sister's yard where any passerby can see.

Peeta walks around me so that I'm forced to acknowledge his presence. "That was when my mother was still alive, and the reality of her causing him harm was possible. But it's not like that anymore, and I want to have the chance to know my son. He's still of reaping age, and it is torture having to stand in the crowd and hope that his name isn't called."

I stand my ground as I look at him and I feel my own tears run down my face. "It isn't any different for me."

He shakes his head. "It is different for you because you've been able to be in his life. I haven't had the opportunity to be more than the baker that he trades with." He inhales slowly. "I thought at first that leaving bread and coins at your doorstep to ensure that he had all that he needed was enough, but it's not, Katniss."

I narrow my eyes which causes my stray tears to fall at my cheeks. "What are you saying, Peeta?"

He squares his shoulders and the resolve from before, is back. "I'm saying that I can't abide by this anymore." He pauses as he looks me in my eyes. "I'm saying that I will be in his life, and I hope that you won't deny me that any longer. But even if you do, it won't stop me. I can promise you that."

I watch as he turns to go, and I'm filled with an overpowering panic, because more than anything I fear the look of disappointment in my son's eyes.

* * *

_A/N:I hope that was worth the nearly month long wait, so sorry about that. And please don't judge Peeta too harshly, it's all very complicated. Also unfortunately I won't be updating this story until I've completed another one of mine "The Other Hawthorne", writing 5 stories at a time was getting to be too much for me. But without that added work load I should be able to finish it quite quickly and get back to my other ones. **Please Review!** I'd love to know what you all think.-S_


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