Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peeta swishes the tepid tap water around his mouth, but it does nothing for the taste of bile still lingering on his tongue. All his life, he has prided himself that he never gets nervous in front of large crowds. He's always calm, collected, and as Madge used to say, "annoyingly confident", no matter how many eyes are trained on him.

Not today. Not when the crowd is this large.

He straightens his deep purple tie before shrugging on the basic black suit jacket and takes a deep, albeit shaky breath. He'd very much like to get this formality over and done with and get down to business already. The pomp and circumstance of today's festivities has the markings of the old Snow government all over it; every time he thinks about it, he gets more and more annoyed. He doesn't need a crowd and a speech and a parade; he needs a desk and a staff he trusts. He has the latter—they're stationed in desks and offices that comprise the north wing surrounding the Aula, where he'd much rather be as well. At least then he'd be getting something done. After three long months of smiling for pictures, kissing babies, and shaking every hand in the room, it's way past time to get things moving.

"You look like shit run over twice, boy," Haymitch sneers when he walks into the room a second later. Despite the comment being utterly barbed, it makes Peeta laugh to hear. Haymitch wouldn't be Haymitch if he weren't insulting him somehow.

"Sure you're not looking in the mirror, old man?" Peeta returns. His mentor grins at him.

"You drink your breakfast or something? This place reeks," the man asks.

"I didn't have a chance to eat anything. Effie rousted me out of bed at 4 and only left me alone a minute ago. When I asked her if we could stop for something to eat, she said I'd have plenty of chances later," Peeta explains with a shrug.

"Foul woman, that one. You sure you want her as your EA?"

"I trust her. Same as I trust you."

Haymitch smiles. "You forgetting something?" He taps the spot above his own heart.

Peeta looks down and nods when he notices his blank lapel. He buries his hand into his trouser pocket until his fingers close around the gold trinket. He looks in the mirror as he clips it quickly to his lapel, only stabbing himself once in the finger for as much as his hands shake.

"Don't muss up the suit, boy, what'll that look like on national television?" Haymitch taunts.

"You know you're gonna have to knock off that 'boy' crap here in about an hour," Peeta says, side-eyeing the man. Haymitch guffaws and clasps the younger man on the shoulder.

"Don't trip out there. And don't look so cocky, cripes; you want to make people like you."

"They do like me; I wouldn't be here if they didn't. Or have you forgotten already?"

"Not all of 'em. Not yet," Haymitch says soberly.

Peeta nods. "Any last minute advice?"

Haymitch seems to think carefully before he nods and says simply, "Yeah. Stay alive."

He's ushered out the door a minute later by a tall, dark haired man in a crisp Peacekeepers uniform. He's been introduced to the man before, and if he's recalling correctly, his name is...Gale. Yes, that's it.

"It's time—do you have everything?" Gale says. Peeta nods and motions to follow him out the door. The man holds his hand up to him quickly.

"I'd advise a coat. It's well under freezing out there today."

"I'll be fine," Peeta returns. He'd rather wear a coat too—the lack thereof was Haymitch's idea, to remind everyone of his youth and vitality. Putting it mildly, Peeta thought it was a dumb idea.

Gale raises his wrist to his mouth and trills an order into the elaborate communication device there before escorting Peeta down the hallway. As they walk, Peeta waits for the arm to grab him, stop him from taking another step, tell him this whole situation was a massive mistake: that at 31, he's far too young, too inexperienced, and he'll be taken home immediately so that he wastes no more of the country's time.

It never comes. He stands nervously in front of a set of double doors and tries to keep from bouncing on his toes. Just ahead of him, Leonid Boggs nods at him reassuringly. It calms Peeta slightly as the doors swing open, and a gust of cold air immediately sets his skin pebbling under his jacket. The anthem blares. A crackly bit of feedback resonates through the crowd before Gale nudges Peeta forward with a nod.

He squares his shoulders and raises his chin. He steels himself to replace the jittery grin with a genuine, confident, practiced smile as he steps onto the wide balcony. A cheer erupts from the crowd as the effervescent voice of Claudius Templesmith booms out to them:

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Panem—your president-elect: Peeta Mellark!"

Chapter Text

"Ms. Everdeen, we've arrived," the driver of the long black car says when he turns around to face his backseat passenger.

"Officer," Katniss responds without a thought.

"Pardon?" the driver replies.

"Officer Everdeen, sorry. Not 'Ms.' if you don't mind," Katniss says. She'd always hated being called "Miss" or "Ms.", even before her promotion to Officer within the ranks of the Panem Peacekeepers; she's grown weary of correcting people all the time.

"Of course. We've arrived at the Mansion. If you follow the path up this flight of steps, you'll be at the Peacekeepers Headquarters on the property and will be signed in," the driver says with a curt nod.

"Right, thank you," Katniss says, reaching into her satchel to retrieve her wallet. The driver waves her off with a white-gloved hand.

"The ride is paid for, Officer, you're all set," the man tells her.

"Oh. Well, thank you again," Katniss says as she reaches for the handle of the door. Her fingers have almost closed around it when the door swings open. She sees the uniformed junior Peacekeeper stand at attention as he holds the door for her, and nods at him politely even though it bugs her that she couldn't open her own damn door. She does as the driver instructed, taking the path up the flight of twenty-odd stairs, and pushing open the thick glass door of the blatantly militarized two-story structure. Several more junior officers stand at attention as she passes, the blue and gold insignia on her jacket indicating she is an Officer First Class, and is thus deserving of this respect. She hands over her ID card and Peacekeeper badge to the clerk behind the desk and shifts the handle of the satchel from one hand to another while she waits for the woman to analyze it.

"Officer Katniss Everdeen," she says simply. "I have a 2 o'clock meeting with Agent Hawthorne."

"Yes ma'am," the woman says as she types a quick note into the computer before handing Katniss back her personal effects. "Allow me to escort you to his office. He left communication saying he'd be just a few moments late but asked if you'd be kind enough to wait for him there."

"That'll be fine," Katniss replies. Despite being short-legged, the woman walks fast and Katniss has to quicken even her own brisk pace to keep up, even going so far as taking two-stairs at a time as they climb the marble staircase to the second floor. A few twists and turns of the conservatively decorated hallways and they come to a stop in front of a dark mahogany door emblazoned with the name Gale Hawthorne, Chief Agent.

"He'll be along any moment, Officer Everdeen," the woman says as she pushes the heavy door open and gestures inside. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Katniss steps inside and can't help but immediately marvel at the view. A handsome desk and plush office chair sit in the corner across from a full-to-bursting bookshelf, but the truly impressive bit is the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the entire back wall. Thick brown curtains are pulled all the way open and appear to be more for decoration than function as the view overlooks the back most courtyard of the Presidential Mansion. Katniss takes a deep breath and feels a smile tug at her lips.

Gale did good, she thinks fondly of her friend. She drops her bag into the simpler chair across from the desk and folds her arms as she continues to drink in the view. A fountain bubbles and flows in the center of the courtyard, and tall bushes of flowers she couldn't even begin to name construct an intricate maze around the perimeter. She knows that high-level Peacekeepers are no doubt stationed in various corners of this little utopia, but that doesn't take away from the beauty of it. It's not ostentatious or gaudy, like so much of the Capitol. It simply is.

"View's not too shabby, eh, Catnip?" Gale's voice rings out, breaking Katniss's concentration. She turns and smiles at her old friend. All at once, this office and its proximity to the residence of the President of Panem doesn't exist; they are simply Hawthorne and Everdeen, the inseparable pair of troublemakers that were always one day from getting expelled from the Peacekeepers Academy of District Two. They were never really huggers, but Gale holds out his arms and Katniss steps into them gladly.

"Yeah, it's alright," Katniss says with a smile when she pulls away. "How many of these books have you actually read and how many did they put here just to make you look smart and sophisticated?"

"Ah, clever girl," Gale says, pointing to the tip of his nose as he rounds his desk and drops into the chair. The leather squeaks like it's seldom used, and Katniss supposes it might not be. "Thanks for swinging on by to take this meeting, Katniss. I know the ride in from Five can be a long one."

"Not as long as some. And it's not really like you gave me much of a choice," Katniss says good-naturedly as she sinks into the chair across from him and folds her hands in her lap. "What's up, Gale?"

"I need a favor and you were the first one I thought of, just like I said in the communique," Gale says with a shrug.

"You wanna tell me what that favor is, or are we gonna play a round of Twenty Questions until I guess properly?"

"I'd like you to step down as Officer First Class," Gale replies bluntly, causing Katniss's eyes to go wide.

"Wait, what?" she stammers. The request is obviously untenable—Gale knows exactly how hard Katniss worked to achieve her rank and station. He knows the pride she takes in her work and the personal significance of that hard work turning Five into one of the safest, most peaceful Districts in the nation. "Why the hell would I do something like that?" she presses, anger beginning to permeate her words.

"It's against the law to work for two branches of the Peacekeepers at once, so I need you to step down so you can be reassigned. Here," Gale says, holding out his hands in offering. Katniss blinks rapidly as she surmises that "here" means this building: the headquarters of the Secret Service branch of the Peacekeepers organization.

"You want me to be SS?" Katniss says slowly.

"'Round these parts, Catnip, we tend to refer to ourselves as Tributes," Gale replies.

She's heard the term before, but has a hard time believing that Gale Hawthorne of all people would willingly use it. When a Peacekeeper is sworn in to the Secret Service branch, they're made to take an oath, wherein they solemnly swear to offer myself up in tribute to protect the lives of the men and women who serve the interests of the citizens of Panem. It's become a tongue-in-cheek name for those who serve within the Secret Service—"tribute" or "trib", those who may well give up their life so that someone else can live. Katniss always considered the branch to be just a slight step up from shoving her pistol in her mouth and pulling the trigger.

"Gale, I…"

"Before you go thinking this is nepotism, Katniss, let me assure you that it isn't. I called every District precinct and spoke with every supervisor to compile the most thorough list of names I could manage. But when I called Five, Mitchell kept me on the line for twenty minutes talking about you. Most of it I already knew from back in the day—your marksmanship, your testing scores, your complete inability to take a damn vacation when there is any work at all to be done. But you want to know what he reminded me of that I'd nearly forgotten, although I have absolutely no idea how it's possible?" Gale says.

Katniss shrugs her shoulders.

"He said 'Deep down, I know she's still just a girl from Twelve'. Somehow it slipped my damn mind that you were born and raised in Twelve. Pretty dumb, huh?"

"Considering it's your home District," Katniss says, her voice small. "I lived eight years in Twelve and ten in Five before I went to Two for training; I wouldn't call myself a 'girl from Twelve'. Five is my home."

"That may well be. But you're still Seam, just like me. That tells me two important things about you, Katniss—you know how to survive, and you don't go down without a fight. That's what you need to be a Tribute, and that's why I want to give you this job," Gale says.

Katniss stares down at her shoes and searches for the right words to say. As she suspects, they don't come easily. "Gale, there have to be a hundred people who are more…"

"There may be. But they're a hundred people who aren't you, and you're the one I want," Gale says. He's reluctant to appeal to Katniss's sense of patriotism and perseverance, particularly when he knows for a fact that one is far stronger than the other, but it seems the quickest way to end the argument altogether. "Katniss, I'm asking you to serve your country and serve your President. Simple as that. And personally, I think if he were alive, your father would be awfully pleased to hear you referred to as 'Agent' Everdeen."

Katniss's back is ramrod straight as she takes a deep breath and holds her head high. She could kill Gale Hawthorne for being able to manipulate her so easily. "Alright. I'll have to head back to Five to pack my things. I'll put in my notice to Mitchell then."

Gale shakes his head. "You'll have to send it via communique. I'm afraid if you accept, you won't be returning to Five for quite some time. Your position would begin immediately upon your signature."

"What the hell are you going to have me do that I can't go back for my whole two boxes of crap?" Katniss says, annoyance heavy in her voice.

"It's…it's easier if I show you," Gale says with a sigh and gets to his feet. He marches towards the door of the office and looks behind him with a scowl. "Coming?"

Katniss leaves her satchel on the chair behind her and rushes after him. She can match his pace just fine, having done so for two years in the Academy, and doesn't bat an eye when he escorts her out the back door of the building along a path that appears to lead directly into the Presidential Mansion. It doesn't really hit her that that is exactly where they are going until Gale is already pressing his palm to a print-scanner, and a heavily armored door swings open in front of him just a second later.

Unlike the sparsely decorated building they've just left, the mansion is plush, warm, and elaborately decorated. Some paintings look as though they've survived hundreds and hundreds of years, and depict men in white wigs and puffy collars riding on horseback and carrying archaic weaponry and swords. Katniss has barely a minute to look at any of them as Gale takes them through a long series of twists and turns, their well-polished shoes looking almost dull on the high-gloss of the mansion floors.

"Do I get to ask where we're going?"

"You have a meeting," Gale answers back over his shoulder. Another twist, another long hallway lined with regal paintings but no windows to speak of at all, and they're at an elevator. The metal doors click open and Gale gestures her on.

"With whom do I have this meeting?" she asks with a huff. Gale has always been one for mystery and cunning; it annoyed her at the Academy and it annoys her now.

"Katniss, this elevator has three stops. The first is where we entered—the bottom floor of the security passage underneath the private residence. It's a bunker for all intents and purposes, designed to be a fortress for the President in the event of an attack on the mansion. The second stop is the residence itself, and the third, where we're going, is the north wing of the mansion where the senior staff to the President work," Gale says simply.

"Why am I meeting the senior staff? Surely they have something better to do—wait. Are you trying to assign me to one of their protection details?" Katniss asks with a shake of her head; press liaison to the President, Finnick Odair, is on television several times a day and is arguably the most popular face of the administration, save for the President himself. If Gale is going to try to assign her to his detail, she's going to have to become far less camera-shy.

"Not exactly. Most of the senior staff doesn't have dedicated security, save for Haymitch Abernathy, and that's only because he got a few death threats early on after the administration took control. The President insisted upon his having a full-time guard, given that the man is ostensibly his second-in-command."

"What about Prime Minister Boggs? He was the one that ran everything after Snow was ousted."

"Sure, he stepped in and did an admirable job. But the Prime Minister and the President are two completely separate checks in the legislative branch. They take over one another's duties temporarily until other arrangements can be made, but that isn't exactly the point. The President is a smart man, there's no doubting that—but Haymitch Abernathy is the real brains behind this administration, and everyone, even the President, knows it," Gale explains.

"So why didn't we elect him six months ago?"

"Shit, Katniss, have you seen Haymitch Abernathy? The man is one of the least palatable people on the planet—you think the Capitol would ever elect a man like that? Not to mention it took two months to find him a guard that could handle him before Jo Mason took the post; she's just as surly as he is, which is the only way it works. But no—you're not going to be assigned to the senior staffers, or junior staffers, or even regular mansion security."

The elevator opens and Gale strides forward, oblivious to the many men and women in the exact same white and black suit ensemble who nod or salute him. Interspersed with the officers are long rows of desks and cubicles, all manned by people equally well-dressed but who are arguably far busier. Most of them don't even look up as she and Gale pass, and they're walking too fast for her to focus on any of them for longer than a second.

The seemingly endless passageway finally stops at a rounded wall manned by larger, bulkier guards who seem to have rods completely rammed up their asses for how straight they're standing. Gale doesn't even have to pull his badge out of his pocket before they stand aside to let him pass. Katniss is sure they sneer at her just a little before they fall back into formation. She's used to it in her position of authority, but it still annoys her.

Past the wall are another row of desks, but the general hustle and bustle of the exterior wing is notably absent. A woman dressed to the Capitol nines sits at one of the desks, clicking away at a computer with long, brightly painted fingernails, and barely looks up as she addresses Gale. "He's in senior staff now, Gale, you'll have to wait a moment," the woman chirps.

"They were supposed to be done twenty minutes ago…"

The woman throws her hands up in the air. "I cannot keep him on schedule no matter how hard I try! Every day is a big day now and you know it!" she huffs as she gets up from her desk and stomps away in her precariously high heels. Gale waits until her back is completely turned before facing Katniss with a cheeky grin.

"Effie's the President's executive assistant. I think the only person who likes tormenting her more than the senior staffers and me is the President himself," Gale says snarkily.

Katniss can't help but smile at this—until a sinking feeling invades her gut. "Gale, that room is the…"

"The Aula, yes," he says impassively. But of course, Gale would be impassive about that; he is, after all, the ACP—Agent in Charge of the President.

"You're taking me in to meet the President. He's my "meeting"?" she whispers. Her stomach drops to her toes from sheer nerves.

"Well, as soon as he's done with senior staff, yeah," Gale says with a nod. He's got his wrist quirked up towards his face like he's looking at his watch, but it's like no watch Katniss has ever seen before. He catches her staring at it and points the face towards her by way of explanation. "A communicuff. All Tribs are fitted for them and are expected to wear them at all times. They're surprisingly comfortable, actually. You get used to them fast."

The notion of wearing a watch that allows for constant communication with every other agent equipped with the same device sets Katniss's skin to crawling. In Five, when she's off-duty, she's off-duty. But Gale works for the President—she wonders if he's been off-duty anytime within the last six months. How that doesn't drive him crazy baffles her—she knows his work is his life, just like hers, but to not even have a minute alone…

A side door opens with a mechanical whoosh and a small group of men file out. Katniss recognizes Finnick Odair's dazzling green eyes and bronze hair immediately; the Seam-look of Haymitch Abernathy is apparent, even as he skulks off to his own office next door, which slams with a thud behind him; the final man, with his short cropped black hair, dark skin, and gold wire-rimmed glasses is not one Katniss can place immediate, so she looks at Gale.

"Beetee Watts, head of Executive Communications. Means he's the head speech writer and steps in when Odair isn't available, although Odair is very seldom unavailable," Gale mutters, still not looking up from his communicuff. A crackle of static emanates from the little thing before a deep voice filters through.

"Gale, Thresh here, over."

"Copy, Thresh, your status?"

"All clear in the South Wing; Thom's awaiting your word for the residence."

"Thom, Gale here, over."

"Copy Gale, residence is secure."

"Hold in the residence for now until Annie and LD arrive, Thom. The President will be expecting them at their usual time."

"Copy that, Gale; Thom out."

"Thresh, proceed into the Aula in five."

"Copy that, Thesh out."

Katniss gapes at the smoothness of Gale's commanding voice until he nods her towards the door that had just clicked closed a moment before.

"We're heading that way," he says.

"We don't need to be, like, announced?" Katniss asks.

"Only if we're interrupting a private meeting. We are the meeting, Katniss, come on," Gale says before he steps in front of her, waves his palm in front of the door and steps through it when it slides open. In a daze, Katniss follows him.

"Mr. President," Gale says curtly.

"Afternoon, Gale, sorry to keep you waiting," a voice says. Gale steps aside a second later and Katniss swallows hard as Peeta Mellark smiles at her from behind a desk even more elaborate than any she's seen before—even today.

"Not at all, sir. I'd like to introduce you to Officer Katniss Everdeen of District Five. She's my personal candidate for the open post we discussed earlier this week," Gale says.

"Of course! Good to meet you, Ms. Everdeen, Gale's told me quite a bit about you," the President says as he steps around his desk towards Katniss, his palm outstretched to her. She takes it tentatively, but can't stop the words coming out of her mouth.

"Officer, sir," she states.

"Pardon?" the President says with a quirk of his head.

"Officer Everdeen, not 'Ms.'," Katniss corrects, and immediately wants to snatch the words out of the air and shove them back in her mouth. She's said two sentences to the leader of the country, and in those six words has actually corrected the President. She steals a look at Gale, who's looking at her like she's crazy. She casts her eyes downward immediately as she releases the President's hand and clears her throat. "My apologies, Mr. President. That was incredibly rude of me."

Peeta Mellark's eyes squint when he smiles. Katniss knows this because he smiles at her broadly before holding his hand out to the plush sofas in the middle of the perfectly round, glass-domed room. "Not at all, Officer, I apologize for not using your correct title. Please, take a seat. I can ask Effie to get you something if you'd like."

Katniss folds her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking as she sits next to Gale on the red silk sofa to the left of a wing-backed chair that the President sinks into. She clears her throat again before saying "No, no sir…I'm fine, thank you."

The President accepts this and crosses his right leg over his left, his left hand loosely resting on his ankle above his knee. He looks to Gale at once.

"Thresh will be in momentarily, sir, and Thom as soon as Annie checks into the residence."

"Perfect, that gives us a few minutes. Ms…apologies, Officer Everdeen—may I ask how you decided to enter Peacekeeper training?"

Katniss swallows hard and rubs her hands together before answering. Everything about this place is intimidating, although this man and his crisp, perfectly tailored grey suit across from her should be the most intimidating thing in the room. And yet, Peeta Mellark radiates kindness instead of arrogance, all the while exuding endless confidence.

"I, um…I entered the Academy in Two after I finished my District-required schooling in Five. I didn't have the math and science scores to enter the electrical engineering school at home and wanted something different anyway," she says shakily.

"You could have gone and done a lot of things, though; why Peacekeeping?"

Katniss decides not to lie. "For my sister's sake, sir."

"Your sister?" the President asks. Is that concern she hears in his voice?

"Y-Yes," Katniss stammers as she swallows over the lump in her throat. "My sister died a few months before her 16th birthday. The circumstances of her death were—troubling. I suppose you could say that I entered Peacekeeper training to find out more about the process that failed her."

Katniss knows she's blowing this—whatever this is—by the sudden darkness that invades the President's sapphire blue eyes. His right hand seems to rise to his well-definited jawline on instinct, his first two digits trailing slowly across his lips; Katniss wonders if this is a nervous tick for when the man is deep in thought.

"I am very sorry to hear that," he says gently. "May I…what was her name?"

Katniss cringes, but this man is still the President. "Prim. Short for Primrose."

"That's a lovely name," he says kindly. "I must admit, Officer Everdeen, that I have also experienced—"

A door slides open suddenly and Katniss startles. A man even darker in complexion than Beetee Watts steps through and nods curtly to the President. "Apologies for my interruption, Mr. President."

"Not at all, Thresh. Please take a seat. Can Effie get you anything?" the President asks, gesturing towards the empty couch to his right. The man shakes his head.

"No sir; thank you, though."

"My apologies, Officer Everdeen, where were we?" the President says quickly as he turns his attention back to Katniss. She swallows hard again and smooths the fabric of her dress slacks.

"I was explaining what motivated me to join the Peacekeepers, sir. If you don't mind, though, I...I'm very confused as to why I'm here. Gale mentioned something about me joining the ranks of the Tri—Secret Service, but surely there are thousands of already decorated officers that would be more equipped to handle the guard of the president. Not to sound ungrateful, truly, but...I'm not the person for this post."

Peeta Mellark shakes his head with a soft smile on his face. "On the contrary, Officer," he says. "I already firmly believe you are."

A buzzer rings out behind the desk and the President gets to his feet. Gale crosses over to the door the agent called Thresh had entered through and presses a button on his communicuff.

"Gale to Thom. Annie and Little Duck are secure?"

"Roger that, Gale; arriving in three...two..."

Gale waves his hand in front of the door and a moment later, the President squats down directly in front of it. When it opens, a tiny blur of blonde curls rushes through.

"DADDY!" a voice much louder than that which should belong to a child so small resonates through the room, and a smile wider than any Katniss has seen spreads across the President's face as he sweeps the child up in his arms and spins him in place.

"Heya, Ry-Ry!" Peeta Mellark exclaims as he kisses the boy soundly on the cheek and props him on his hip.

"Daddy, it was art class today so I drew you a new picture for your desk. Annie has it, wanna see?"

"Of course, Duckie, but first I need to introduce you to someone. Can I put you down, you're getting way too big for this..."

The child grumbles but slides down easily to his feet, turning around when the President places his large hands on the child's shoulders. Gale nods quickly to Katniss, who stands up and tries to keep the vaguely shocked look off her face.

"Rye, this is Officer Katniss Everdeen; she is going to spend some time with you and Annie this afternoon. Would you say hello, please?"

"Hello Officer Everdeen!" the child responds brightly to Katniss.

Katniss is mute for a long moment before she nods at the little boy, who's looking at her expectantly. "H-Hello. It's um…it's nice to meet you."

"You too! Daddy, can I show you my drawing now?" the boy says, arching his neck up to his father, who beams down at him affectionately. The President scoots around his desk and sinks into the plush office chair a moment before the little boy crawls up in his lap. The pair seem to be examining the glass panel top on the regal-looking desk, and the boy points a chubby finger after a long second of studying. "That one," the child says.

"I like that one, why would I take that one out?" the President says with a laugh.

"'Cause this one's better, Daddy, I promise! Huh, Annie?"

A raven-haired woman in the same, standard Secret Service uniform that Gale and Thresh wear strides forward and holds out a piece of paper. "Why don't you let your father decide that, Rye? How are you, Mr. President?"

"Fine, Annie, thanks. Did you meet Officer Everdeen?" the President asks, claiming the piece of paper and studying it with a smile before nodding the woman towards Katniss.

The woman shakes Katniss's hand politely and smiles. "Annie Cresta, I'm Rye's guard. Gale told me you'd be shadowing us this afternoon," she says.

Katniss is still speechless, but finds it in her to at least nod politely. "I-I…"

Gale and Thresh approach Annie, tearing her attention away before Katniss can formulate an answer; the three of them and another ashen-skinned man, who she presumes is this "Thom", huddle in a little group quickly, their attention turned away from the President and his child. Katniss realizes at once they aren't actually ignoring the father and son; this must be one of the rare occasions of the day when the pair of tow-heads get the opportunity to whisper to each other conspiratorially, for the little boy to giggle happily at the words his father murmurs to him, for the father to hold his child close to his chest. Katniss tries not to stare, realizing this is probably as close to privacy as the Mellark men most of the time She follows the Tribute's examples, and examines the high arched windows above them. She can't help but wonder just how safe it actually is for the entire ceiling above the most important executive room in the country to be made of nothing more than glass.

The same buzzer that went off a moment before the little boy bounced into the room trills again, and a heavy sigh is heard from the boy behind the desk.

"Do I have to, Daddy?" Rye Mellark says pleadingly to his father, who kisses his forehead and scoots him off his lap.

"I have four more meetings today, but I'll be home in plenty of time to tuck you into bed. Tell Auntie Delly that I said you don't have to go to sleep until I walk in the door, no matter what time it is," his father replies. The look on the boy's face is exuberant, and he hugs his father around the waist with all the strength his tiny arms can muster.

"Deal!" he chirps, and skips to Annie's side. The woman looks down at him tenderly, then up at Katniss.

"Annie, I'm going to have one more word with Officer Everdeen before you and Rye whisk her away. If you'd all step out for a moment?" the President says as he slides the bit of paper Annie had placed in his hand underneath the glass-top before letting it fall back onto the desk with a soft thump.

"Of course, Mr. President," the agents all seem to say at once, and the little boy waves at his father.

"Bye Daddy! Do good work!" the boy sing-songs.

"Bye, Duckie, see you tonight," the President replies with a wave. Katniss stands in the middle of the room lamely as she watches the young President ruffle his hair and sigh before rounding his desk, leaning against the front, and crossing his arms.

"If Gale didn't explain matters, Officer Everdeen, please allow me to clarify. My protection detail is adequate as it is—Gale, Thresh, and Thom rotate with six other agents at any given time and work round the clock. In fact, I know for certain that I see the three of them more often than I see Rye, or his Aunt, or even the rest of my cabinet and staff."

"So, I'm…" Katniss begins, but trails off as her head swims with the information it is piecing together. The words Little Duck that had been uttered through the communicuff on Gale's wrist bob at the surface and make it hard to breathe.

"May I call you Katniss? I'm sure you'd prefer Officer Everdeen, but it's scary enough for my son to have so many near-strangers in our lives without using such formal titles," the President asks calmly, as if to reclaim her attention. She nods quickly and places her hands behind her back.

"Of course, Mr. President. I'm just—I'm sorry, I'm not particularly good with words and this request has…"

"Katniss," the President says softly. "The protection detail Gale has recommended you for isn't mine—it's Rye's. I need someone smart and agile and observant to head his detail. Annie will be stepping down for personal reasons as soon as we find her replacement and Gale can't seem to say enough good things about you. Now, I can tell you're awkward around children, and that's fine, really. Rye's a good kid and you'll warm up to him fast. His Aunt is his primary caregiver so I'm not trying to hire you to be his nanny—you're his guard. Simply put, I just need you to make sure there are no monsters underneath my son's bed at night. Because despite my promise just now, I can't guarantee that I'll be there earlier than 11 o'clock, maybe midnight, and he'll probably already be asleep. So…I'm asking you to consider serving, and in order to make up your mind, I'd like you to spend the afternoon with him and Annie to get used to what being Rye's guard might entail. Would that be alright with you?"

Katniss gulps and feels her head nod up and down without hesitation. She should be hesitating about this. She should be yelling at Gale for using the words Little Duck to get under her skin and manipulate her into caring about this tiny stranger before she's even so much as figured out what color his eyes are. She should be the first to recognize just how crazy this entire ordeal is, and nip it in the bud before it gets even more complicated. And yet, her head is still bobbing up and down.

"Of course, Mr. President," Katniss says calmly.

Peeta Mellark smiles at her and uncrosses his arms. "I appreciate that, Katniss. Now, if you'll excuse me, Effie might just have an aneurism if I don't at least try to get back on schedule for the rest of my day."

"Yes, sir. I'll just…" Katniss turns in place and immediately becomes flustered at the sight of not one, but three identical doors, and she can't tell which one Gale, Annie, and the President's son left through. Behind her, she hears his throat clear, and when she turns again, he's smiling at her broadly once more.

"You'll want the one to the far right. The middle is the lavatory and the far left is the Adyton, which only I am allowed in," he says, his smile playing up the kindness in his words. Katniss feels a blush burn hot against her neck as she nods curtly and heads towards the door he's indicated. It opens with a whoosh, and she chances one more brief look back at him before stepping through it. He's rounded his desk again, and is hunched over to study something on his desktop with a pensive face. It occurs to her in the moment before the door closes between them that she's never seen a man with eyelashes quite so long before.

Chapter Text

"Annie! I'm going to go play by the fountain, okay?" little Rye Mellark squeals excitedly when he, Annie Cresta, and Katniss step into the elegant courtyard Katniss had admired from Gale's office window.

"Go on, Rye, but stay where you can see me, please," Annie says with a smile. The tiny towhead gallops off towards the bubbling fountain, never quite stepping out of Annie's eyesight. Katniss is actually impressed by how closely Rye follows his guard's request; he does seem like a good child. Prim didn't even listen so well.

"You look confused, Katniss, is everything alright?" Annie asks. Katniss snaps out of the thoughts of blonde pigtails and a shirt that always came un-tucked from the back of her sister's favorite blue skirt.

"I…can I be honest with you, Annie?" she replies. The woman nods. "I have no idea why I'm here."

"Oh, I assumed the President explained everything when we stepped out of the room—"

"He did. But I don't know why I'm here."

Annie sighs gently and folds her arms across her chest. Her green eyes seem to scan the surrounding area quickly (not entirely unlike Katniss does when she's thrust into new situations) before focusing briefly on Rye, then back to Katniss. "The President's son needs a guard, Katniss. I can't—well, I don't exactly want to step down, but my current situation is forcing me to do so temporarily and Rye needs a guard. The President requested Gale's assistance in finding the very best one for the safety and security of his child, and Gale came up with you. Surely they've been over all this."

Katniss sighs; they have, sure, but she's not even Secret Service! Why the hell does Gale think she's "the best" anyway? Sure, she easily beat his testing and competence scores back in the day at the Academy, but that hadn't stopped himfrom becoming a top-ranked Secret Service Agent to her Officer First-Class. There's a difference, damn it.

"Let me try asking this way, Katniss—why'd you join the Ranks?" Annie presses. Katniss wants to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. It's the second time she's been asked that today, and unlike with the President, she's under no cursory obligation to answer this question. But something about Annie Cresta seems so unassuming, so relatable that she finds the words tumbling across her lips.

"My sister—she died when she was 15. I wanted to find out why the system failed her," she says flatly.

Annie nods. "My twin brother," she says matter-of-factly, and Katniss instantly knows what she means.

"I'm…I'm sorry to hear that," Katniss stammers.

"And I'm sorry about your sister. Maybe that's why Gale picked you, Katniss. Maybe there's something about what drives the pair of us that's intrinsically the same, or at least similar enough that he knows you'd be a good fit. Maybe he cares a lot more for Rye than he lets on. Maybe he just trusts you, or he wants to impress the President…I don't know what motivates Gale Hawthorne, honestly, but if he chose you, there's a reason. The President won't make you take this post if you truly don't want to," Annie says calmly. "For whatever it's worth to you, Katniss—I feel like being a Trib is my way of being a patriot."

"I'm no patriot, Annie."

"Maybe not yet. But you could be."

Katniss takes a deep breath through her nose and is about to speak when the jubilant voice of the President's son rings out. "Annie! Annie, the ducks are back! And the babies are getting so big!"

Annie smiles and strides over to where the boy is excitedly pointing at three medium-sized ducklings swimming after their mother in the still perimeter water of the fountain. Annie nudges Rye's side gently, and the little boy beams at Katniss. "Ducks are my very favorite!" he explains simply.

Katniss feels the words like a punch to the stomach.

"It's why his SS code-name is Little Duck. He picked it out himself, didn't you, Rye?" Annie says affectionately.

"Yep! My daddy helped, though. I wanted to have a bird name, like his!" Rye chirps happily.

Katniss's tongue feels thick and awkward, but all the same she crouches down next to the little boy and gazes towards where the ducks are swimming. "I like ducks a lot, too," she says, feeling sort of silly until the boy's eyes grow wide with excitement. It's then that she notices the color—or colors, as the case happens to be. His left is blue while his right is a flecked greyish-green. His smile is absolutely cherubic as he lowers his voice conspiratorially and leans towards her.

"I can draw 'em real good. I could draw you a picture of one, if you want…" he tells her.

Katniss can't help but share his smile. "That would be very nice of you."

Three short beeps seem to trill from out of nowhere until Katniss sees Annie raise her communicuff to her face and nod at the little boy in her charge.

"Auntie Delly time?" the boy says, as though he already knows exactly what the beeps mean.

"It is. Go ahead and say goodbye to your ducks," Annie says patiently.

The little boy waves his pudgy hand at the swimming birds and then trots off and falls into step with Annie. Katniss follows automatically, watching the way that the little boy's gait perfectly matches that of his guard, so that they're walking together and not simply next to one another. Every so often, the little boy seems to skip and get a foot or so ahead, and the grin he beams back at Annie is always innocent and playful.

"Are you gonna eat supper with me and Auntie Delly again tonight, Annie?" he asks optimistically.

"Not tonight, Rye. Katniss and I have to have to talk some after we drop you off," she explains.

"She can come too! Auntie Delly won't mind!" he argues.

"Another time, maybe, okay?" Annie says with finality, and the little boy groans. Katniss is thankful for this small reprieve, already back to feeling like she's an interruption in this otherwise monotonous day for this small child and the woman who watches over him—a woman, like her, who has a gun strapped to her hip that the boy probably doesn't even notice is there.

The residence of the mansion is warm and homey, even if it is quadruple the size of any house she's ever seen before. Annie and Rye navigate the hallways easily, the child completely comfortable with the high ceilings, marble floors, and the two heavily armed guards at the door they'd breezed through.

"There's my Ry-Ry!" a woman calls out, and the boy grins in adoration as he runs into her outstretched arms.

"Auntie Delly! I drew Daddy a picture at school today and he liked it and put it on his desk. I drew one for you, too!" he exclaims. The curvy blonde woman who's holding him at arm's length to look him in the eyes kisses his forehead sweetly and nods him towards an open door at the end of the hallway.

"Well don't make me wait forever for it, sheesh! Go get your school bag, and we'll look at it as soon as Annie leaves for the afternoon. Did you say goodbye to her?" the woman says, getting to her feet and nodding at the aforementioned guard before looking inquisitively at Katniss.

"Bye, Annie! I'll see you when we leave for school in the morning!" Rye sing-songs before scrambling off to the other room. He doesn't even give Katniss a second glance before he's gone.

"Madam First Lady, this is Katniss Everdeen; she's my potential replacement," Annie explains, gesturing between the two women. Katniss rubs the palm of her hand on her dress slacks before holding it out to Delly Cartwright, acting First Lady of Panem, who shakes it eagerly.

"It's lovely meeting you! And you can call me Delly—I keep trying to convince Annie to do the same. 'Madam First Lady' seems so stuffy and formal, even when you are the President's sister. You'll have big shoes to fill, no pressure or anything, of course," Delly says with a wink, and Annie laughs softly.

"You are too kind, ma'am. I'll send word to the President that Rye is safely with you and the residence guards," Annie says with a curt nod. Delly smiles back and follows the boy down the hallway.

"Perfect. Thanks, Annie, as always! Pleasure meeting you!" Delly calls over her shoulder.

Annie calls a string of numbers into the communicuff on her wrist before Gale's crackly voice responds.

"Gale, Annie, over. Little Duck is secure with Mother Hen."

"Copy that, Annie. You're relieved for the night; have a good evening. Gale out."

Katniss follows the woman blindly as she navigates the complex corridors, offering a nod to the fellow Tributes who stand guard along the way.

"Do you have any questions for me, Katniss?" Annie asks as they make their way to the elevator and wait for the lift to arrive. Katniss feels her eyes bulge. She has nothing but questions.

"Why are you stepping down? The child seems to have a good rapport with you. I'd imagine the President wouldn't want to let you go," Katniss blurts out, instantly knowing it's probably a rude question.

Annie's eyes darken a little, but she smiles all the same. "The President asked me to. Temporarily, as I mentioned before." She pauses and looks over her shoulder quickly at the two guards standing at attention at the residence door. The lift dings as it opens in front of them, and Annie nods her onwards before turning to her and dropping her voice. "He respectfully asked me not to endanger the life of my child in my duty to protect his. I'm not trying to stake my claim on Rye's guard duty or anything, but I don't anticipate my absence from the Tribs to last more than, oh, nine months or so."

Katniss's eyes can't help but flit downwards towards Annie's belly. If she's understood the situation correctly, and she has no doubt that she has, Annie must be early on in her pregnancy—her crisp, tailored white shirt doesn't seem to pull at all over her stomach the way it might if it were overtly distended.

"O-Oh. I see," Katniss says. "I, um...congratulations."

"There's more to being Rye's guard than what we did today, of course. When the First Lady is in residence, I'm off early, which is lovely. But she does ambassadorial and charity work in the Districts several times a month, so sometimes I stay later to make sure that Rye is safe and sound until the President comes up from the Aula. Trust me, I'm not his nanny, but—everyone feels better if he's looked after closely as much as possible during the day, and I consider it part of my duty to keep an eye on him until I sign him over to his father or guardian."

Annie takes a short breath before moving on. "You aren't obligated to say yes, Katniss. If you say no, you'll be on the first train back to Five with no more pressure than to return to your standard Peacekeeper duties. But if you think you'd be willing to stick with him, come back in the morning and you can shadow me while I take him to school so you actually get a feel for how his days usually are. They can be kind of boring sometimes, honestly, but he's a great little boy. I think you'd really like him if you got to know him."

Katniss finds herself nodding in much the same way that she had in the Aula when the President asked her to consider serving. What she can't find are the words to vocalize to Annie Cresta is that she isn't so much concerned about the job not being challenging enough, or about the move from Five to the Capitol, or anything else like that.

Katniss is too preoccupied with the notion that she will grow to care for little Rye Mellark. And that completely terrifies her.

It's almost 3 am and Peeta Mellark hasn't closed his eyes yet, which is particularly troubling when Effie Trinket will be calling him in two and a half hours to wake up for the day. But the three-page brief on the situation in Eleven did little to satiate his troubled mind; so instead, he's reading the full memo—all 237 pages of it.

Within his first few hours as President of Panem, Peeta realized he was in for an entirely different set of games than being a Parliamentary delegate for District Twelve. Being a key player in drafting laws and amendments meant he already knew the bulk of the information first hand on any given topic that came up in parliamentary proceedings; but as President, he is out of the loop until the draft comes to his desk for signature or veto. When Effie handed him the first several abstracts of various memos, he'd looked at her, baffled as to why they were so short.

"I'd really prefer to read the entire report, Effie," he'd told her.

"But Mr. President..."

"Really, Effie, I insist. Have the courier bring over the lot and I'll read them after lunch. I'm a quick reader," he'd said with a smile, feeling accomplished and confident. He'd rushed off to a meeting with Prime Minister Boggs a moment later and returned after lunch to find his desk actually sagging in the middle from being piled so high with thick binders and briefing files.

"Effie! Are these all the files for this week?" he'd called out.

"No, sir. Just today. The courier said he'd be back with the rest within the hour. Anything else I can get for you, Mr. President?"

Needless to say, Peeta had stuck with the abstracts from then on, except when something was really, truly bothering him.

Like Eleven. The last thing the country needs is a food shortage, particularly with taxes and costs rises on the price of produce and grain as it is, and the drought situation in Eleven seems to have little end in sight. He has an 8 am meeting with delegate Seeder Marquise, one of his most trusted allies from Parliament, and damned if he's not going to be fully informed during a one-on-one with such an intelligent woman. He has 70 pages left of the damn memo; now if only he could get his eyes to stop watering from the burn of not closing them in almost 24 hours.

He's rubbing the bridge of his nose when a small squeak and rustling comes from the other side of the bed. He glances over to see a pair of hetero-chromic eyes blinking at him tiredly.

"Daddy? Why you still up?" Rye says as he rubs his blue and green eyes with his small, balled fists. Peeta places the heavy binder on his side table and rolls to his side, tucking an arm around his son and placing a soft kiss to the crown of his son's head.

"I've got lots of reading to do for tomorrow and I can't go to sleep until it's done. I can go into the living room if I'm keeping you awake, Duckie," Peeta says. In truth, he should just carry Rye back to his own room, but the boy had had a nightmare so bad the other night that he'd actually wet the bed. At nearly eight years old, having an accident like that had completely mortified his son, and if there is one thing Peeta can't stand, it's having his child not understand just how wonderful and special he is. Besides, his own bad dreams tend to be kept at a minimum when Rye is close by, and the boy won't be so willing to bunk in with his old man in a few years when he's in the cusp of teenagerdom.

"No, it's okay," Rye yawns as he stretches his arms above his head and nestles into his father's side. His eyes drift closed, but he fights them and snaps them back open just a second later.

"Bad dreams?" Peeta whispers, smoothing back the thick curls that are just as unruly as his own were when he was Rye's age.

"Yeah," the boy admits sheepishly.

"Which one?"

Rye shakes his head quickly. "I'm okay, Daddy; you can read again. I'll go back to sleep now."

"You can always tell me your dreams you know, Duckie; always."

"I know. I just don't wanna this time."

The clock blinks 3:03 am, and Peeta sighs. He's probably better off just staying awake the rest of the night as opposed to trying to sleep properly, but his eyes are heavy and he knows he has read the same paragraph about genetically modified tomatoes three times. He reaches over and snaps off the light before he tucks his arm around his son and sighs deeply.

"Daddy, you don't gotta..."

"It's alright, Duckie. I'm tired too."

"Will you...um..."

Peeta smiles. He knows the request and despite his singing voice being shaky at best, he can't deny his son such a simplistic request. Besides, the lullaby is old and reminds Peeta of home, which reminds him of Madge, which makes him smile even though he still misses her every day.

""Woe be, woe be mockingjay.
Woe be, woe be to thee.
I'll send an arrow through your heart
For to bring such news to me, me
For to bring such news to me."

Up spoke-up spoke that mockingjay,
"Don't waste your time with me.
Go home and mind that sweet little boy
Whose mama no more to see, see
Whose mama no more to see.""

His son is asleep just a second later, and Peeta isn't at all far behind him.

There are marked differences between Peacekeepers and Tributes, as Katniss learns over a couple of short weeks of crash training. Annie helps her every step of the way, reminding her exactly when she should complete her routine surrounding scans.

"They'll become habit soon enough. For now, remember to do them on the 3s and 8s, and soon you won't even need to look at your watch for it. You'll just do them exactly when you need to."

Katniss had scrunched up her face at this and looked at Annie curiously. "How do you know when they're 'needed'?"

"You're a Tribute now. They're always needed."

After weeks of practice drills, Annie finally put in her official notice of temporary resignation, and three days later, it was just Katniss meeting little Rye at the front door of the residence to escort him to school. The boy's hetero-chromic eyes had been puffy and red the last time she'd seen him as Annie hugged him goodbye and told him to promise to be on his best behavior for Katniss. Now they're bright and smiling, like the eyes of a little boy should be. He waves happily at Katniss before falling into step with her.

"You have everything you need for school, right?" Katniss asks as they ride the elevator down to the basement level, where the armored car waits for them to drive them to the illustrious Capitol Academy.

"Yes, Officer Everdeen," Rye says with a nod, his curls falling into his eyes. He breathes a quick puff of air out of the corner of his mouth to try to coax the little yellow ringlets out of his peripheral vision.

"You know you can…um, call me Katniss," she says.

"My daddy said that you like being called by your official title," Rye says matter-of-factly.

This confuses Katniss. Wasn't the President the one that wanted to call her by her first name so as not to needlessly frighten the boy?

"I do, but…well, we'll be spending a lot of time together. We should probably be, you know…comfortable, I guess," Katniss explains. "Is Katniss easier for you?"

"Kat-niss," the little boy says, rolling the syllables of her name around his tongue.

She gives him a small smile. "It's the name of a water flower. My daddy loved the outdoors."

"Oh. That's pretty, then."

"Thank you.

It feels strange to sit outside the classroom without Annie, as she'd grown accustomed to doing over the last several weeks, but Katniss is no stranger to being by herself. She occupies her time with thoughts of her hunting trips as a teenager in the scraggly woods outside of Five, of the practical jokes she and Gale played on other students at the Academy in Two, of the hair ribbons her sister—

No. She has to cut herself off when she begins thinking of hair ribbons and the foul-tempered cat Prim dragged home when she was 10. She gets out of the seat near the classroom door and paces the hallway quickly, reminding herself to do her 3s and 8s checks just like Annie had advised. A buzzer sounds in the hallway a minute later; the various doors swing open and children pour out of them en masse, all eager to get one of the "good" swings on the playground or prime position in line for the monkey bars. Rye's head of curls bounces towards her obediently so she can walk with him out the side door that leads to the playground.

A couple of his little friends urge him to join the line for the jungle gym, and so Katniss stands a few feet off to the side, turning in place slowly so as to peruse their surroundings. She isn't the only Trib on the lot—a few Parlimentary delegates have children in the same school, most with a guard of their own. She nods curtly to one or two as she does her scans before locking eyes on Rye quickly to see that his turn on the tall ladder has come—just before a different towhead snags her attention for a minute.

Ostensibly, the little girl looks nothing like her sister. Her nose is too pointed, her cheeks are much chubbier, and her eyes are too narrowly set on her face. But the elaborate double braid in the back that completely pulls the long strands of sunflower yellow hair away from her face is almost the exact duplicate of the way Prim loved wearing her hair when she was 8. It grew tedious to help her plait it that way every morning, but the task had fallen to Katniss to help her sister get ready for school in the mornings after her family moved to Five, and if Prim wanted her hair braided, Prim got her hair braided.

Katniss wonders whether or not this little girl's mother does her hair herself, or if she has some sort of nanny that does it instead when a yelp of pain that she recognizes as Rye's snaps her back to reality.

She paces in the emergency room, completely unable to keep still as every worst-case scenario washes over her.

Fired. Fired, I'm going to be fired, she repeats over and over in her head. I looked away for a minute, just one minute, and look what happened. Gale never should have trusted me, clearly…

A crackle of static sounds from the communicuff on her wrist before Gale's voice pulls her back. "Gale to Katniss, over."

"Katniss here," she says shakily into the device.

"We are two minutes out from your location, Katniss—anything new to report?"

"No, Little Duck's status is secure, but still precisely unknown to me at this time. Gale, is the President—"

"Code names, Katniss, remember?"

"Right. But is he—"

"We're pulling in now, Katniss, Gale out."

Fired. Fired. I'm about to be fired. I looked away for one damn minute, and this happened.

A bevy of agents, including Thresh and Thom, barrel through the revolving doors of the hospital exactly one minute later. Gale is in step with the President, whose pace is quick as he moves towards the nurse's station and clears his throat to get the first person's attention he finds there.

"Mr. President! Sir, I am Doctor Lindsey, I'm the attending physician on staff today…" a thin woman with chestnut hair says as she scurries up to the President and holds out her hand. Peeta Mellark shakes it quickly and nods towards the double doors Katniss stands vigil in front of.

"Is that where he is?" the President asks quickly.

"Yes, sir, he's right through there."

"Then why, pray tell, is his guard not in there with him?"

Dr. Lindsey bristles. "The woman is not his family, we assumed…"

"Don't ever assume anything if my son comes into your hospital again, Doctor. That woman is his guard and I expect her to be by his side unless he's lying open on an operating table. In such a case as that, I expect her to be standing right outside the operating room door, not the waiting room. Do I make myself clear?" the President snaps.

Katniss gulps and looks down at her shoes.

"Oh, of course, Mr. President. We just assumed that the regular hospital staff would be capable of…"

"Again, I ask you not to assume. May I see my child now, please, Doctor?"

The President is whisked through the door, Gale, Thresh, Thom, and Katniss quick on his heels. Katniss finds herself just barely out of stride with Gale, the one whom she most needs to speak to in order to ascertain if the "she" Peeta Mellark refers to is really her or not, or more the royal "she" of whomever Rye's next guard might be. She strains her ears to make out what the doctor says to the President about the child's condition when they suddenly pass through another door and Rye Mellark's voice calls out to them brightly.

"Hi, Daddy! They're gonna give me a cast and I get to pick whichever color I want!" the boy says as his father rounds next to his bed and plants a firm kiss on the crown of his head.

"They are? Does that mean you'll be all better, then?" Peeta Mellark says, his former gruff bravado well and truly gone, replaced by the honey-dipped kindness of an adoring father.

"It didn't hurt that much, Daddy! It just bent back all funny. Katniss was worried, though, and it made me worried that you'd be mad at her because I slipped and she wasn't there to catch me; but that's just silly, right?"

Katniss gapes at the boy, wondering how a child so young can be so attuned to her emotional state. To say she'd been worried when she heard Rye's yelp of pain and seen him huddled on the ground nursing his oddly out-turned wrist was something of an understatement. Had Gale not been the first fellow Trib to answer her call for help over the communicuffs, she might have alerted every Peacekeeper within the Capitol city limits that the President's son was, in fact, dying a slow, painful death before realizing it was only a broken wrist.

It still hadn't done much to relieve her dread over losing her job for not keeping a better eye on the boy.

Peeta Mellark kisses his son's head again and murmurs something in the boy's ear. The child giggles in a way that denotes just how heavily medicated he is and nods as his father stands up from his perch on the side of the hospital bed and gestures to Katniss. Her heart begins to pound anew when the President tells Thom to watch the boy so that he and Katniss can speak outside the door. Gale follows them, as is his duty, but has the decency to look away when the President starts to speak.

"Is all that true, Katniss? Rye tends to get pretty worked up and excitable when things like this happen," Peeta Mellark says.

The words come gushing out of Katniss before she can stop them. "Sir, I'm so sorry, truly I am, but I wasn't more than 10 feet away, as Annie indicated I should be when I'm watching him on the playground. I was doing a cursory scan of the area as Annie also suggested I do often to assess any new threats or changes in the overall atmosphere, and I was just turning back around when I heard him cry out. If I'd completed my scan a second or two sooner, I might have been able to get to him before he fell entirely, but with all due respect, I was advised to give him a small amount of distance while he's at school so that he doesn't feel like I'm perpetually hovering over him and I'm sure being the only one in his immediate class with a protection detail can't be easy on him, and I am trying, sir, I promise you that, but I might just be a little—" She trails off of her incessant rambling when the President begins to laugh.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't find this situation funny at all. If you're going to relieve me of my duties because I failed in my task of keeping the child completely safe and secure, that's fine, I am sure I have it coming, but please don't make a mockery of my position and my guilt over the situation!" Katniss snaps just as she realizes that she should never speak to the President in such a manner. Gale's eyes remind her of that.

"Katniss, are you under the impression that I'm mad at you?" the President says as he sobers, his cheeks still a little flushed from the exertion of his laughter.

"I…well, aren't you?"

"He's seven, Katniss. Seven-year-olds fall on the playground and bump their heads and sometimes they break their wrists or ankles. He's fine from what I can tell, and he seems much more worried that I'm upset with you for not 'catching him' in time than he is in actual pain. So no, Katniss, I am not upset at all, because accidents happen. You followed Peacekeeper policy to the letter as far as reporting the incident from what Gale has informed me; the only reason I'm annoyed is because this damn hospital didn't extend the same courtesy to you, and that is unacceptable. I promise you that will never happen again, or else the hospital administrators shan't like the consequences they shall face. But you, Katniss…please don't be concerned. He's alright. Accidents happen."

The President ruffles his hair and sighs deeply before turning on the perfectly polished toe of his shoe. "Now if you'll both excuse me—I'm going to help my son pick out the color for his cast before I have to go back to balancing the budget with the Treasury delegation," he says with a quick nod before heading back into the hospital room behind them.

Katniss gapes at the man's back until the door closes. She was so sure she was about to get fired…

It grates her nerves even more when she sees Gale's face break open in laughter the same way the President's had a moment before. Unlike before, with Gale, she can at least hit him in retaliation. He thumps softly against the wall when she shoves him, still doubled over in laughter.

"Damn you, Gale! It's not funny!" she hisses.

He's gotten used to not sleeping much. For the most part, anyway. In the wee hours of the morning, long after he's tucked his son and his broken wrist into his very own bed in the residence, Peeta wanders the empty halls of the mansion, waving and nodding to the Secret Service guards that stand near the major entrances to any labyrinthine hallway or office space. His feet eventually lead him back to the Aula, although his sister will give him any amount of hell for going back to work after just barely getting done with it a couple of hours earlier.

Haymitch Abernathy's office door is open. He shouldn't be surprised. Peeta taps on the door frame and nods at his mentor appraisingly when he sees the man sitting behind his desk, his feet propped up on the surface and a thick binder in his lap. The man has been dozing, Peeta can tell.

"Why don't you head home, Haymitch?" Peeta tells him.

"Head home? And make Johanna's life easy? Nah, she's hunkered down with that tall guard of yours playing dice or something until I buzz her to say I'm ready to go. Unless I just don't buzz her at all…"

He's teasing, but it sobers Peeta quickly. "She's your guard, Haymitch. She'll stay with you at all times when you aren't in the office or at home. It's non-negotiable."

"Yes, sir," Haymitch replies good-naturedly.

"Long as you're here, though…"

"Yeah, start it up. You can be the red ones," the man says, tossing the binder on his desk and stretching his back as he hoists himself out of his office chair. Peeta saunters over to the far corner of the room and swiftly opens the wooden cabinet that houses the elaborately carved dartboard. He pulls the tiny darts from their place in the door, palming the red-shafted ones for himself and the black for Haymitch before meeting the man at their usual throwing point.

"How's the little tyke doing?" Haymitch asks as he watches the President easily ping the 16, 18, and 19 with his first three darts, establishing his early lead in their standard game of Cricket.

"He's fine. Delly's fawning all over him, of course, and letting him eat ice cream and graham crackers for supper," Peeta says before stepping aside to give Haymitch a chance to throw.

"You signed your own death warrant letting that sister of yours raise your kid, and you know it, Mr. President," Haymitch says. His hands are shaky tonight, and the first two of his darts go into the wall surrounding them before the third finds the bulls-eye. There's never really a rhyme or reason for his mentor's shaky hands, but Peeta doesn't call him out on it any longer.

"I'm raising my kid. Delly just watches him when I can't," Peeta says tersely.

"Of course, sir. You got rushed away to the ER before you could tell me how the meeting with Marquise went," Haymitch says, easily shifting gears as he goes to the board to yank the darts out.

Peeta sighs and ruffles his hair. This is exactly the reason he'd been unable to sleep, despite Rye's insistence that he go to bed early like he did.

"It's bad out there, Haymitch. The environmental scientists out of Three are trying these different weather charting methods to see if they can figure out when this drought will break, but…"

"Looking at reduced crops again this fall," Haymitch surmises.

"I can't make it rain, Haymitch. And that's what Seeder's District wants me to do," Peeta says, frustration heavy in his voice.

"Not without a rain dance," the mentor says cheekily. Peeta looks at him for an explanation. "The natives of pre-Panem—Native Americans, they were called—had this tradition called a 'rain dance' for just such an occasion as drought and hot weather. They were praying to some ancient spirit that would allow the heavens to open up and make their lands grow fertile and bountiful once more. Honestly, Mr. President, I've made all those old texts available to you, you really could read them."

Peeta is about to shoot back a retort about Haymitch knowing full well he hasn't had time to read anything that doesn't have a Parliamentary stamp on it for the last six months when the older man changes gears again.

"So that new guard of the kiddo's…" the man says right as Peeta aims a dart dead on the bulls-eye. Instead, the dart-point veers wildly off course and hits the wooden frame. Haymitch guffaws, and it takes everything in Peeta's power to keep the flush across his neck at bay.

"What about her?" Peeta says passively, lining up his last dart and hitting the 18 again.

"She's from Twelve, you know," Haymitch replies as they trade places so he can shoot again.

Peeta shakes his head. "No, Gale recruited her out of Five. She was the second-in-command of their largest Peacekeeper unit there."

"She might be a resident of Five, but take my word on it, Mr. President; that girl is Seam, same as me and that tall guard of yours," Haymitch says. His darts easily land where they need to in order for a tie, and Peeta squares his shoulders while he re-aims.

"And how do you know this?" he retorts.

The mentor shrugs. "Her file's on the database. You could look it up yourself."

"I do have a country to run, Haymitch, or did you forget all about all that campaigning we did that afforded us these plush little offices and this dandy dart board?"

"I'm just saying, sir. Looks an awful lot like you're keeping your District interests well and truly intact in this administration, and I'd hate for it to look like you're favoring our home over other Districts."

Peeta pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm not, though—not at all…"

"I didn't say you were. Just warning you to make sure you remember what things can look like," Haymitch says calmly.

Peeta has lined up another dart he swears will hit the bulls-eye dead on, claiming his win over his mentor when Haymitch speaks again.

"Girl is sort of pretty though, don't you think?" the old man says. The dart lands squarely in the 3 wedge, and Peeta swears under his breath.

"You win, old man. Good night," he says with a flourish, leaving the man to put the game away on his own as Peeta stalks his way back to the residence to turn in.

But long after he checks in on his sleeping son and crawls into his own bed with the lights out, thoughts of Katniss Everdeen's grey eyes permeate Peeta's thoughts so much that he's unable to sleep. As a matter of fact, he has noticed how pretty she is. He's noticed more than a few attractive women since Madge, but none of them left as much of an impression on him as Katniss did that very first day she walked into the Aula. In fact, if he's entirely honest, it's possible that she has left too much of an impression on him. Try as he might to blink away the inappropriate thoughts of weaving his fingers into her chestnut tresses, of getting close enough to her to actually identify the intrinsic and intoxicating scent of her skin, none of that is a luxury he can afford. She is his son's guard. And Rye must always be his first priority.

He manages to rid his mind of thoughts of greyish-silver eyes, but instead, he becomes fixated on the idea of greyish-silver rain clouds; as such, it's still impossible to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

The standard Wednesday senior staff meeting starts twenty minutes late, much to Effie Trinket's dismay. Finnick Odair and Beetee Watts are just settling onto the couches in the center of the Aula when Peeta and Haymitch walk in, murmuring to one another. When both men move to rise to their feet, Peeta quickly waves them off so they stay seated.

"You both know I hate it when you do that," Peeta says with a sigh as he takes his own seat in the wing-backed chair between the two couches.

"Force of habit, Mr. President," Beetee says as he smoothes a wrinkle out of his trouser leg and opens up the binder in front of him.

"How'd the meeting go with the Parlimentary heads?" Finnick asks, clicking open the ballpoint pen in his left hand before adjusting the thin framed reading glasses on his nose.

"Oh, Alma Coin is a joy as always," Haymitch says as he takes his standard seat to Peeta's left.

"That woman has hated my guts from the day I was elected to Parliament, Haymitch, I don't know why you'd suppose she'd stop after I beat her in the election," Peeta says nonchalantly.

"So what was decided?" Beetee asks tentatively, bracing for the worst but hoping for the best.

"Oh, Coin is very adamant we use that blasted HAARP device as soon as possible, damn the consequences," Haymitch says.

"Where do Boggs, Paylor, and Lyme land?" Finnick asks.

"They all say they side with me. Which, for now, is enough to keep Coin at bay, but it won't be forever. And it's getting worse in Eleven, so if we don't come up with something soon…" Peeta replies.

In reality, even with Brinna Paylor and Reanna Lyme's reassurance that they'll always land on his side, and Boggs's insistence that Coin's enthusiasm for the HAARP project is ill-advised at best and generally frowned upon by the Parliament in general, Peeta still worries about Coin's threat to call a vote to override his veto. The only thing that worries him more is Coin's reaction when he broaches his own plan to address the drought crisis in Eleven, which he and the other men in the room know is risky at best, and could be cataclysmically disastrous at worst.

"And what of your plan, Mr. President?" Beetee follows. "Was it discussed at all?"

"No. The Parliament caucus called an emergency session before we had a chance to bring it up," Peeta says with a sigh.

"What we need to count on is Boggs and Paylor and Lyme hating the President's idea less than they hate HAARP. Beetee, we want you to go ahead and start drafting a speech to the nation about our intentions—what the trip will mean, how we hope it will go, pertinent details about Rio itself," Haymitch says.

"Right away. I can probably have a draft of it for your approval by morning," Beetee says with a nod.

"Finnick, I assume there's no news on the communique we issued since we left for Parliament this morning?" Haymitch continues.

"Regrettably no, but Mags and I each proofed the message twice. But the best we'll know once it gets to Rio is whether or not it's been received," Finnick replies.

"I'm not sure I want the media core knowing how heavily involved you are just yet," Peeta says thoughtfully. "I know you haven't said anything in your briefings, but…"

"Well, it's been interesting keeping Templesmith and Flickerman off my back, but I've been able to handle the pair of them just fine the last few months…can't imagine why I wouldn't be able to keep it going now," Finnick says with a smile.

"All the same, until we've gotten confirmed, peaceful intelligence back from Rio, I don't want a word of it coming out of your department. No sense in getting the press all riled up if their military shoots down our hovercraft—" Haymitch begins.

"We're not talking like that, Haymitch," Peeta says sternly, even though it's the exact thing he's been worried about ever since the craft was dispatched. Him thinking it and his mentor actually saying it aloud feel like two completely different things. "What's next?"

Beetee is opening his mouth to speak when the Rye buzzer goes off behind Peeta's desk. Peeta groans, not because he's not excited about getting a few precious moments with his child, but because he hadn't realized how late in the day it had gotten. No matter how much he feels like he gets done any given day, it seems like every single day is a tiny bit shorter and shorter with each progressive week that flies by. He looks to his staff and all three of them give him a nod. He's never had to interrupt senior staff for Rye's 10 minutes before, but he has to wonder if an interruption like this is bound to happen several more times over the course of his term. Either that, or the scant few minutes he gets with Rye guaranteed every day will have to go by the wayside—and that, no matter his duty to his country, is not an option for him.

"We'll wait," Haymitch says gruffly.

"It'll be good to say hello to him anyway," Finnick says, his voice much kinder. Beetee nods his agreement.

"Thanks," Peeta circles his desk to buzz Effie and let her know to allow Rye and Katniss Everdeen into the Aula as soon as they arrive. The EA chirps back that they're walking up now, and since Gale isn't in the room to open the door, Peeta waves his own hand in front of the motion sensor and is just barely able to catch his son around the waist when he barrels into the room.

"Hi Daddy!" Rye says brightly as he twists in his father's arms to puts his arms around Peeta's neck.

Peeta pecks the top of his head and grins at him. "Hey there, Duckie. Say hi to Haymitch and Beetee and Finnick?" he says as he sets him down and points him towards the three seated men. Obediently, the boy waves before looking at his father, befuddled by their presence. Peeta shrugs at him. "Sorry, our meeting is running extra long today."

"Can I still show you my picture I drew in class today?" Rye asks curiously.

"Of course!" Peeta places his hands gingerly on the boy's shoulders and leads him towards the desk. As he does, his eyes drift upwards to where Katniss is waiting just past the doorway, glancing upwards at him and the boy periodically before training her eyes down at the carpet to give them a modicum of privacy. He smiles at her broadly in an attempt to engage her to do similarly. "Hello, Katniss."

"Good afternoon, Mr. President," she replies in kind, her lips a thin, tight line that just barely curves upwards at the corners. She hasn't scowled much at him since that day in the hospital emergency room, but she doesn't ever really smile much, either. Normally Peeta would find that disconcerting, but on her it's…endearing.

"Katniss, can you give my daddy my drawing, please?" He turns to his father as the woman crosses the room towards them. "I didn't want it to get all squashy in my pack, so she said she'd carry it for me."

Katniss pulls the paper from behind her back as if from nowhere and hands it to Peeta with a slight nod of her head. The very tips of their fingers brush against one another for the briefest of seconds, something Peeta is sure Katniss didn't even notice despite it sending an odd shiver through him. He puts it out of his head for the time being so he can focus on his child. They assume their usual place in Peeta's desk chair with Rye occupying his lap as he points out the different shapes and colors he'd used in this latest drawing. Peeta listens intently, of course, but Katniss's presence just a few feet away has him thoroughly unhinged and he can't figure out why. This routine has been the same every day for the last six weeks.

Peeta studies it enthusiastically. "It looks great, Duckie. Where's it gonna go?"

"Oh…um…it's not for you, Daddy. It's for Katniss." Rye's eyes fall to his feet sheepishly.

Either Peeta is hearing things, or Katniss gasps audibly at this revelation. "Oh. Well that's okay."

"I promised her forever ago I'd draw her pictures of some ducks, and…" Rye stammers quickly, his two-toned eyes darting quickly between his father and his guard.

"And you should always keep your promises, Rye. You remember how we talked about that, right?" Peeta says patiently. Rye nods happily and beams at Katniss as his father scoots him off his lap so he can stand.

Peeta hands the drawing back to the woman. "I believe you have a fan, Katniss."

"Thank you, Mr. President. Rye, you didn't tell me…"

"I always gotta show Daddy my drawings, even if they aren't for him. Do you like it, Katniss?" Rye asks bashfully, thunking his head against his father's side as the buzzer sounds once more.

Peeta watches as Katniss's quicksilver eyes survey the page and the crayon marks on it, and for the first time in the weeks he's known the woman, he sees her genuinely smile wide. It's not a pretty smile, or even a beautiful one—it makes her look positively radiant.

"Will you promise to draw me a new one next week?" Peeta says as he smoothes his son's hair. Rye nods enthusiastically as his father bends at the waist to give him another bear hug before walking him back around the desk. "Alright, I'll see you and Auntie Delly tonight as soon after supper as I can manage, alright?"

Katniss's eyes go wide for a moment and she stares nervously at him. "Mr. President, I almost forgot…when we checked in with Thom at the residence, he indicated the First Lady has been feeling quite ill today. I wasn't sure how you wanted me to proceed…"

Behind him, Haymitch clears his throat as if to remind him they're still technically in senior staff, and Peeta flusters slightly before looking between Katniss and Rye. He sighs.

"I…you can just ask Thom to keep an eye on him until I'm finished for the day, Katniss, that's fine," he says quickly. "Sorry, Duckie, I need to finish my meeting. Take care of your Auntie for me?"

"Sure, Daddy. Mr. Haymitch, I hope you aren't sick with a cold like my Auntie is…your voice sounds all scratchy!" Rye says innocently as he falls in step with Katniss as she leads them back to the door where they entered. When Peeta turns back to his staff, he sees Finnick barely able to suppress the smile on his face in response to the deep scowl worn by Haymitch. He eases himself into his chair and rubs his hands together before looking back at Beetee.

"What's next?" he presses the older man, prompting Beetee to pick up exactly where he'd left off when the buzzer sounded. With talk of HAARP, Rio, and Coin out of the way, their meeting wraps quickly and the three men let themselves out when Effie bustles in with an updated schedule for the rest of the President's afternoon, her entire aura positively buzzing with nervous energy.

Finnick steals a single glance back at the man behind the desk before the door closes between them and he nudges Beetee with his elbow.

"Tell me you saw all that!" Finnick says with a grin.

"The President and the boy, or the President and the boy's guard?" Beetee says, returning the smile jovially.

"I knew it! Cripes, he's in as much trouble as I am," Finnick says with a shake of his head.

Beetee shakes his head as he moves past the younger man on his way to his own office. "Odair, no one will ever succeed in getting in as much trouble as you do."

Peeta lets himself into the residence at close to 10 that night and immediately sets about yanking his tie off from around his neck. It's a standard Wednesday, meaning that Sae, their personal chef, should have made a pot roast for dinner that'll be in the oven for him. He is just thinking that a plate of the dish and a glass of whiskey are all he wants before he turns in for the night when he walks into the kitchen and spies Rye and Katniss playing pick-up-sticks at the hightop counter.

"Hi Daddy!" Rye says brightly, darting off the stool and rushing his father to throw his arms around his waist. Peeta hugs him back happily, but finds it oddly difficult to look upwards at Katniss, who's jumped to her feet and is standing quite awkwardly beside her own stool.

"Whatcha still doing up, Duck? I thought you had a field trip in the morning?"

"Well…I wasn't sleepy, and Katniss wanted me to show her how to play sticks…" Rye says innocently as he looks at his guard as if to implore her not to sell him out.

Peeta clicks his tongue in mouth and places his hand atop his son's curls. "Go get into your pajamas and I'll come tuck you into bed in a minute." He points the boy towards the door he'd just entered through.

Rye huffs, but waves back at Katniss before he obeys. "Night, Katniss. See you in the morning!"

She waves back, and it floors Peeta to her actually see her smile. "Good night, Rye. Sweet dreams…oh, and thanks again for my picture."

The boy beams at her before padding out of the room. Her face returns to a blank mask, her gaze falling back to the highly polished wood floor when it's just her and Peeta.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. President, I didn't see the time or I would have had him get ready for bed an hour ago…" she begins.

"You didn't have to stay, Katniss. Remember? I told you that first day you met him I didn't expect you to be his nanny," Peeta says kindly. He's unsure why, but his feet feel oddly frozen in place.

"No, sir, I don't feel like I am. But I believe it's my duty to stay with him until I can officially sign him over to either you or the First Lady, and with the First Lady feeling poorly…"

Peeta finds his feet and steps towards the kitchen counter quickly. "You sound just like Annie."

Katniss nods quickly before her eyes flit up and meet his own ever briefly. "I'll just clean this up, sir, and be on my way if there is nothing else. I'll be reporting in about a half an hour early tomorrow on account of the aforementioned field trip in the morning," she says.

"Don't worry about those, I'll get them here in just a second," Peeta tells her before reaching into the oven and pulling the warm plate out deftly to set on the counter. He runs his fingers along his mouth idly before turning to her and attempting to meet her gaze. "Katniss, can I ask you one tiny favor?"

"Um…of course, Mr. President," she replies, her voice nervous.

"I, um…well, I am hoping to be making a move that's somewhat unprecedented for whomever has been in my job and it's…well, it's tricky, to say the least. It's taking a lot of time and patience and neither of those are things my son has an ample amount of being as young as he is. And the last thing I ever want Rye to think is that my job is more important to me than he is because nothing could be further from the truth. If you…if you begin to get that impression from him at all, even just the tiniest bit…may I ask you to let me know?"

Katniss swallows hard but nods her head determinedly all the same.

"Of course, sir. But I don't think you have anything to worry about. Rye is a very happy child. And he adores you. I suppose he might wish he saw more of you. You…you really don't have anything to worry about," Katniss tells him. Her voice is as confident as Peeta has ever heard and it pangs his heart just a little. He really wishes that would stop happening.

"Thank you," he says as a flood of relief washes through him. He lifts the piece of tin foil off the plate Sae has set aside for him and sees immediately that she's piled the plate far too high for his own twisted stomach to be able to handle.

He's debating the merits of asking if Katniss had eaten with Rye when her body tenses and her eyes dart towards the door. He must make her extraordinarily uncomfortable for the look on her face. He clears his throat and nods towards her. "Thank you for staying with him this afternoon, Katniss. Hopefully Delly will be feeling better tomorrow so you can have the afternoon off. Have a good night."

"Thank you, Mr. President," she says before she scuttles through the door without another glance at him. He runs his hands through his hair impatiently and looks again at the plate.

"Well, that would have been a stupid idea," he mutters to himself before pushing the plate back and making his way to Rye's room. After he tucks the boy in and snaps out his small bedroom light, Peeta wolfs down as much of the roast as he can handle before greedily swallowing several gulps of the fine whiskey kept in his cupboard before collapsing onto his own bed in a heap. He piles the superfluous pillows in a long stack off to his left and rolls to his side, tucking his arm around them. He sighs deeply, feeling a little silly but getting a strange sort of comfort from the action anyway. Other than nights Rye's nightmares get too bad, Peeta hasn't shared a bed with anyone in nearly 8 years. How a mattress that was never his marital bed can feel so empty baffles him.

"I miss you, Meg…" he whispers to himself, feeling the familiar pang of sorrow when he thinks of the pet name for Madge that she absolutely hated, but allowed him to use anyway. In the past, similar words murmured to his pillows have inspired tears, or at least a tight heaviness in his chest as he remembers her. Tonight, however, he feels something…different. Less pain and more—hope? Is that what that is?

He's sure that's exactly what it is when those damn silver eyes flash brilliantly behind his eyelids. The thought is enough to make him smile for a brief moment before he groans at himself impatiently and rolls onto his back. He rubs his temples roughly as though he's trying to wipe away the image from his subconscious.

"Don't get any more brilliant ideas, Mellark," he swears to himself once he snaps his own light off. "She's his guard. Nothing more."

Several busy days later, Finnick Odair squares his shoulders before sauntering out to his microphone stand. The bustle of the media quiets as he takes his place and taps his mic three quick times in succession, getting the stragglers' attention before his pushes his glasses up on his nose.

"Welcome, welcome," he says in usual greeting. "Before I have the honor of introducing the President, I'd like to clarify once again that he'll be taking only a handful of questions at his discretion, and that Prime Minister Boggs will be available during tomorrow morning's first briefing to follow up. We'd like you all to be able to meet your deadlines this evening, so without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, the President of Panem: Peeta Mellark."

The crowd jumps to their feet as Peeta files onto the stage and takes Finnick's place behind the podium. He taps the small stack of papers on display in front of him so they're neatly set in a pile, and clears his throat before speaking.

"Thank you, please take your seats. At noon today, Prime Minister Boggs and myself received reliable communique from the nation of Rio de la Plata, our geographic neighbor several hundred miles south of the District Four seaboard. This is the first diplomatic contact that the nation of Panem has exchanged with a foreign state since the Dark Days War, and so with it, our period as an isolationist nation has ended.

"On our request, the head government official, the Honorable Consuela Espinoza, has formally invited myself and my immediate staff on a diplomatic, peaceful visit to her nation in exactly one week's time. Our trip is slated to last 4 days, during which time Prime Minister Boggs will be in control of both the Parliament and the Aula. The purpose of my visit to Rio de la Plata is two-fold: one, Prime Minister Boggs and myself believe that the future of Panem is best served by having peaceful relations with our closest settled neighbor, something that has been lacking for nearly 100 years. And two: we are facing a food shortage like nothing our country has ever experienced. With the unpredictability of weather patterns that negatively impact our agricultural Districts, it is our belief that we may be able to cull knowledge and information from our neighbors in hopes of finding new solutions to our drought-riddled land. President Espinoza has agreed to the limited terms of our visit, and will ascertain what, if any, assistance her country will be able to provide us over the course of the trip. I'll take a few questions." Peeta finishes, tapping the papers together once more as a swarm of hands fly into the air and his name is called by every mouth in the room.

Finnick takes it upon himself to call on reporters for Peeta, and calls Maura Cressida first.

"Mr. President, after 100 years of no contact with a foreign government, how exactly were you able to achieve communication with Rio and its President?"

"Rio de la Plata's national language is a dialect of the Spanish language, and as most will know, a similar dialect is spoken colloquially in District Four. Several of my staffers translated our initial message and it was dispatched 10 days ago. That's all I'll comment on for now."

Finnick barks out Claudius Templesmith's name.

"Was Parliament informed of this action prior to the message being sent, or are we dealing with acting first, getting forgiveness later?" Templesmith says, snark oozing from his lips.

"After a century of isolationism, there is zero precident with which to inform the Parliament of contact with a foreign power. Prime Minister Boggs was alerted expeditiously, followed by delegation leaders Coin, Paylor, and Lyme. As soon as we received communique back, the rest of Parliament was informed; this took place about an hour ago. The Prime Minister has asked that further questions on the matter be diverted straight to him."

Finnick calls on Flavius Joseph.

"Who will be making the trip with you, Mr. President? Will your son be in attendance?"

Peeta seethes internally, but still manages to put his best face forward. "I believe I've made it very, very clear in past conferences that matters pertaining to my son are best left off the front page, Mr. Joseph. A list of staffers that will be making the trip with me will be made available through Mr. Odair closer to our time of departure.

"Last question: Flickerman?" Finnick calls out.

Cesear Flickerman's coif of blue hair pops up over the crowd and a bemused smile crosses his face. "Mr. President, my source within the Parliament back offices indicate that top leaders are pushing for the use of the HAARP device in which to address the drought in Eleven. What makes your plan better than HAARP?"

Peeta licks his teeth, and action that is mostly hidden by a raised hand before placing both on the corners of the podium and leaning forward. "I've not formally spoken on HAARP, but I what I can say is this—utilizing engineering technology designed to remap the weather patterns of a certain area prior to extensive and exhaustive research into possible after-effects is not a notion I wish to entertain at this time. It may well be that HAARP is a miracle device, but until the top scientists in our nation can all agree there will be no ill consequences of its use, I am reluctant to pursue it. The Parliament leaders with which you spoke, Mr. Flickerman, would be better off taking their concerns to those scientists if they're so adamant that HAARP be used sooner rather than later. Thank you, that's all."

He nods quickly to the crowd, blatantly ignoring the incessant cries of his name as he leaves the stage and falls into step with Haymitch back to the Aula.

"Why didn't you read the statement Beetee prepared for you about HAARP?" Haymitch sneers. "It would have leant a lot of credence to why we're not pursuing it, that's why he wrote the damn thing."

"They can do all the research they want to on HAARP and Alma Coin can vilify me for not using it all she damn well wants, Haymitch. My answer is always going to be a resounding no. We aren't fucking with the weather, it's asking for disaster," Peeta says sternly before tossing his blazer on the back of his desk chair and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. "What's next?"

Chapter Text

Katniss isn't meant to overhear the argument between the President and the First Lady that morning. She earnestly tries to avoid overhearing, but Rye had spilled his orange juice on his school uniform and Delly had sent him off to change into a new shirt and put his trousers under the full body dryer in the bathroom, delaying their departure for school. Katniss sits in one of the straight back chairs in the residence foyer, holding the little boy's backpack in her lap and resisting the urge to look at the time on her communicuff every thirty seconds when Delly Cartwright's screechy trill rings out from the kitchen.

"Are you insane?! Have you actually lost your bloody mind?"

"Dell, calm down…"

"No! It's insane enough that Haymitch and Finnick are following you down there without more than a verbal guarantee that they won't shoot you all the second you step off the Hovercraft…but taking Rye with you?"

"I didn't just decide to do this, Sis. I have my reasons. You need to trust me on that."

A hybrid cough/gasp leaves Katniss's throat; she'd been as surprised as any other citizen of Panem at the President's announcement the other day. It'd immediately occurred to her that this must be the 'unprecedented move' he'd alluded to that night he'd caught her playing pick-up-sticks with Rye well past the little boy's bedtime. But as she listens to Delly Cartwright screeching at her brother, Katniss finds herself getting oddly defensive of the President's position on the matter. If there is one thing she understands implicitly, it's the desire to get a job done properly; even if she can't see to what end having Rye with him on this international trip would help the President meet his endgame with the nation of Rio de la Plata, Katniss feels like she can trust the man's reasons behind it. And she barely knows him.

"I swear, Peeta Mellark, if anything you do hurts that little boy…"

"He's my little boy, Delly! Remember? I was the one who took care of him after Madge up and…"

"Don't ever insinuate that I don't have just as much to lose if something happens to him! I've helped you raise him for five years! I'm the only mother he's ever known!"

"And I appreciate it! But he's my kid! At the end of the day, Delly, he's my kid, and you need to trust that I'm doing what's best for him."

"Best for him, Peeta? Or best for the country? You don't always define the difference well."

Katniss startles when something thunks heavily against something else—a glass against the tabletop, maybe, or a chair clattering against the wall as it's pushed back?—but recovers when she hears the President say something about needing to get to work before storming out into the foyer where she sits. The man whips his suit jacket around his shoulders, completely unaware of Katniss's presence, when something small and glinty flies out of one of his pockets and skitters along the glossy floor to land at her feet. Impulsively, she bends to pick it up before jumping to her feet and opening her mouth to call out to the man. She's barely formed the word "Mister" when Peeta turns and jumps back in shock of seeing her.

"Katniss? I thought…"

"I apologize, Mr. President, I've been trying to be patient with Rye…I was about to go to the bathroom and fetch him so we won't be late, but…"

"No, it's fine, that isn't your job…I'll go get him real quick." The President shakes his head as though he needs to find his bearings before he turns on his toe to head down the hall towards the bathroom. With the tiny trinket seemingly burning her hand where she clutches it, Katniss has no choice but to call after the man, her voice a garbled choke of the formal title.

"Mr. President? I'm sorry, but you appear to have dropped something."

The man turns and quirks his head at her. She does her best to train her gaze anywhere but the dazzling blue eyes that unnerve her so; she steps forward and holds her open palm out to him as she adds, "It, um…I believe it might have fallen out of your jacket pocket."

Relief floods Peeta Mellark's face. Katniss drops the token into his outstretched palm and watches him reverently run his thumb over the golden circle.

"Thank you for catching it. This…it belonged to my wife. She gave it to me ages ago and…well, I'd be crushed if I lost it." He unclips the back a moment later and pins it to his lapel in a fluid, practiced motion. Katniss tries not to stare, but she's pretty sure she can make out the impression of a bird of some sort within the ring of gold.

"It's no trouble at all, sir. If I may…it's, um, very lovely."

The President smiles at her. "It's a mockingjay. Madge had an affinity for music so the birds appealed to her. This had been in her family for ages and she swore it brought good luck. It probably sounds silly, but I tend to think it does as well, hence why I wear it everyday."

Katniss nods curtly at him, all the while trying to ignore the strange flood of bizarre emotion that seems to fill the pit of her stomach. Despite him being ostensibly the most famous person in Panem, Katniss knows very little about President Peeta Mellark, something she hasn't taken many steps to rectify despite his child being her mark. She wonders what might have happened to Rye's mother that his aunt is his primary caregiver, but it doesn't seem prudent to ask and betray her ignorance about the man running her country.

She's so lost in thought that she almost misses it when he says, "It's where my Secret Service name comes from: Gale spotted the pin, recognized it, and suggested they use it."

"Mockingjay," she says as she's snapped back to reality.

"Yeah. Um, hold on, I'll go get Rye so you aren't any later than you already are…"

"Won't you be? Late, I mean," she asks.

The President shrugs, and the gesture looks sweet and boyish on him. "He's worth it if I am."

"Gale to Katniss, come in?"

Katniss raises her communicuff to her lips as she walks out of the residence that evening, having dropped Rye off with a still-in-a-tizzy Delly Cartwright. "Katniss here."

"Are you excused for the evening?" Gale's voice crackles over the tiny speaker.

"Yes, I'm heading in to sign out now," she responds.

"Stop by my office first, please. Gale out."

She obeys, and a minute later she's tapping lightly on the door to Gale's office. He gestures to her from behind his desk, balancing a phone between his shoulder and his ear and barking an order into it before hanging it up. He rubs his fingers over his eyelids quickly as Katniss takes the seat across from him and looks at him expectantly.

"Sorry, there's a new outer-office guard starting in the morning and there were some issues with his transfer paperwork from Nine. Something to drink?" Gale says in that tone of voice that Katniss knows is usually reserved just for her.

"No, I'm good. What's up, Gale?"

"Well, I need to get you prepared for the Rio trip. You know it's coming up Monday, right?"

Katniss freezes. Despite overhearing the disagreement between Delly and the President this morning, her brain hadn't exactly made the connection between Rye's presence on the excursion and her own.

"Um…yes…but I figured…"

Gale shakes his head. "The President is insistent that Little Duck accompany him. Where that kid goes, you go."

Katniss can't help but flinch. She's grown used to the SS call-name used for her mark, but hearing Gale say the name so passively and easily when he, of all people, knows what it means to her is still hard to swallow. "Can we please just call him Rye when we aren't on communicuff?"

"Sure, sure. There's going to be a security briefing for all the agents on the trip tomorrow at 20:00, but there's a matter you need to be privy to specifically, and it's somewhat delicate." Gale turns in his chair a few degrees and rifles through the top most drawer until he palms a small box no bigger than a baby's fist. He slides it across the desk and nods at her to take it.

"What's this?" she asks.

"They're…well, we're calling them Nightlock."

Katniss nearly drops the box on instinct. Years spent with her sister gathering wild berries in the woods beyond Five's boundaries taught her a lot about what was and wasn't safe to eat. Her brain drifts back to the day she identified the nightlock berries Prim had picked. As soon as she'd found the entry for them in her family's book of plants and herbal remedies, she'd made Prim walk back to the fence and throw them over, then scrub her hands until they were raw for good measure.

Looking down at the two innocuous purple pills in the tiny box immediately makes her throat close off.

"Are…are they…"

"It's a sedative, primarily. It takes effect almost immediately, so whoever has taken it falls into a deep sleep. Then, over a course of about three or four minutes, it slows and finally stops the heart. It's very humane…can't feel a thing."

"Why are you giving me these?"

The look Gale gives her is significant. "Thresh, Thom, and I are all carrying some of our own, in the highly unlikely event the President is compromised. The ones you'll be carrying are sized so that Rye should have no problem swallowing them quickly if he…"

"What?!" Katniss screeches.

"It's a precaution, Katniss, that's all. All communique and intelligence out of Rio has indicated that our trip should be uneventful and diplomatic, but we always hope for the best and prepare for the absolute worst. It's Secret Service policy. We can't afford for the President to be taken hostage, and the only way he agreed to this protocol for him is if we followed the same for his son, as abhorrent a thought as it is. He's counting on you to follow through should the occasion call for it; it's part of your duty, Katniss. You can think of it as your final duty in guarding your mark should the need arise." Gale's voice is stern and unrelenting; Katniss knows there is no arguing this point.

"What if I get separated from him?" she asks, snapping the little box shut and closing her fingers around it. "Or say I don't…how will I know that the situation calls for it and isn't just a misunderstanding?"

"You'll know, Katniss. If the time comes, you'll know. And if you get separated from him…you're an excellent marksman. I trust you to be able to do what's best to make sure that no pain or suffering befalls that little boy," Gale replies calmly.

Katniss feels her blood run cold at the thought of lining up a shot of Rye Mellark's spinal cord and pulling the trigger. Even if it saved him from excruciating torture or abuse at the hands of captors, could she really end that beautiful little boy's life in the blink of an eye?

"Would you be able to do it? Truly? If the time came?" she whispers to Gale before placing the box of Nightlock pills in her breast pocket.

"It's my duty to do so if the time comes. And it's yours. You can't fail him, Katniss. I know you know that."

She nods before finding her feet again and turning to leave the room.

"It's just a precaution. In less than a week we'll all be back on Panem soil with little more than interesting stories about the strange place we all just came back from visiting," Gale tells her, his tone changing once more to one of surprising optimism. She nods back at him and files down to the Tribute locker room two floors below.

Sleep is hard to come by for the next several nights. When she does fall asleep, her dreams are flashes of a bullet marring Rye's perfect curls and the light leaving his green and blue eyes. But what disturbs her more are the images of a battered, tortured Peeta Mellark that her subconscious forces her to watch over and over. She wakes with a start from the dream when she hears a pained cry of agony, followed by a spray of his blood that splashes across cold white tiles again and again, as if she's watching it projected on a film reel. Even more than the fear of having to end Rye's life for his own good, the notion of the President dying fills Katniss with so much dread she finally gives up on sleeping altogether.

She's never been on a Hovercraft before, let alone one emblazoned with the Seal of Panem, as befits the escort of the President and his staff. She she grips the handle of her bag tightly, thankful no one is immediately close enough to see her white-knuckled death grip. The Mellark men are several paces ahead of her, Rye's tiny hand in his father's large one, and the little boy's curls bounce as he trots happily alongside his father. The child turns in place, never quite losing step with the President and waves.

"Come on, Katniss! We gotta make sure we get the good seats!" he calls to her.

Katniss watches as a huge smile spreads across the President's face. "When have you ever not gotten a good seat on this thing, Duckie?"

"I dunno…but there's a first time for everything, and I don't want it to be today. Duh, Daddy."

The President chuckles heartily, the sound so different and so much more pleasant than his cry of pain that haunts her sleep. "Well don't you worry, Duck. You and Katniss will have the super comfy seats right outside my office. How does that sound?"

Rye stops stops mid-step as he and his father ascend the small stairway that leads into the belly of the craft. "You're gonna be working the whole time, aren't you?" The boy's voice is hollow and dejected, and Katniss watches as the President's shoulders slump.

"Rye, we talked about this, remember?" the President says softly, kneeling so he's at eye level with his son. The little boy huffs and turns in a half circle so he's looking squarely at Katniss. He holds his hand out to her expectantly.

"I want to walk with Katniss instead," the boy says. In response, she feels her ears burn and tries not to notice the pained expression that crosses the President's face.

"I won't have to work the whole ride down, Rye, I promise," Peeta tells him gently.

"I want Katniss to walk with me, Daddy, okay?" Rye huffs.

"I, erm…I can get him settled, Mr. President," Katniss offers tentatively, wishing that she could have some sort of guarantee that her words to him aren't going to wound his pride any further. The President watches as she takes his child's hand in her own before nodding to her curtly and jaunting up the steps of the Hovercraft.

"He always has to work," Rye mutters under his breath. Despite his suddenly cloudy disposition, he still leads Katniss up the short staircase and onto the craft as though he knows exactly where to go. Katniss feels sort of fortunate for this, considering that she hasn't the foggiest idea.

"You know, when I was little, my daddy worked a lot, too," she offers as he tugs on her hand, her eyes darting about the elaborate interior of the craft. "My sister was sick a lot when she was really young and my mother had to take care of her all day, so my daddy worked a lot of extra hours. I missed him, too."

"Yeah?" Rye's voice is dubious, but his eyes flash in a way that convinces Katniss to continue.

"It just meant that when I did get to see him, it was that much more special."

The boy seems to consider this notion as he crawls into a large, plush seat next to a wide window and folds his hands gently in his lap. He sighs and looks wistfully at the closed door directly to their left and kicks his feet against the front of the seat as Katniss settles into hers. The straps and buckle contraption that make up the safety belt befuddle her for a minute, but when she finds the method to snap them together, she notices a pair of green and blue eyes pensively staring at her.

"You think I hurt my Daddy's feelings, Katniss?" the boy asks meekly.

She shrugs. "I can't tell you so. But maybe…"

She's cut short when the great behemoth machine whirrs and groans around them. Her hands fly to the armrests and her knuckles instantly turn white. She's releasing the panicked breath she's sucked in when she hears Rye giggle next to her.

"Those are just the engines turning on, Katniss. It's a good sound!" he laughs. She tries to return his smile with a less panicked one of her own.

"I'm gonna go talk to my Daddy before we take off. Wanna come?" Rye says, deftly unfastening his own safety restraints and hopping to the floor. All Katniss really wants to do is stay tucked in her seat of moderate safety, but where Rye goes, she goes. Her fingers fumble with the buckle for a long minute before she pads after the little boy who's tapping gently on the door to the President's office. It's yanked open a second later by Finnick Odair, who looks appraisingly down at the little boy.

"Hi, Mr. Finnick. When's my daddy gonna be done for a minute?"

Finnick reaches down and ruffles Rye's curls. "We're just finished now, Duck. Come on in." The man stands aside to allow the boy pass, but seems to survey Katniss ever briefly before allowing her past as well. His green eyes aren't masked by the reading glasses he uses in his press briefings, which makes them all the more arresting, even if they don't render her quite as speechless and stupid as those of the President.

Why the hell is she even thinking like this?

She stands in the center of the small room with her hands behind her back, watching as Rye rounds his father's desk and crawls into the man's lap. Peeta Mellark kisses his son's temple softly before they begin whispering to one another, and Katniss averts her gaze as trained. She feels like she's being stared at, and when she lifts her eyes in that direction, she sees Haymitch Abernathy looking at her queerly. She drops her gaze to her feet again and wills the color threatening to invade her cheeks not to spread too high or burn too hot.

A crackly announcement over the Hovercraft's PA asks for all passengers to assume their seats and restraints; Katniss turns towards the door to return to the seats she and Rye had just vacated when the President's voice calls out to her.

"Katniss? If you wouldn't mind keeping Rye company for a few minutes while Haymitch and Finnick and I go over one final thing, you're both welcome to stay in here for take-off."

Her neck straightens and her eyes meet his automatically. She feels her breath gets shallow in that baffling way she can't explain when his eyes lock on hers and has to will her head to bob in response.

"Of course, Mr. President," she says, her voice breaking at the end. She's hoping he's been busy enough with sweeping his son off his lap and fiddling with the buckle on his own seat behind the ornate desk that he didn't notice. Rye pads over to her and grasps her hand to pull them towards a small sofa in the far corner. He tugs her hand down to sit next to him before pawing around in the cushion he's perched on for the other half of his buckle.

"This is a funny one," the boy says matter-of-factly, burrowing his hand in the back corner of the seat.

"Here, trade me and we'll get you buckled in first," Katniss says to him, standing so he can scoot into her place. She's taken his spot and is handing him the strap with the flat tip of the buckle when the craft suddenly lurches forward, causing her to topple to her knees and bump her hip into a stationary table to her right. She scrambles back into the seat, visually surveying that Rye is restrained before fumbling around wildly for the missing half of her own safety restraint. She's so involved with trying to tug the thing free when she finds it that she almost misses the President's fingers closing gently around her wrist when he's suddenly kneeling in front of her.

"If you tug on that one too hard, it locks up. Here," the man says softly, deftly unlocking the mechanism holding the strap in place before wrapping it around Katniss's hipbone. In the back of her head, she knows she's supposed to stand at attention when the President is addressing her, but she feels frozen in place by the way his hands click the buckle in place under her navel and the kind way he glances up at her.

"Mr. President, you need to take your seat," Haymitch Abernathy's gruff voice says, snapping Katniss out of her momentary reverie.

The man doesn't say anything in response, instead opting to lean over and peck his son's forehead before returning to the chair behind the desk and and strapping himself back in. His eyes dart briefly over to Katniss before turning to his Chief of Staff and shooting a question at him that goes straight over Katniss's head. Once again, she feels like she's being stared at, but this time, it's the green eyes of Finnick Odair that are taking her in with a highly amused smirk.

She's never been so relieved in her life that Rye's nudging her shoulder. It's a wonder that she can keep the entire expanse of her skin from catching fire.

To hear the surprisingly medically savvy mouth of Haymitch Abernathy tell it, Katniss must suffer from some sort of inner ear disorder for how violently ill she becomes as the Hovercraft reaches its cruising altitude. The three men and boy in the room don't seem particularly fazed by the overwhelming nausea and lightheadedness she's certain must be a by-product of the recirculated oxygen being pumped into through the air vents. She's barely able to rip off her safety restraints and make it into the adjoining lavatory before expelling everything she'd managed to eat that morning. When she stumbles back out, pale and shaky, several minutes later, she nearly bumps headlong into the President himself. She claps her hand over her mouth to keep him from being able to smell the sick coming off her breath, but if he can still smell it, he's not bothered by it. His grip on her elbow is soft as he leads her into the space she and Rye had originally sat and even helps her to one of the plush seats.

He clicks a button that raises the footstool and reclines the seat-back several inches. He smiles at her warmly as he straightens and looks down at her. "It'll be a long flight, Katniss. You should rest while you get used to the altitude. Rye can stay in the office with me, so don't worry about him for a bit. Get some sleep if you can," the President tells her softly.

She wants to open her mouth to object, but a Hovercraft attendant takes the man's place a moment later and practically shoves a pill down her throat, chased by a warm cup of ginger tea. The sedative takes effect immediately and the ginger calms her stomach enough so she's able to rest surprisingly soundly until the familiar nightmare of the President's blood spattering the tiles of a white marble room snaps her back to awareness. The cabin is dim around her and her communicuff is beeping softly, the way it does when she's missed a message from another agent. She smacks her lips together, trying to rid the terrible taste of sick from her tongue as she presses the call button on the device.

"Katniss to Gale? Gale, where are you?"

"Right here, Catnip," Gale's voice answers clearly as he leans in a nearby door frame. "How you feeling?"

"Like hell, thanks," she replies, getting slowly to her feet and searching for a bathroom where she can rinse out her mouth before having to sit back down when a wave of nausea overtakes her. "How long have we been in the air?"

"About four hours. We have at least that much left, so the President dispatched Abernathy and Odair to radio back with Boggs and Beetee in the Aula about any news and let him have some time with Lit—Rye. I need to ask you to drop in on them in about an hour so the President can make a recorded message back to the Capitol with enough time to transmit it before we land. And you'll need to keep an eye on the boy for the next several hours anyway while Odair continues to coach the President on his Spanish." Gale seems to be able to conjure another cup of the ginger tea for Katniss out of nowhere, and nods his head towards the closed office door.

"Um, sure. Yeah, I can do that," she says, sipping the tea carefully and willing her hands not to shake too hard.

"You alright there, Catnip? Other than the air-sickness?"

"Yeah. Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

Gale's smile is bemused as he shrugs his shoulders. "You just always seem so edgy around the President, which is odd when you factor in how well Rye's taken to you. What, are you afraid he knows you didn't vote for him or something?"

She stiffens. "How did you know who I voted for?"

"I know you, Katniss. Peeta Mellark is too much of an optimist for you. Besides, Five had a candidate…I just figured you'd go with the devil you knew as opposed to the one you didn't."

It annoys Katniss just how well Gale Hawthorne knows her. But she can't deny that he's right.

"Give 'em another little bit to be together, then go fetch the boy. Since Effie isn't around, there isn't nearly as strict a schedule for the next couple of days. Might as well let them enjoy that, just in case…"

"Let's not talk about the 'just in case', Gale," Katniss snaps, still refusing to believe she'll have any use for the small box of purple pills in her pocket.

"All the same. Let them be for a while longer and then grab the boy. We'll have one last security brief about an hour prior to landing and cabin sterilization. Whatever you and Rye do until then is entirely your call," Gale reminds her before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

The ginger has its desired calming effect on her stomach, and after several more minutes she's able to locate the lavatory and clean herself up some. She hastily re-braids her hair to smooth out a few matted sections from her nap before hanging her uniform jacket on the hook behind the lavatory door. She occupies herself for what she supposes is an admirable amount of time before tapping gently on the door to the President's office. She can't help the way her skin prickles with a tiny bit of fear when no one answers and she has to push the door open herself.

The sight she finds, however, is in no way the horrific scene her overactive imagination flashed behind her eyes. Instead of perched behind the President's desk with their blonde heads pressed together, the President and his son are sprawled out on the overstuffed sofa in a far corner. Rye's right foot dangles off the cushions beneath him, suspiciously shoeless, and his father's strong arm is tucked around his waist. Katniss moves to turn around and let them continue napping for a while longer when the President's eyes flutter open and he smiles softly at the woman in the doorway.

"Feeling better?" the President whispers to her, sitting up as slowly as possible so as not to disturb his sleeping child.

"Yes, sir, thank you. Gale asked me to check in on you so that you could…"

"Yeah, the thing to send back home," the President says with a yawn and gentle stretch of his back. "Give me just a second to wake him up?"

"I can…erm, sit with him if you'd like, sir. It's my job for while you work on this trip anyway; I don't suppose it much matters where or whether or not he's awake," Katniss offers. It's the most comfortable she's felt around the man, and she's not sure where the feeling is coming from. At the same time, she doesn't want to question it.

He smiles at her broadly before tucking his son's foot back up on the cushions and gently covering the boy's small body with a blanket. "You're an angel, Katniss. You know that, right?"

The compliment hits her in a space of her gut she wasn't aware she even possessed. "I…I'm just doing my duty, sir," she replies.

"I suppose that may be," the President says as he gets to his feet and adjusts the necktie under the collar of his shirt. "But I still don't believe I'm wrong."

When he brushes past her a few minutes later, she feels for the first time an actual loss of his presence; even more disturbing is how much of an effect it seems to have on her.

"Katniss, will you hand me the red crayon?" Rye asks without peering up from the sheet of paper in front of him. She fishes around in the little box for the right color and hands it to him without a second thought. He accepts it with a tiny smile before pressing it to paper and flicking his wrist just so that the vivid color seems to blossom effortlessly from his hand. Katniss has to look away, lest it inspire another flashback to the nightmare she still can't shake.

The rational part of her brain knows that there's nothing amiss. She and Rye were left behind in the President's office as he, Gale, Thresh, and Thom deplaned and approached the looming structure of Rio's Presidential palace. She hadn't quite been able to look away when the President had knelt before the boy and explained to him again why he couldn't leave the Hovercraft quite yet. The man had been shaking like a leaf as he'd held the child in his arms, and it would take a great fool to realize that despite his mostly well put-together appearance and bravado, the unpredictability of the scenario he was about to walk into had him scared to death.

And yet, his son had calmly placed a kiss on the tip of his father's nose and beamed at him proudly. "Go do good work, Daddy. Katniss and I will draw you a picture for when you come back later, okay?"

The President had to stand and leave the room quickly, with no more than a quick nod of his head at Katniss and a "Please take care of him," as he shuffled past her.

The boy had been unflappable, nattering Katniss to play a card game that Finnick had taught him called Go Fish; all the while the woman was bracing for an emergency signal to blast across her communicuff, announcing the President had been shot on sight by Rio's army corps and the Hovercraft should brace for an immediate retreat. When no such thing came through, she'd been able to calm just enough to consent to coloring with him a short while later. There was nothing to her art skills, but it seemed to make the boy happy to be able to create something.

"Are you okay, Katniss?" Rye asks so suddenly she startles.

"Sure I am. Why wouldn't I be?" she lies—and poorly to boot.

"I dunno. You seem sorta funny. Maybe like you're a little scared or something."

She tries to resist looking at the boy like he's psychic, even though he's clearly been able to read her like a book.

"I'm a little scared too," the boy says impassively. "'Cause my daddy's a little scared, even though he won't tell me so. It's sort of a big deal what he's doing, you know."

Katniss is intrinsically aware of this. How a seven-year-old is similarly aware baffles her.

"But my daddy is real smart, so don't be too scared for him, okay, Katniss?"

"I think you're pretty smart, Rye." Katniss reaches over and ruffles his hair in the manner she's seen Finnick Odair and the President do time and time again, and is surprised when it not only feels natural, but the boy beams at her happily in return. "Here, will you finish my drawing for me? I don't think I'm doing too good a job with it."

"It's not that bad," the boy giggles.

"But I'm sure you could make it better. I'm just going to go to the bathroom, alright? I'll be just a minute," she tells him before hoisting herself up and locking the lavatory door behind her. She only intends to splash some water on her face, but an odd nagging feeling as she's toweling off her cheeks has her pulling the waistband of her pants back just slightly and peering downwards between her legs.

"Oh, son of a…" she mutters to herself. This is inconvenient timing, to say the least. She drops to her knees in front of the sink and tears open the cabinet doors; she could probably be reprimanded for going through what could be considered the President's personal items, but surely Delly Cartwright has been on this Hovercraft before and experienced a similar biological inconvenience. It takes a few minutes of searching, but she finally finds the item she's looking for and eases herself down onto the commode to do her business.

When she's washed up, she reemerges from the bathroom hoping to make light of her lengthy absence by proposing she and Rye go on the hunt for some ice cream in the Hovercraft kitchenette. She tries not to allow her skin to prickle in panic when she finds that the little boy has vacated the seat she'd left him in, opting instead to peek her head into the adjoining room to see where he's wandered off to. When she still doesn't spot him, she purses her lips together and trills out a simple little four note tune that had been something of Annie's she'd taught her in training—a signal that Rye knows means to stop fooling around and return to her side immediately.

He doesn't respond and most definitely doesn't reappear at her side like he has previous times. She feels her eye twitch and her blood run a little cold.

"Rye? Rye, where are you? This isn't a funny time for hide and seek, okay?"

Still nothing. She purses her lips and repeats the tune, a little louder and more shrill than before. "Rye! Get out here now!"

She's storming off towards the kitchenette, fully prepared to drag the boy back by his ear if it'll get him to listen to her when she hears it: the loud, piercing first notes of an emergency klaxon. She has to cover her ears with her hands for a second to get used to the noise, releasing them only when a craft attendant bustles by her hurriedly.

"It's the aft door!" the red-headed woman calls out to a similarly coifed man behind her.

"Someone opened it?" the man shoots back.

Katniss doesn't wait for a response before she barrels past both, hollering Rye's name. When she comes across the ajar door the attendants were speaking of, she pushes it open and hurries down the stairs just in time to see a blonde head of curls bouncing across the tarmac the craft sits on.

"Rye! Rye, stop, don't move another muscle!" she shouts at him. The boy turns in place guiltily and stays still as Katniss rounds on him and places her hands on his shoulders. She gives him a shake and pants as she looks into his glistening eyes. "Don't ever, ever, ever leave the Hovercraft without telling me and letting me accompany you! I whistled for you, didn't you hear me?"

"N-No…"

"When two people have a signal with one another, they have to listen for it and return it. They have to stay close enough that they can hear it or else bad things could happen. Did you ever wander off on Annie like this?"

"N-No…but…"

"No! No buts, you scared me to death!"

"I j-just wanted t-to…"

"Katniss? Rye, what's happened?" the melodic tenor of the President's voice says from behind them. Katniss stiffens and stands at attention, willing herself not to die of mortification at first losing the man's child and then yelling at him right in front of him.

"I j-just wanted t-to play with them, Daddy…" Rye stammers as tears roll down his cheeks. His hand points several hundred yards across the tarmac to a wide field near the impressive Presidential palace; a gaggle of children about Rye's age stand looking at one another and back at the foreigners in utter confusion.

The President crouches in front of his son quickly and shakes his head. "You weren't supposed to leave the craft, Rye; you promised me. Why would you do that and scare Katniss, huh?"

"I j-just looked out the w-window and saw them playing, and they s-saw me and waved at m-me. They're playing that g-game that you and Mr. Finnick played and I w-wanted to t-try…" The child is in near hysterics and every other word is punctuated by a hiccup.

Only after the President reaches up and wipes away Rye's tears with the pads of his thumbs and begins to murmur to him softly does Katniss notice the people standing nearby, amongst them Haymitch Abernathy, Gale, Thresh, Thom, and Finnick Odair who's speaking rapidly in no language Katniss has ever heard to a woman with dark hair and dark bronze skin. Katniss deduces that this must be President Espinoza. Her cheeks flush hotly and she averts her gaze, wishing for any other first impression she could make on the leader of a foreign nation than the one she's just embarrassed herself with.

"You can't ever, ever, ever do that again, Rye, do you understand? Tell me you understand." The President's voice is still fatherly and loving, but vastly more stern than any Katniss has heard come across his lips around his son. The boy's curls bounce in his eyes as he nods his head.

"Yes sir," Rye replies glumly.

"You need to apologize to Katniss right now. You cannot ever scare her like that again."

"I won't. I'm s-sorry, Katniss. I won't ever wander off again," the boy says, tugging on the hem of Katniss's jacket and looking up at her apologetically. She imagines a show of emotion towards the boy is ill-advised in a time such as this, but she can't help but crouch down and fold him gently in her arms. He nestles against her chest, his own still heaving with his recovering sobs and she places her hand on the crown of his head.

"We have a signal, Rye. Okay? When you hear it, what will you do?"

"Find you. I'll always stay where I can hear it from now on, I promise."

Katniss spies the President looked at the boy affectionately for a moment before turning to Odair and the stately woman on his left. The President speaks slowly so that Odair can translate his words as he says them, and the other President nods along in understanding.

"Rye, come here. I want you to meet someone," the President says, holding his arm out for his son. The boy takes it obediently and looks up at the woman with a timid smile on his tear-streaked face.

"This is President Consuela Espinoza. And she'd like you to meet someone else, someone I think you were already taking it upon yourself to meet," the man continues. The woman nods kindly at Rye before stepping aside and nudging a small girl towards the small boy. The girl's hair is double plaited and her simple dress is a red and white pattern that doesn't look too dissimilar from a plaid dress Katniss remembers wearing once or twice as a child. The older woman turns and says something to the girl in their language that makes the child smile brightly.

"Rye, President Espinoza would like to know if you and her daughter would like to play while she and your father take a tour of the city," Finnick Odair tells Rye gently. The boy looks up at his father and then to Katniss before setting his eyes back on the little girl, still beaming broadly; he nods his head excitedly.

"I'd…I'd like that very much," Rye says. Katniss swears he sees the tiniest blush cross the boy's cheeks. A second later, her gaze meets that of her President's; it's everything she can do to not feel similarly flushed the way he's looking at her.

It's just the humidity, she tells herself. It's just the heat and the humidity in the air.

Chapter Text

It's called the Festival of Lights, and it's Rye Mellark's very favorite time of the year.

The little boy knows the stories of the holidays of pre-Panem because Haymitch Abernathy has an affinity for old texts and ancient history. He knows about the folks called the Christians and the Jews, and has a very loose understanding of the ephemeral being known as "God," for whom the Christians and Jews celebrated holidays. But as no one believes in this "God" fellow anymore, the holiday known in Panem as the Festival of Lights has less to do with ancient beliefs, and more to do with things that sparkle and shine. And Rye adores things that sparkle and shine.

Part of why Rye Mellark loves the Festival of Lights so very much is because his birthday happens to fall on November 12th—the day that their home District celebrates their tree-lighting. Rye's very first memory was of the bright lights flickering on the tall maple tree in front of the Twelve Justice Building on the night of his third birthday. He'd been sitting on his father's shoulders and if not for Peeta's quick reflexes, the little boy might have fallen hard on the concrete because of how he startled when the massive tree was suddenly illuminated. But Peeta had caught him just in time, and hoisted him into his arms so he could whisper into his ear.

"Your mama thought the Twelve tree was the most beautiful thing in the world, Ry-Ry. Until she saw your eyes the day you were born. Then she knew that your eyes were the most beautiful thing in the world," Peeta had told his son. The toddler had blinked several times, ridding his long eyelashes of the fat snowflakes that caught in them, and considered this concept of his mother and the lights of the tree in front of him. At three years old, there was nothing he considered more special about himself than anything else, let alone the color of his eyes. Therefore in his mind, the gleaming display in front of him had to be the most wonderful thing in the world.

His mama, after all, was a Very Smart Lady.

As he tromps through the Capitol train station obediently at Katniss's side, he regales her with the exciting tale of his very first childhood memory, if only so that he can repeat the next fact again for what is bound to be the fourteenth or fifteenth time that week alone.

"And my daddy says—um, he says, that because he's the president this year, and he's the most senior official in the, um…"

"The government," Katniss prompts him patiently.

"Yeah! Because he's the president, he gets to turn on the tree in the Twelve square! But this is the most exciting part, Katniss…are you listening, Katniss?"

"Yes, Rye; what's the most exciting part?"

In that instant, his father appears from seemingly nowhere and kneels in front of him with his back turned. "This year Master Rye Mellark gets to light the District Twelve Festival of Lights tree…isn't that right, Duckie?" Rye grins and takes that as his clue to climb on his father's back for a piggy-back ride.

"Yesss!" Rye shouts jubilantly from his new spot above the heads of all the rest of the adults around him. He looks back at Katniss, who seems to be averting her gaze from them, which seems funny to Rye since he's pretty sure Katniss is supposed to be watching him just about all the time.

"Well, that is quite exciting," Katniss says, her voice a little quieter now than it had been a moment before. Rye thinks this is also funny because Katniss has such a pretty voice. Why doesn't she speak louder, especially when his daddy is around? She always chooses that time to get extra quiet, like she's afraid of him or something. Who could possibly be afraid of his daddy?

"Daddy…do you suppose they have the Festival of Lights where Chela lives?" Rye says thoughtfully, drumming his fingertips on his father's shoulders as they approach the platform where the Presidential train whirrs and hums as it waits for them to board. Rye likes the train just fine, but he prefers the Hovercraft. Despite his protestations, they'll be taking the train to the different Districts over the next two weeks for the various tree lighting ceremonies. He has to reluctantly agree that the bed he sleeps in on the train when he travels with his father is more comfy than the overstuffed seats on the Hovercraft.

His daddy sets him down as two men in dark suits like Katniss, Gale, Thresh, and Thom wear usher the pair of them up three small steps and into the belly of one of the train cars. They have to walk just a bit farther until they get to the very last car—the one with wide floor to ceiling windows and thick puffy sofas all along the sides—and Rye follows suit when his father drops into one of the chairs with a sigh. He tucks his legs underneath him and leans his face on his hand the same way his dad does.

"I don't know what holidays they celebrate in Rio, Duckie. Chela's mother and I didn't do a lot of talking about that sort of stuff," Peeta says.

This disappoints Rye. The pair of adults had spent an awful lot of time talking while they were down there; what could they possibly be talking about in all that time that didn't include the best time of the year? For his part, he'd wanted to ask Chela all sorts of questions about what sort of games she played, what she liked best in school, and when her birthday is, but when he did, she hadn't understood him. It was frustrating wanting to talk to someone who didn't know what he was saying, but they still had fun playing together. Rye maybe had more fun playing with Chela Espinoza than he had with anyone else in his life—even if she was a girl.

"Do you suppose I could ask her in the letter Mr. Finnick is helping me write?" Rye asks brightly. Peeta shrugs his shoulders, but his laugh is soft and kind.

"I don't see any reason why not, Duck. You're sure spending a lot of time writing this mysterious letter that you won't let me read."

"You don't know how to read or write in Spanish, Daddy. How would you know what any of it says?" Rye responds with a sigh. Sometimes he has to explain everything to his father.

"How do you know Mr. Finnick is writing it correctly?" Peeta responds with a tickle to Rye's side. The boy squeaks and curls into a ball to protect himself from his father's teasing.

"I trust Mr. Finnick 'cause you trust Mr. Finnick. Duh, Daddy."

His father likes this response just fine because he reaches over and tousles his hair. Rye shakes his curls back in place and grins.

"Do you remember what Ms. Effie said about how this trip is gonna work, Rye?" his father says, his tone turning serious enough to make the boy straighten up and pay close attention. He nods, and his father looks at him expectantly.

"We're gonna sleep on the train every night after we leave the tree ceremonies. We go to One first, then Two, then so on. You have meetings during the days and I'll be with Katniss and Auntie Delly to do my studies, and then we'll have dinners with the mayors until it's time for the ceremonies to begin," Rye repeats back dutifully, pretty confident that he's remembered everything Ms. Effie told him—mostly because Ms. Effie had said the same thing about four times.

"That's right. Until we get home, anyway," his father says with a grin, and Rye practically bounces in his seat.

"Because you took the twelfth off because it's my birthday, and we're gonna spend the whole day with Grandma and Grandpa and go see Mama!" Rye chirps happily.

For a second, a storm cloud seems to overtake his father's eyes, but he blinks it away quickly and nods. "Ms. Effie drilled that into your head, huh?"

Rye looks around quickly. Since the train was secured prior to their boarding, he and his father actually have some privacy for once, so the boy feels comfortable enough to lean forward and beckon Peeta's face closer to his. "Can I tell you a secret, Daddy?"

"Of course."

"Ms. Effie is sorta scary."

"Oh, Duck…she's terrifying," Peeta replies with a smirk. Rye giggles and nestles into his father's side for a sweet moment before Peeta pecks the top of his head and gets to his feet. "Come on, I'll tuck you in for bed."

"So early?" Rye whines.

"It's way past your bedtime as is, kiddo. Just 'cause we're on a trip…"

"I knooow," the boy huffs and follows his father obediently back through the cars to the sleeping car. As his father leads him into the small bedroom he'll be occupying for the next two weeks, Rye watches with wide eyes as Peeta runs almost head-long into Katniss.

"Excuse me, Mr. President, I'm sorry," Katniss stammers quickly, stepping back into the doorway of her own bunk to let the pair pass.

"Not at all, Katniss, we just didn't…erm, have you gotten comfortable?"

Rye watches as Katniss nods quickly and looks straight down at her shoes. She does that an awful lot, the little boy thinks. Which seems silly when your eyes are as pretty as his guard's are. What he finds even stranger is how his father keeps staring at her, even though she won't look back at him. Rye doesn't understand this much either.

"Is there anything else required of me this evening, sir? Gale said I was released for the night, but I wasn't sure…"

"Oh, I'm going to sleep, Katniss!" the boy says to her. "Daddy says just 'cause we're on a trip doesn't mean I get a better bedtime."

Katniss smiles a very small but easy smile at him. Rye likes it when he can make Katniss smile.

"Your bedtime is just fine how it is, sir." Peeta's tone is firm and his fingers squeeze the boy's shoulder a little harder than he usually does. Rye cranes his neck up to look at him in confusion, and he might be making things up in his own head, but he swears, swears that he sees his father's cheeks get just a little bit rosy.

"Have a good night, Katniss. We'll be arriving in One around 7 in the morning and Rye will see you then. Say goodnight, kiddo?" Peeta tells his son.

"Sweet dreams, Katniss!" Rye replies and leads the way into his own bedroom. His father supervises as he changes into his pajamas and brushes his teeth in the en suite before he nestles down on the pillows.

"Sorry I'm going to have to work so much the next couple of days, Ry-Ry. But we'll have lots of fun at home for your birthday, I promise," Peeta says with a sigh.

"It's alright, Daddy," Rye says with a shrug.

Peeta looks like he wants to argue, but thinks better of it. He kisses Rye's forehead and taps his nose with the tip of his finger.

"'Night there, Duck."

"Night, Daddy," Rye responds.

His father switches out the light and closes the door tightly behind him. As soon as he hears his father's footsteps disappear down the hall, the boy rolls out of bed and unzips the small bag he'd packed for himself of trinkets from his room and fumbles around until his fingers close around the plush leg of his orange tabby cat stuffie. He tucks it under his arm as he crawls back into bed.

"Daddy and Katniss are super weird sometimes, Maysi. You'd think by the way they act around each other they like each other or somethin'" He shakes his head and closes his eyes to allow sleep to take him.

Auntie Delly has quite a lot of opinions, chiefly about the trees in the western Districts. On the nights of those tree lightings, Rye had gaped at the imposing masses of limbs and lights, glittering crystal and gem ornaments, and thought with a tiny sense of shame and betrayal that the trees seemed so much, well, nicer than the tree he remembers back in Twelve. His Auntie, however, had clicked her tongue and muttered something as the lights flicked on in Districts One through Four, and led Rye by the hand back to the train with Peeta walking closely on the boy's other side.

"Well, they listened to your edict a little better than One and Two did. Not as well as Three, of course," Delly mutters to Peeta. Rye kicks a rock with the toe of his shoe and tries to keep up with his Auntie's hastening steps.

"The individuality is what makes these things special, Dell. They used the lights we commissioned out of Three and that's all I care about. They'll burn longer, light the way a bit more," Peeta replies with a shrug.

"Beetee is one of the finest writers in the country, and all he can come up with for these speeches is 'lighting the way through the darkness'?"

"It's not his line, it's mine," Peeta states firmly. "I think it's important. It's a decent turn of phrase, even if it is cliché."

Delly scoffs and puts her hand on Rye's shoulder to lead him up the steps and onto the train car. "If you insist, Mr. President."

The First Lady heads off into her own train car and Peeta shakes his head as she goes. Rye tugs on his father's jacket until the older man gives him his attention.

"Why's Auntie so mad at you all the time, Daddy?"

"I wish I knew, bub. Did you say goodnight to Katniss? You won't see her tomorrow; you'll be spending the day with Thresh instead."

Rye looks over his shoulder at his guard, who's been completely silent the entire walk to the train to the point the boy has almost forgotten she was there.

"Oh yeah! Are you excited to see your family, Katniss?"

Katniss hasn't smiled at him too easily in the last several days, and it makes Rye sort of sad to see her like that. He can tell she's not happy, despite her trying to tell him otherwise—repeatedly.

"Sure, Rye. Mr. President, I don't really need…"

"It's your Festival Day, Katniss. Please, enjoy the day with your family. Good night," Peeta says with a wave of his hand. Rye gives her a quick hug around the waist before watching her disappear into her own quarters for the evening.

He notices his father is watching her just as closely.

It feels like it takes forever, but finally, finally, finally the train pulls into the District Twelve station, and Rye wants to leap from it while it's still moving. Even in his young mind, he knows that his and his father's home District isn't the fanciest (like One), or the wealthiest (like Two), or the prettiest (Four, according to Auntie Delly, Seven according to his father), not by a long shot, but it's still home. It's his home, despite how much nicer his bedroom is in the Presidential mansion and how many friends he has at his Capitol school—Twelve still is, and always will be home.

A lot of the reason for it has everything to do with the old man with the thinning, grey-blonde hair and wrinkly eyes that is waiting for him patiently on the far-side of the rail tracks.

"Daddy! Daddy, it's Grandpa! I can go see him now, right?!" Rye says as he bounces excitedly at his father's side.

"You need to stay with me or Katniss or Auntie Delly, you know that," Peeta reminds him patiently.

"He's right there! You can see him, right? See, Katniss, that's my grandpa right there," Rye says, pointing his index finger against the glass.

"I'll tell you what, Rye…when the train stops and the other agents do their preliminary sweep of the station, I'll race you to him," Katniss offers. Rye's eyes go wide and his smile crosses his face so broadly that it actually sort of hurts after a minute.

"Deal," he whispers in gratitude to the woman, and waits patiently as the train screeches to a halt. Rye doesn't pay any attention to the bevy of agents except for his own, whom he keeps looking up at eagerly every time her eyes flit from place to place. He almost vibrates out of his shoes when her communicuff buzzes and she holds it to her lips.

"You ready there, Rye?" she says in the tone of voice that should indicate that she's smiling, even though there isn't a trace of that anywhere on her face.

All the same the boy nods excitedly, and takes off in a sprint as soon as the door in front of him opens. Katniss's longer legs allow her to keep stride with him easy enough, but he still reaches the older man first and is happily enveloped in a gigantic bear hug as soon as he's close enough to him for their arms to touch. His grandfather smells of baked bread and dill, of sweet spices and vanilla, and that thing that, in Rye's head, is just intrinsically Twelve. He might consider his father his best friend in the world, but his grandfather is his very, very favorite human being ever.

He begins to babble at top speed in his grandfather's willing ear, spouting off everything about the things he's seen over the last eleven days, about all the trees and the yellow fields of District Eleven that his father maintains look a lot better now than they did a couple of months ago—but the old man stops him with a thumb pressed against his lips and a broad grin on his own face.

"First thing first, little one…introduce me to this lovely guard of yours, will you?" his grandfather asks, looking appraisingly at Katniss, who is spinning in a slow circle to check her surroundings.

"Woops. I forgot, Grandpa, I'm sorry. This is Katniss; Katniss, this is my Grandpa 'Zekiel," the boy says brightly. He watches as Katniss very tentatively accepts the eldest Mellark's hand and wills his guard to show his grandfather her smile that is still so absent from her face these days. It doesn't come, and Rye again wonders why. Katniss is so pretty when she smiles.

"Duck, you're not talking your grandpa's ear off already, are you?" Peeta asks as he comes up from behind them and offers his hand to his own father, an action that turns soon enough into a warm embrace. Rye grins happily and shrugs his shoulders.

"Only a little Daddy, sheesh," he says as he takes Katniss's hand to allow the older men their time for their reunion. Katniss looks down at him with just the slightest quirk of her lips, as if she's trying to smile for him but can't quite manage it.

"Are you okay, Katniss?" he whispers as the other guards move the group of them towards a car waiting out front amongst the crowd of Twelve residents straining to get a view of the President. "You shouldn't be sad today if you are. It's Twelve's Lights day, and it's my birthday! It should be a happy day!"

"I'm not sad, Rye. But let's focus on it being your birthday, how about that?" Katniss offers quietly.

This Rye can get behind.

There are traditions that accompany Rye's birthday that typically extend beyond the actual day of his birth. This year, however, everything is condensed into one glorious day of being utterly spoiled with attention by his entire family. He helps his grandfather bake his birthday cake and his grandmother fix a quick lunch for everyone. His auntie tries to have him take a spelling test that he's missed from one of his classes, but his daddy steps in and reminds Delly that it can wait one more day.

By the time the sun begins to wane, Rye feels particularly loved and fawned over, even if Katniss has been particularly hands-off all day. It's partially because she and Thresh are the only main guards on his and his father's detail today so that Thom and Gale can go off and see their own families while they're in Twelve, but still, she's never like this! The pair of them take turns walking the perimeter of the house and checking in with a smattering of the other agents that never really seem to go away. But unlike Thresh, who knows the Mellark family from his many months of guarding the President, Katniss stands quietly and inconspicuously to the side, even when Rye attempts to involve her in their activities. He's mostly given up when it's time to bundle up to head into the square.

"Wait!" his Grandma Carine trills as Peeta helps Rye button up his pea coat over his scarf. "We didn't take your picture for the year yet!"

"We can take right before Ulysses and Ash's after-party, surely…" his father objects with a small sigh.

"I thought we were going to see Mama," Rye says innocently, noticing the sad look that once again takes over his father's face.

"It'll take five minutes, Peeta, really," Carine says as she ushers the two young men towards the carpeted staircase that leads from the bakery kitchen into the family living area. Rye helpfully unbuttons his coat and holds it out expectantly to Katniss.

"Can you hold this for me, Katniss, please?" he asks softly, hoping to get a smile out of her with his good manners. It still doesn't work, but she takes the coat from him all the same. He pads up a couple of the steps to where his father is already perched halfway up. Rye turns when he's nestled against his father's chest and grins broadly as his grandmother takes a few different versions of the same pose, chirping that Peeta should smile wider and that Rye should stop making such a silly face. She seems satisfied after several snaps and allows the pair to continue getting ready for their departure. When the boy finds his guard, he sees that she's discovered the framed picture of the same pose from last year.

"My grandma takes one every year on my birthday," Rye explains to Katniss, not noticing how he's seemed to startle her out of her staring fit. "Well, except the day I was born 'cause I was too little. But every birthday after that!"

Katniss nods and takes over the duty of bundling Rye back up in his coat. "Always in the same spot?" she asks idly, her eyes ever so quickly flitting over to where his daddy shrugs on his own coat and chats with Thresh.

"Yup! I dunno why the stairs, but Grandma Carine likes it that way. It's sort of funny, huh? I have a picture every year in the same place with my daddy, and he usually looks the same but I always look so different." Rye's never really thought about it this way, but now that it's occurred to him, it seems so natural. Maybe he's learning new things now that he's another whole year older.

"It's nice to have traditions," Katniss says, her voice quiet and far away. Rye wonders if she's thinking about her own traditions she has with her mama and daddy, but before he has a chance to ask her about it, his daddy calls out to him.

"We're gonna be late if we don't hurry, Duckie," Peeta says, holding his hand out for his son. "You don't wanna miss your chance to light the tree, do you?"

The thought is too horrific for Rye to consider, so he darts after his father and practically force-marches the man towards the nearby town square. "Don't scare me like that, Daddy, sheesh!"

Rye sits off to the far left of the podium his father stands behind for his speech. After eleven nights of the same remarks coming from the man's mouth about the importance of this time of year, of how crucial coming together as a nation is in light of recent events, of Auntie Delly's least favorite line of 'lighting the way in the dark,' Rye has grown quite bored with listening to it. All the same, he sits obediently in his seat and tries not to kick the legs with his heels too many times to attract one of his auntie's glares, and thinks instead about how the massive tree that looms to his father's right will look when he gets to flip the switch in a few minutes.

He's not expecting his father's words to snap him out of his reverie like they do.

"…But in spite of our challenges as a nation, of the problems I've committed to finding a solution to both here at home and far away, I'm reminded today that what Panem stands for is what Twelve stands for: hard work. Pride in ourselves. Humility. Remembering that while we might not be the largest or the wealthiest, what we lack in numbers and bounty we more than makes up for in spirit and perseverance. And while I'm expected not to favor a District over any other, I stand before you a son of District Twelve—and never have I been more proud and honored to be such. May you stay in good health, and may the odds be ever in Twelve's favor. Thank you."

Rye barely registers Mr. Finnick and Mr. Beetee in the chairs behind him when they begin whispering tersely to one another as the gathered crowd roars their approval and leaps to their feet to applaud. The little boy beams from ear to ear as he rushes to his father's side and hugs him around the middle.

Peeta leads Rye to a large switch off to the right side of the stage. Rye practically vibrates with excitement as his father crouches behind him and whispers into his ear how and when to throw the lever to illuminate the still-darkened tree before them.

"What do you suppose Mama would have thought of my speech, Duck?" Peeta says to the boy as the crowd begins to count down from ten.

The child arches his neck backwards and grins. "She would have liked it, Daddy. I sure did."

And after all: Rye's mama was a Very Smart Lady.

He's beginning to grow tired from the long day they've had, and it shows with how he lags behind his father as they walk towards the far side of town. Thresh had insisted upon taking the car so the return to the Mayor's mansion (Rye still has trouble remembering that 'the Mayor' is also 'Grandpa Ulysses' sometimes) is more expeditious, but Peeta insists on walking, just like he and Rye always do for this particular errand. The male guard walks a few paces ahead of the two Mellarks and Katniss brings up the rear, her pensive stare never leaving her face as they get further and further from the austere festivities and the simple but brightly burning Festival of Lights' tree. Rye thought the decorations this year were particularly pretty: orange, red, and yellow at the top, black and charcoal grey at the bottom, and when the simple lights that his daddy had commissioned District Three to make for all the District trees hit them just right, it seemed like the entire thing was set ablaze, like a lump of coal in the hearth.

As they get closer and closer to where his mama is, Rye's happy that it's just him and Daddy and Thresh and Katniss. Some walks, his daddy had patiently explained to Ms. Effie and Mr. Haymitch, people need to take alone. He blows out a slow breath through his pursed lips, trying to remember what his teacher had said about why breath comes out looking like steam in cold weather but mostly blanking until he sees the familiar sight in the not-so-far distance. His father's hand squeezes his own, which he returns gently without looking up. In his other arm, his father has three simple bouquets of flowers tucked into the crook of his elbow that Rye himself had picked out from a stall in the square. He thinks they'll look particularly pretty amongst the blanket of freshly fallen snow that dusted the District that morning.

"Katniss? You still behind us?" Thresh calls back suddenly, stopping Peeta and Rye with a simple wave of his hand. Katniss has fallen several steps behind, and looks towards the graveyard with wide, almost scared eyes. Rye wonders if she's afraid of ghosts or something.

She shakes herself and jogs to catch up. "Sorry, Thresh. My apologies, Mr. President, I didn't realize…"

Peeta shakes his head at Katniss as if to stop her from explaining herself. "I suppose we could have explained this little errand better. No apology needed, Katniss." Rye isn't used to his daddy's voice sounding so far-away, even though they've made this same visit every year on his birthday as long as he's been alive. It's another one of their traditions.

The Mellark men know the way to the first grave, which is the closest to the main entrance and is certainly the one that matters most to the little boy. They have to arch around a small copse of bare trees and cross a small footbridge over a frozen stream to get to Rye's mother's headstone. When they're a few feet away, Peeta lets go of the boy's hand and passes one of the bouquets to him. From there, Rye walks alone to the simple little cement marker and brushes away the snow with his mitten-clad fingers. The letters engraved on the stone were amongst the first words that Rye learned how to read.

The boy lays the flowers down at the headstone and squats so neither the knees of his trousers nor his rear get damp from the snow.

"Hi there, Mama. It's me and Daddy…did you miss us?"

They only move on after both he and his daddy have said all they want to say. Rye takes his father's hand and pretends that he doesn't see him wiping at his eyes quickly with the back of his gloved hand. Rye never cries when they visit his mama's grave because he knows she isn't really there. She's off in the great beyond, looking down on them, and hopefully she's happy. But Daddy sometimes gets sad, so Rye makes sure he gives his hand an extra tight squeeze.

He knows Thresh and Katniss aren't too far behind them, but for a moment or two, Rye pretends that it's just him and his daddy amongst all the souls in the graveyard. He pretends that instead of just imagining to talk to his mama's ghost, she's actually sitting there listening and ready to respond to everything they have to say. And it's not only her, but the souls of the others whose graves they visit every year.

He isn't afraid of the graveyard, not even a little bit. The only thing that makes him just a little bit nervous every year is seeing his own name on one of the graves they stop in front of. It's not only his name, of course—it was his uncle's first and foremost, but that doesn't make it any less spooky to see it scrawled on a headstone.

Katniss is so quiet that Rye barely notices her as his father lays the second bouquet of flowers on his older brother's—and Rye's namesake's—grave. Her squeak of surprise gives her away.

"Oh, don't be upset, Katniss," Rye tells her innocently. "My uncle died ages and ages ago, way before I was ever born. I'm just named for him, that's all!"

She nods her head and steps back. She rounds to Thresh's side and seems to be whispering something in his ear when Peeta puts his hand gently on the crown of his son's head and turns him back.

"What story do you want to hear about Uncle Rye, Duck?" his father offers as part of their tradition. Snow begins to fall once again and the boy has to blink the snowflakes from his eyelashes.

"Mmm…how about the one where you hit him in the eye with the hammer?" Rye says with a giggle. His father rolls his eyes but obliges all the same, leaving out no detail of how at three-years-old, he had simply arched his arms way too far backwards as he'd been playing and accidentally clipped his six-year-old brother right in the eyeball. He's in the middle of describing all the places he'd hid from his partially blinded brother as he ran from him when Rye notices Katniss wander off in the other direction. They don't have to move far to lay down the flowers at the grave of his Grandma Armarna, his Grandpa Ezekiel's first wife who died the same day as his Uncle Rye did. His daddy is always particularly solemn at that grave, and to a point forgets Rye is even there for the time he spends thinking about the grandmother his son never knew. Rye takes this chance to head towards Katniss when his father crouches in front of the third gravestone, counting on the his quickness to get him to her side before Thresh notices he's gone.

This time it's Rye that startles his guard as he peers over her shoulder where she's kneeling in the snow in front of a headstone that the boy doesn't recognize. He's about to tell her that she'll get cold and wet, and might catch her death like Grandma Carine always says will happen when you play in the snow too long when he screws his eyes to focus on the letters etched on the gravestone Katniss is looking at.

"Oh! Katniss…isn't that your last name?" he says thoughtlessly. The woman seems to jump out of her skin and rears around to face him. He's noticing that her cheeks are streaked with tears as her mouth opens, perhaps to scold him about wandering away from his father or berate him for startling her when he hears both Peeta and Thresh call out to him.

He figured that of all the days he wouldn't get yelled at, today would be one of them. He huffs exasperatedly and turns to regard his father, who indeed is already forming the letters of his name with his lips as the boy hangs his head.

Despite knowing he's about to be hollered at, he feels compelled to ask one final time, "Katniss…why does that gravestone have your last name on it?"

His simple question seems to stop everyone in their respective tracks. Peeta looks down to the gravestone to read it for himself, and instantly appears to forget that he was about to yell at his son for wandering off. His father's blue eyes seek out Katniss's bloodshot grey ones, a gaze she reluctantly but dutifully returns. Rye feels an electricity in the air, almost like the way it feels before it begins to storm as his father says, very simply: "I…I don't know how I didn't remember you."

Thresh leads him away to allow his father and his guard to talk freely. Rye keeps peeking behind him as they walk back to his mother's grave, far enough to give them privacy but not so far that neither Katniss nor the President can't easily make eye contact with the little boy.

"I didn't think I'd get in that much trouble just because I went to see what Katniss was doing," Rye says glumly. Next to him, Thresh sighs.

"I don't think you're in trouble, Little Duck. But your father and Agent Everdeen need to speak without us present. You can understand that, right?"

Rye nods, even if he doesn't understand exactly. He wants to know what's being said—whether or not it's about him, or his mama, or about his uncle or grandmother, or the name on the headstone that had made Katniss look so spooked. But the pair are too far away from he and Thresh to make out anything they say, not to mention the fact they'd practically been whispering as soon as his father had said what he did.

"What did Daddy mean, though, Thresh? Why would he know Katniss…she grew up in District Five! Did he know you before you became his guard?"

The man shakes his head. "Your father will need to explain these things to you, son. I don't know any more than you do."

Rye sighs and squats in front of his mama's grave again. He knows the man can't go too far, but he asks all the same, "Thresh, can I talk to my mama alone, please?"

The man indicates where he'll be in close proximity and Rye waits for him to go before he begins to whisper, too. He picks up one of the flowers from the bunch and dusts the freshly fallen snow off the letters of his mama's name.

"Mama, I know you probably miss Daddy like he misses you…but just between you and me, I think he likes Katniss a little. And I like her lots, too—she's so pretty and nice, and she takes real good care of me when I'm at school. She won't let nothin' bad happen to me, I'm sure of it. But you know Daddy, Mama, and you know he doesn't always get things sometimes, so if you could, I dunno…remind him a little bit? I dunno if that's a thing you can do, but I bet if anyone can, it's you. Right?"

He sighs and glances over in the distance where his father and Katniss are standing. He wraps his arms around his legs and looks at them thoughtfully. They don't seem to be talking, but they sure are staring at each other awful hard. Rye shakes his head.

"I think it's kinda good I got my smarts from you, Mama. Daddy isn't so much sometimes."

Rye knows this much is true. His father has told him time and time again—his mama was a Very Smart Lady.

Chapter Text

"I...I don't know how I didn't remember you."

Seeing the name 'Wyatt Everdeen' on the headstone brings it back to Peeta all at once. He genuinely doesn't believe how he could have forgotten Katniss to the point of thinking her a stranger, of not believing Haymitch when he said she was Seam. But then, she always was a stranger. Or at the very least, a mystery. Now that he remembers her so fervently, what he remembers is never quite being able to figure her out.

"M-Mr. President..." Katniss stammers as soon as Thresh takes Rye by the shoulder and leads him away so they can speak in private. "I...I'm sorry sir, for not saying anything before."

"Wyatt Everdeen was your father."

"Y-Yes, sir."

"And you and your family...you did live here. In Twelve. In the Seam."

"Y-Yes, sir."

"He worked in the mines?"

"He was the head of a thirty-man crew. They were the ones who went down the deepest to dig out the most precious of the ore. Mr. President, I realize I should have told you all this but I assume that Gale vetted me to you. I assumed you knew."

Peeta should have known. He should have asked more questions when Gale had come to him with his list of exactly one name after Annie had informed them of her pregnancy. He'd let his guard get out precisely four sentences summarizing Katniss Everdeen's service history in Five and her background before asking the man, "Would you trust her with your life? If you asked her to take a bullet for you, would she do it?"

"Without a moment's hesitation, Mr. President. She's the most loyal person I've ever known. To a fault, even. She's who I would want guarding my child if I had one."

That had been good enough for Peeta. He should have listened to Haymitch. He should have looked at Katniss's file. If he had, he wouldn't feel so blindsided right now, especially when his eyes flit over to the gravestone in question and his brain processes the date of death.

"He was at the First Frost Uprising? He was one of the miners killed when the Peacekeepers…"

She gulps and nods. The breath Peeta sucks in through his nose feels metallic and actually stings—it's mostly from the cold, of course, but there's an element of it that also comes from shock.

"Mr. President, I had no idea…truly, no idea that your family was…"

"'In the wrong place at the wrong time'," Peeta repeats the words his father had drilled into his head in the weeks that followed after they buried Armarna and Rye. It was the mantra he'd repeated over and over in his head when kids looked at him funny in the hallways at school and gossiped about him being the kid with the dead mom and big brother. He hated it when he was small; he hated it all the way up to the year that Ezekiel married Carine Cartwright and Delly took up the mantle of the sibling he could talk to and share anything with. By the time he stopped being bothered by it, things in the District had gotten…well, better.

He was a teenager when he'd finally accepted Ezekiel's words at their face value: Armarna and Rye Mellark truly were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage, some might call it. No one in particular was to blame, as much as some wanted to lay blame on the roguish miners who'd taken to the streets. Ultimately, the First Frost Uprising was a boon for Twelve, particularly for the Seam, whose children gradually looked less and less starved and whose miners actually saw the sunlight a few hours any given day; despite the bloodshed of the day, the Miners Union achieved their goal for better working conditions and wages, and it showed. Peeta could feel the difference in the weight of his father's till every evening when he helped Ezekiel close the bakery. And when he'd mentioned it to his best friend—who happened to be the quiet but surprisingly headstrong and frustratingly pretty blonde-haired mayor's daughter—she'd shaken her head at him and told him it'd taken him long enough to figure that one out.

In the present, however, as he surveys the increasingly anxious look plastered across Katniss's face, he wonders if she truly understands the difference between the District prior to the First Frost Uprising and the District she's standing in now. He'd just turned eight the year Armarna and Rye died, and he seemed to recall her being roughly his age; had she even been back in the years since? Or had she and her family fled to Five to escape the memories of years of abject poverty and the untimely death of their patriarch, never to return and face those ghosts again? A quick glance at the headstone, weathered and aged and generally untended (the stark contrast the graves belonging to his late wife and mother and brother) would indicate the latter.

Suddenly Peeta feels like a royal cad for her presence in this place to begin with.

"Mr. President, something I think you need to understand about my father is that he is—was—a good man. He wanted the best for his family, and he worked hard to keep us sustained for years and years. Sometimes we'd see him only in the brief respite he'd receive to come home and nap before going back to the mines to start the entire day over again…"

"Katniss…"

"Please let me finish, sir...my sister was often ill when she was small and the herbs needed to make her medicines were hard to come by and very expensive. He had to work those sorts of hours to keep her healthy and allow us food on our table but it usually wasn't enough…"

"Katniss, I'm not…"

"Mr. President, I just need to say that my father wasn't a maniac or a madman or a traitor or whatever else you might have heard—he believed he was doing good and I believe he acted the way someone ought to when they're trying to save—"

"As do I."

Those words finally stop her circuitous speech. She stares at him incredulously for a moment before her gaze softens. "You…you don't think he…"

He smiles at her gently. "Someday, when Rye isn't 100 yards away, and we aren't standing in the snow and cold, and I'm not meant to be at my father-in-law's holiday celebration, I would very much like to explain to you why I commend the action the miners took that day. And why I don't blame them in the slightest for what happened to my family. But please know that I believe full-heartedly the good vastly outweighs the harm done, despite the loss of life—including that of your father's. As tragic as it was, I believe everything happens for a reason."

Her sigh of relief comes out like the final puff of steam being released from a kettle taken off the stove, and for a second, her normal veil of nervous energy lifts. As the snow flutters around them, sticking to the felt of the hat covering her ears and the woolen fur of his coat, a moment passes between them where Peeta stops being the President and Katniss is no longer the guard tasked with his son's protection. Their eyes are locked on one another's in such a way that those unfamiliar with the strictly-defined relationship between the two might suppose they're interrupting a moment between a pair of lovers. A gust of frigid wind picks up the tip of Katniss's braid and blows it over her shoulder. Peeta couldn't possibly explain the reason why he reaches out and tucks it back, but he knows that the careless action is what breaks them out of the moment.

He begins to stammer an apology for the inconsiderate caress when she shakes her head and nods at where Rye crouches before his mother's grave in the distance. "You have an engagement awaiting you, Mr. President. I'm quite done here." As if to prove her point, her chin stays level and does not seize another glance at the stone bearing her father's name.

"Of course. Erm…Rye knows the way to his grandparents' house, if you wouldn't mind escorting him and giving me one final moment?"

The jittery-Katniss returns like the gust of wind that turns the tip of her nose crimson, and she nods curtly as she examines her shoes. "Of course, sir. Take all the time you need."

He walks a few paces in front of her towards where Thresh watches over Rye, and crouches next to the boy to explain that he'll be along shortly. Rye kisses the tip of his nose and waves one of his mittened hands at his mother's gravestone before offering the exact same hand to Katniss so she can lead him out of the cemetery. If Katniss looks over her shoulder at him, he doesn't notice.

He reaches into the breast pocket of his coat and pulls out a small cloth packet. His fingers tenderly unfurl the little square of cotton before he places it at the very corner of Madge's gravestone. Strawberries are next to impossible to find in Twelve except in the summer, but his step-mother likes drying and preserving them for the off-season, when something sweet is a reminder that the warmth of spring and summer is never too far off. The little slivers stand out like bright red buttons on the stark white handkerchief, somehow even more fecund than the flowers their son has left for her; Peeta knows they'll make a fine treat for whatever pillaging wild creature might wander into the cemetery in the next couple of days. He glances over to where Thresh keeps his distant but constant vigil, and makes sure to lower his voice considerably as he brushes a stray few snowflakes off the pristine marble.

"I brought your favorite, Meg. Remember how hard they were to find before Carine started drying them? And how you ate up her entire winter store of them those last couple of weeks before Rye came?" he whispers, the memory coursing over him and filling him with the sort of grief he really only feels during these visits.

"I know I usually tell you about everything he gets himself into and how he keeps me on my toes, but the truth is that today is the most time I've gotten to spend with him for the better part of a year. And it kills me. He always tells me he understands and that it's okay, but I just feel like—maybe his childhood shouldn't have ended up like this. Maybe it wouldn't have if things had been different. Guess we'll never know."

He allows himself a split second to regard where Katniss and Rye had left the cemetery and ponders again how it on earth it was possible he didn't remember her. Suddenly he finds himself chuckling at himself and his stupidity. "Cripes, Meg, you probably would have remembered her, wouldn't you? You would call me a fool for not recognizing her, especially after how you teased me all those years ago. You'd have goaded me about whether or not I believed she could still sing like she did that one day. You never let me quite live it down, even after she was gone—and now I know where she went, but I never actually thought I'd…I never thought the world was quite this small. I feel like such a fool. I probably am one, aren't I?

"It's just…it wasn't ever difficult with you, Meg. You made it easy, and at the time it just made so much sense to marry my best friend, even it was for…not the wrong reasons, of course, but you know what I mean. I wonder sometimes if you were still here beside me if I'd feel so at odds when I look at her."

He rubs his lips the way he always does when conflict and apprehension bubble up in his chest. He swallows hard and tries to shake himself out of the memory of a little girl with pigtail braids and a singing voice that made the birds outside the window stop to listen. "Cripes, what am I saying? If you were still here, you'd still be with me and none of whatever this is I'm feeling would matter. But you aren't here and somehow she is. And it…it frightens me. It terrifies me to think that maybe I never let her go to begin with. And that I don't want to. Not even a little bit. That's…I can't figure out if that's okay or not."

The incessant billowing wind chills him and a shiver runs up his spine as he straightens to standing, setting his shoulders and jaw in the manner befitting his title and blinks away the tears that threaten to spill again. "Need to go now, Meg," he says with finality. "We'll see you next year."

He nods at his guard and leads the way out of the cemetery over the crunchy white snow and back towards town. He's glad that his son is a bit ahead of him and that only Thresh accompanies him now. Some walks just need to be taken alone.

Chapter Text

December

It's Sunday, and Peeta shouldn't be working. The Aula should be deserted and his staff should be spending time with their families, but when the President is in his office, his staff is expected to be accounted for. Not a one of them can really be upset about it, however—not when they're less than a week away from the State of Panem address.

Under the Snow administration, the annual State of Panem address was always a dreaded evening for most politicians and viewers alike. Coriolanus Snow was a commanding public speaker, but his addresses were always the same mix of the dour, sensationalist propaganda that enough people in the Capitol and Districts drank up like white liquor, voting for him term after term to keep him in power. One of the many allegations against him that had finally elicited his fall from grace had included election tampering, a charge still being fully investigated by the special prosecutor assigned by Parliament to Snow's case, Plutarch Heavensbee.

Regardless, Peeta Mellark knows he has a daunting task ahead of him on Wednesday night when he addresses not only the entire assembly of District representatives in Parliament chambers for the first time as their president, (as opposed to 'that hot-headed kid-rep from Twelve' as he knows some had loved referring to him in years past) but also the entire nation via television. And despite how superb of a writer Beetee is and how brilliant of a public speaking coach Finnick is, Peeta has still not gotten through an entire run of the 24-minute speech to Haymitch Abernathy's satisfaction, a point that the man's running commentary is abundantly clear on.

Quite frankly, it's beginning to piss Peeta off.

"Mr. President, remember to enunciate…you're slipping into that Twelve Townie accent again."

"No, no, I don't care what you say—if the kiddo and your sister are brought up, 'First Lady' and 'my child,' not their names. They aren't the focus of the speech, you are."

"Beetee, are you sure we shouldn't move Rio back to the beginning of the speech? We can keep it fresh in everyone's minds from the get-go, start on a high note and let it crescendo into…"

"Cripes, Haymitch, enough!" Peeta finally bellows. "We have three days left; we're just about out of time to make all these stupid changes!"

The sides of Haymitch's mouth twitch visibly as though he's dying to argue back despite knowing better. "This is going to be the speech that will define your presidency. I'm only interested in making sure it's as perfect as possible."

"'Defining my presidency'? I thought Rio was supposed to 'define my presidency'. Creating all those jobs in Three and Six to revamp the technology we're using to address Eleven's drought…that's what's supposed to 'define my presidency,' Haymitch. Not a speech that isn't even a half-hour long, lest it bore the trousers off Parliament and the nation!"

"To be fair, Mr. President—it's not the length of the speech that threatens to bore anyone. It's the size of the topic, and…" Finnick begins, but cuts himself off when he sees Peeta's eyes go wide. It's Beetee, perhaps in a misplaced moment of protectiveness over the speech he's spent countless hours perfecting, that says what the other two men are thinking.

"It's your candor as you speak, sir. You are typically so enigmatic, but for the past three hours you've been…"

"Flat as a board." Haymitch isn't even apologetic when he finishes the statement.

Peeta narrows his eyes at all three men before tossing his note cards down and running his hand through his hair. He's about to snap—something he knows he'll only regret a second later—when Haymitch clears his throat and nods to the clock on the wall.

"Why don't we, uh, take a breather, Mr. President? Get some dinner?"

"If we're eating dinner I'm going to the residence to eat there and see my son," Peeta retorts.

"By all means, sir. We'll be here whenever you return." Beetee is curt with his reply, already scribbling notes in the margins of his copy of the speech, a sure sign to Peeta that there will be entirely new content to read when he returns. He resolves then and there to take an incredibly leisurely dinner break—maybe even read Rye a second bedtime story just to prolong the inevitable.

The elevator dings cheerfully when he steps off it in front of the residence's double doors. He breezes through them, bracing himself for Rye to leap into his arms at his sudden re-appearance. When it doesn't come, he traipses into the kitchen; he badly wants an explanation as to why seeing Katniss sitting at the kitchen counter with his son guts him every time, but all thoughts that manifest in his head seem traitorous and improper. He's reminded of the latter by the way Katniss immediately leaps to her feet when he enters, and he has to motion for her to sit again. He wishes she'd stop doing that more than he wishes Finnick and Beetee would. He's said as much to the two men before, but every time they insist it's as crucial as calling him 'sir' or 'Mr. President' in respect of his office. He's sure Katniss would probably say the same thing—even if he'd very much like her to view him as a man in his own right as opposed to his title.

"You're just in time for dinner, Daddy!" Rye says brightly. "Ms. Sae just put your plate in the oven and left!"

To save the boy from sliding out of his seat to greet him, Peeta rounds the counter and pecks the crown of his head. The boy's fork is poised halfway to his mouth, and with a duck of his head, Peeta steals the bite with an impish smile. His son squeals at him. "Daddy, that was mine!"

"You can have the last bite of mine," he says with a wink before chancing a look at Katniss, who's staring pensively at her own plate. There seems to be a hint of a smile playing across her face, albeit a diminutive one. Peeta barely has his plate out in front of him and is helping himself to a glass of water when her chair squeaks out from beneath her.

"Sir, if you're finished for the evening, I'll gladly let you two have your time together," she says quietly, straightening her jacket and fidgeting with her hands. It's enough to make his stomach drop to his knees the way she's still so damn nervous around him.

"Actually, I'm just up for dinner. I'll need to go back down in a little bit…" He's interrupted by Rye's whine of protest.

"So then Katniss hasta stay!" the boy exclaims.

Katniss shifts awkwardly on her feet. Peeta worries his lip for a second. "No, she doesn't, Rye. I'm going to stay until you go to sleep, and then the residence guards will keep an eye on you. But…Katniss, you're truly welcome to stay for dinner. You already have a plate."

"Yeah, Katniss! And you said you'd let me show you how to play War after dinner…"

The guard opens her mouth like she desperately wants to protest, but Peeta decides to take a chance. "Please, Katniss, stay…otherwise he'll make me play with him and I'm terrible at card games."

Her chest hitches like it might if she was laughing, and she nods her head. "Thank you, sir," she says before reclaiming her seat and tucking gracefully into her own plate of food. Peeta takes the seat on the other side of Rye and tries to resist glancing over at her in between bites. He's probably crazy for thinking he spies her eyes flitting towards him every so often as well, so he tries desperately to ignore it—even though he's largely unsuccessful.

By the light of the fire in the sitting room hearth, over the top of his Parliament briefings, Peeta keeps an eye on Rye and Katniss and the tense card game they play on the squat coffee table. Rye had animatedly taught Katniss the rules to the game with only a few reminders here and there from Peeta, but the boy seems uniquely attuned to the fact that his father is in the room, and therefore takes every opportunity he can find to consult Peeta on the progress of the game. An hour or so later, around the time that a twinge of a sleepy whine emanates from the child's voice as he complains about Katniss clearly finding a way to cheat at the game, Peeta tosses down the briefing notebook and rubs his hands together.

"I know that tone, Duck. Time for bed," he tells the boy, who only whines more insistently.

"I'm not sleepy though! And I didn't get any dessert!"

Peeta makes a mental note to remind his step-sister of his rule about Rye only getting a sweet treat after supper once a week as opposed to every night before striding over and scooping the boy up into his arms. "Dessert is a privilege, kiddo, never a right. You know that."

The boy grumbles and puts his arms around his father's neck. Over his shoulder, Peeta can see that Katniss has stiffened once again, likely in preparation to take off as soon as he leaves the room and she is dismissed—but some strange voice in the recesses of his brain makes him speak up. "Katniss, if you wouldn't mind…I'd like talk with you for a moment once I get him settled."

Her grey eyes go wide and her tongue nervously darts out to moisten her lips. "Is something the matter, sir, or…"

"No, not at all, but I would…it'll only take a little bit, if you wouldn't mind waiting. I know it's been a long day for you two, but…"

She rises to her feet and crosses her arms behind her back. "Not at all, sir. I'll be happy to wait."

Rye wiggles out of his father's grasp to slide down his body and cross the couple of feet between the two adults and throw his arms around Katniss's waist. She haltingly returns the embrace with a tiny smile as she glances down at him. "'Night Katniss! Next time you aren't allowed to cheat, though," the boy scolds.

"I promise, Rye. Sweet dreams."

The boy takes Peeta's proffered hand and leads the way to his bedroom. Without being prompted, he pulls on a pair of mismatched pajamas, which earns him a slight chuckle from his father.

"Hovercrafts and horses, huh?" Peeta shakes his head adoringly as he takes in Rye's hodge-podge outfit.

"They're the most comfy!" Rye squeaks defensively as he settles down under the covers, his stuffed cat already firmly tucked under his arm. They share a long, sweet silence before Peeta sighs, preparing to open his mouth to ask his son what story he might like, when the little one beats him to the punch.

"Daddy, why do you hafta go back to work after I go to sleep?" The boy fiddles with the blue ribbon that serves as a collar for his stuffie as he regards the deep lines on his father's face.

Peeta sighs heavily before responding. "You know my big speech I have to give on Wednesday night?"

"The one Auntie Delly is coming back from Twelve for? Yep, I remember!"

"That's the one. Well, I've been talking it through with Mr. Haymitch, Mr. Finnick, and Mr. Beetee all day long while you've been with Katniss, and…well, it's tricky to explain. But I need lots more practice before Wednesday night comes."

The boy seems to digest this information easily enough before shrugging his shoulders. "You're gonna do good, Daddy. I know it. And me and Katniss and Auntie Delly will be in the very front row to cheer you on."

The smile that illuminates Peeta's face is a brilliant one, and only something from the mouth of his son could put there. "I'm glad you think so, Duckie. I…well, I'm not so sure about it, I suppose."

Rye sighs and shakes his head at his father, as if he's having to explain an incredibly basic concept to the man who helped create him. "But you always tell Auntie Delly that as long as the country believes in good things happening, good things will start to happen, right?"

"Yes, I think I say something like that sometimes."

"So…you just gotta think good things about your speech, and it'll go real good. That's what I think, anyway."

For a fraction of a second, Rye sounds just like his mother. It makes Peeta simultaneously wistful and incredibly, inexplicably proud.

"How'd you get so smart there, Duckie?" Peeta asks him as he brushes a stray curl off the child's forehead. Rye giggles in response.

"I dunno. Probably from Mamaaa…" he says, the final word punctuated with a long, loud yawn. His father grins down at him as if to challenge him about 'not being tired,' but the boy seems to relent all on his own. "Don't stay up too late, Daddy. You gots a lot of work to do in the morning."

"I always do. Mr. Cato and Mr. Marvel are by the door, and they'll check in on you until I get home, alright?"

Peeta leans forward and presses his lips just under the coif of curls that lays against his Rye's forehead. The boy beams at him and pats his stubbly, unshaven cheeks with his two little hands.

"Love you, Daddy," the boy says as Peeta snaps out the light next to him.

"Love you too, Ry-Ry."

After one final peck to the boy's temple, Peeta secures the bedroom door behind him as he heads back into the sitting room. His nerves almost get the better of him when he finds Katniss studying the smattering of framed photos adorning the mantle. She appears to be lingering on one of Rye's very first birthday—his hair was still short enough to show a prominent cowlick behind his left ear and his face was smothered in chocolate-raspberry frosting from the cupcake Ezekiel had made him—that happens to be one of Peeta's very favorites. He clears his throat to tell her so, but just that noise seems to almost startle her out of her skin. It surprises Peeta that he could possibly sneak up on her—Delly always teases him about how heavy his footfalls are.

"Thanks for, erm, waiting, Katniss," Peeta says. Damn it. Since when does he stutter around her?

"Of course, Mr. President. What was it you wanted to discuss?"

Peeta wets his lips quickly and tries to remember why on earth he'd asked her to stay in the first place. Since the tense moment between them at the cemetery in Twelve, they've not been alone together once, and it's not like he has all the time in the world to prepare what he's wanted to say. Still, he'd think better of himself than to just look at her and draw a complete blank. It doesn't escape her notice, and her eyes flit nervously around the room until they settle on the rich yellow and green landscape painting hung just above the mantle.

"I've been admiring the, um, painting above the hearth, sir," Katniss say. "It's quite lovely. It's not…well, it's quite unlike anything I've ever seen."

Peeta could almost laugh at the brilliant way her nervousness has led him so seamlessly into one of the few topics he knows he can always speak of with complete confidence. He glances up at the painting and nods his head.

"It's called The Oxbow. It's quite ancient at this point—Haymitch has something of a fascination with the relics of pre-Panem. He called it my 'inauguration gift.'"

Katniss nods her head idly, as though most of what he's said has gone straight over her head. A frisson of delight overtakes him with his next thought, and given his current headspace, he's quite surprised at himself that he didn't think of it sooner.

"Actually…I'd like to show you something if you have a moment to spare," he says, regaining some of his usual bravado. For a moment she looks further conflicted, but her nod of assent gives him the extra boost he needs to gesture towards the front door of the residence.

He leads her past the elevator to a stairwell that will lead them down to the sub-basements he's not entirely sure she knows exist—it's not imperative information for her, after all, since it's not space where Rye should ever be. They descend three flights of echoey cement steps before he turns back to her. Her pallor seems to have faded to a ghostly white, and he wonders if confined spaces unnerve her as she resets her jaw and looks at him determinedly.

"It's, um…just one more down," he says, pointing to the final set of steps and the door beyond. He holds it open for her as she sidles through it awkwardly, her eyes flitting back to him as he steps into the dimly lit hallway. He tries to throw her a reassuring smile, but he's not entirely sure he succeeds with that, either.

The final door requires his handprint to open, and it beeps loudly as it unlatches. As soon as they enter, the smell of chemicals and paints wafts past their noses like a cloud; he likes the smell, though she looks vaguely nauseated.

"When we took over the mansion after my inauguration, we sort of stumbled upon this room and—well, it's become one of my favorites," he says, gesturing to the wide expanse of the deceptively large room. Scads and scads of framed paintings are hung from floor to ceiling, all done in largely the same style as The Oxbow. He wonders how much attention she might have paid to the main floor entrance through the garden, the very hallway he knows houses the majority of these styled-paintings that have already been preserved and repaired. The ones here are flawed and their mattings are frayed—Cinna and Portia can only work so fast to restore them to their former, pre-Dark Days glory.

"It's, erm…it's extraordinary, sir," Katniss says quietly, walking slowly around the gallery and studying each painting in turn. Her face softens to less of the scowl he's used to seeing there, and Peeta feels his heart do something odd within his chest. He can practically hear Madge in his ear, teasing him mercilessly; he's completely unable to tear his eyes away from Katniss. "Where, um…where did they all come from?"

"As best as we can tell, they are all pre-Panem, so some of these are pushing 500 years old. Hence, the poor lighting in here until they can be preserved. We're not sure why the Snow administration saved them all, only to dump them in this room, but…" He trails off when her eyes seem to find his very favorite, which is also the one Cinna and Portia are currently working on restoring. It rests on an easel behind a small counter full of tools, and she crosses the room quite deliberately to get a better view. He feels himself smile in a giddy way as he strides over as well.

"This one is Washington Crossing the Delaware," he explains, joyfully finding her a captive audience. "Haymitch's research seems to indicate that he was a great general of the war that settled one of the pre-Panem nations, and was later elected their very first president. It's…well, it's my favorite."

"I can see why," she murmurs in a wise sort of way that causes him to do a double take. She seems to sense it, and tugs on the end of her braid firmly before gnawing on the bow of her top lip. "It's…well, it seems like something that would appeal to someone who's trying to clean up an entire country. The way the men are trying to move through the ice, but he's so stoic—" Her cheeks suddenly color furiously and she shakes her head. "Forgive me. I'm sure I haven't the foggiest idea what I'm saying. I know nothing about art."

"No, please…go on…" he presses, a bemused grin on his face as he drinks in the ruddy shade of her's.

"You…it's just you were handed the arduous task of cleaning up after Snow. It would appear this fellow has the same sort of demands imposed upon him, but he's—he's quite proud. He seems like the sort of man who knows he'll succeed no matter what sort of challenges he's given. It's probably too bold of me to say so, but that seems a bit like you."

Peeta knows he's staring at her when suddenly her hands fly behind her back once again and her gaze drops to the floor. She clears her throat and seems to shake her head almost imperceptibly before continuing in a hushed stammer. "I hope I haven't insulted you, sir. It wasn't my place…"

"No!" he interrupts as he unconsciously takes a step towards her. "No, it was…it's quite the compliment, Katniss. Truly. I…thank you."

He wishes more than anything she'd look up at him, return his gaze for even a second, but her shyness and insecurity keep her eyes locked on the floor. He looks down in defeat; he's about to divert his attention back to the painting when his eyes fixate on one of the buttons of her blouse that appears to have come undone. He swallows hard when the ever so slight gap in the fabric reveals just a hint of silk and lace of whatever it is she's wearing underneath the perfectly tailored garment. He knows in the back of his head that he should be looking away, changing the subject to whatever it was he was going to ask her before he'd caught her looking at that damn painting above the mantle—instead, the urge to step further towards her overtakes him, and he's powerless against it.

"Katniss…" he says in a low, husky voice, as though he's trying to coax a kitten out from a hiding spot, "do you ever suppose you'd be able to be in the same room as me, and not think of me as the President, and as yourself as my son's guard?"

His question causes a hitch of startled breath to catch in her throat, but her grey eyes finally meet his own. The color has once more drained from her face, and the skin immediately above her top lip is chewed pink and lightly chapped. "It's not a matter of what room or even what District we're in, sir," she says just as quietly. "You are the President. And I am your son's guard."

"I wasn't always," he replies, trying not to feel utterly defeated.

"No. I suppose you weren't."

"And you never know…if the election in two years doesn't run in my favor, I might not be for much longer…"

"I'm sure it will, sir."

As if on cue, they each wet their lips with their tongues and suck in a shallow, nervous breath. She seems utterly frozen in place, but every fiber of Peeta's being is urging him closer. Like in the graveyard a few weeks prior, his hands move of their own volition and his knuckles barely graze her cheek near the wisps of her hair that couldn't possibly fit into her tightly plaited braid. She doesn't shudder or move away—in fact, unless he's insane, her head tilts the tiniest bit against his hand. A fire blazes hot in his belly as he tiptoes forward just enough to bridge the small space between them so he can—

"A-hem. Mr. President?"

Peeta jerks backwards with a start and whirls around towards the door. Finnick Odair's silhouette is barely visible in the dim light, but he knows his friend's voice anywhere. As the man's face comes into focus, he can at least see that he has the tact to look somewhat contrite.

"My apologies, sir, but the residence guards pointed me this way—it's nearly 10 pm, sir. And Haymitch has called Prime Minister Boggs over. He's waiting for you in the Aula. Good evening, Agent Everdeen."

Katniss's eyes are on the floor once again, and Peeta can see the tinge of red at the very tops of her ears. He could seriously murder Finnick and his piss-poor timing.

"Of course, Finn. I'll be just a moment."

He casts a glance at Katniss as soon as Finnick has slipped away, only to find her buttoning her uniform jacket over the undone button of her blouse before linking her arms behind her back defensively. Her posture, ramrod straight, belies that they almost just made a terrible mistake.

"Sir, my profound apologies, but it's gotten late and Rye, as you know, has to be at school early tomorrow morning. If you'd be so kind as to—"

"Katniss, I'm so sorry, I don't know what…"

"It's quite alright. But I really think it's best if I…"

"Yes, of course. Have a good evening, Katniss," Peeta says defeatedly. In a flash, she's turned on her heel and bolted from the room, leaving only the faintest trace of her perfume in his nostrils to remind him she was ever there in the first place.

He stamps into the Aula with no regard to treading lightly. If anything, the almost-whatever-it-was with Katniss has only exacerbated his frustration. The very last thing he's looking forward to is more of Haymitch's snarky remarks about his Townie accent and Beetee's complaints of him not being impassioned enough for the speech. His deep-set scowl fades considerably when he gazes about the room and spots only the Prime Minister standing in front of the blazing fireplace.

"Good evening, Mr. President," Leonid Boggs says with a respectful nod in Peeta's direction. "I hope you don't mind that I stopped by so late in the evening."

"Not at all, Mr. Prime Minister. I'm sure Haymitch, Finnick, and Beetee will be back with us momentarily…can I get you something to—"

"Actually, I…well, I hope you don't mind, but I asked them to step out. They're your staff, of course, you're welcome to ask them back, but…"

Peeta wishes he could throw his arms around the man and squeeze him for actually ridding his office of Haymitch Abernathy for even a minute or two.

"Cripes, no. I should come up with a medal to give you for getting Haymitch out of my face for a minute," Peeta says. Leonid laughs warmly and gestures to the sofas in the center of the room. Peeta sinks into one before mirroring the older man's posture, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin held high. He's always, always respected Leonid Boggs, and despite being almost fifteen years the man's junior, he knows the feeling is entirely mutual.

"So what's wrong with the speech, Mr. President? I've never known you to fumble and not command a room, even back when you were the most junior rep on the floor. What's got you rattled?"

Peeta groans. "I wish I could say for certain, but I honestly have no idea. You know Beetee's writing—it's solid. He's perfectly summarized the gains we've earned from Rio, why we're continuing to explore the possibilities of interactions with the rest of the remaining world, the improvement we're already seeing in Eleven, all of it—I'm just not sure I'm used to the idea of having someone else write my speeches."

Leonid nods as if he understands implicitly, and Peeta can't help but feel that if anyone has the chance to, it's this man. "You don't like being handled. I can sympathize. It's the part of the job I hate most as well."

"You've got a bit more experience with it," Peeta laughs. "As far as two-thirds of the country thinks, I'm still the kid trying to fill shoes four sizes too big."

"That may be, sir. But I never would have recommended you put your name forward for the nomination if I hadn't believed you could do it. I'll never regret voting outside my party so long as the Aula is in your hands."

Peeta finds words impossible to come by for a moment—he knows, of course, that Boggs had been one of his most ardent supporters within Parliament when the recall election to find the disgraced Snow's successor had been called last October, but he certainly never imagined that Boggs would actually break party-alliance to help him get elected. The moment passes and Peeta collects himself. The Prime Minister nods his head towards the file folder on the table between them and catches Peeta's eye.

"That the speech?"

"I've been thinking of it more as 'The Albatross,'" Peeta says with a groan.

"Toss it in the fire," Leonid says. Peeta chuckles, but the look the older man gives him is deathly serious.

"You're an orator, Peeta. Best I can tell you have been since birth—why let a little thing like being the President stand in the way of that? You remember more or less what it says, I presume?"

"I'd imagine. Been over it enough damn times to get more than my fill of it."

"Talk from memory. But speak from your heart. Remind me why I voted for you, and you'll remind the rest in that chamber, too—not to mention rubbing it a bit in the faces of those that were foolish enough not to."

For perhaps the first time that evening that he hasn't spent either in the company of his son or the utterly beguiling guard, Peeta smiles.

He feels better, lighter even when he finally retires for the night. He takes a moment to check in on a soundly sleeping Rye before sauntering into his own bedroom. He strips himself of his rumpled clothes before running the hot water in the en suite shower. He's able to steal a glance at himself in the mirror before the steam from the stall fogs over the glass, and can't help but shake his head at his reflection. Despite feeling less desperate and overwhelmed from the obligations of the day and coming week, he still looks haggard and worn-down. Barely a year as President and already he feels infinitely older than 32—and certainly more tired than he ever has been in his life. He wryly wonders if that's part of the reason Katniss seems so nervous around him all the time, but thinking of her and that ridiculous stolen moment in the art room magnifies his own sense of shame. He knows he'll need to apologize profusely if he ever wants to be in the same room as her again.

He steps under the spray, the needle-like rivulets massaging his aching shoulders before he presses the button to add in soap. As much as he tries to keep thoughts of her at bay, the moment seems so imprinted on his conscious that he can't quite shake it. Before he even realizes what's happening, the memory of the small gap in her shirt, exposing just the smallest hint of her bra underneath her uniform is enough to make his cock begin to swell.

"Oh, for the love of…" he swears at himself, running his fingers through his hair under the soapy water. He ignores the erection until he changes the dial again, this time to a soap a bit more gentle for his skin, and rubs circles against his arms, pecs, stomach—until finally he can rub his skin raw no further without touching his member.

"Fuck," he says when his hand closes around the shaft, the slick soap providing exactly the right amount of friction for the task. He runs his thumb over the engorged tip, already finding it weeping with the anticipation of an impending orgasm. His fist tightens as he begins to pump, slowly at first while he conjures up the appropriate images in his head to help him finish the job.

They come like scenes projected on a television screen—her eyelashes tangling together as she casts her gaze at the floor. The quicksilver hue of her irises as they studied the paintings in the dim light of the art room. Her teeth worrying her top lip. The wispy soft feel of her hair against his knuckles. The light honeysuckle scent of her perfume. And of course, the gap in her blouse…

"Oh, fuck!" Peeta cries as his hips jerk and a stream of semen hits the tile wall when he comes. He switches the water cycle back to clear, dropping the temperature a few degrees to cool his fevered skin as he pants through his recovery. His toes slowly uncurl and his breath evens out, but he can't deny that feeling the rush of an orgasm after so long, being so engrossed in his fantasy of a woman so desirable is luscious…even if it's tremendously inappropriate. It strikes him that this moment is yet another moment he ought to apologize to her for—if he's ever actually able to face her again.

He drops his flaccid member and rinses his hands before rubbing them over his face. "Never again," he promises himself. "Never, never again."

He wipes the wall down and steps out of the shower. He pulls on his pajamas and crawls under the covers. He's asleep before he can even turn out the light next to him; he doesn't stir once until Effie's wake up call trills in his ear the next morning.

He's completely forgotten what it is to have a night of restful, peaceful sleep.

When Katniss returns to her simple, middle floor dwelling a few streets down from the mansion, she quickly bolts the door behind her and presses her back against it. After checking out with the remaining Tribs, she'd nearly run the entire stretch home, so desperate was she to put as much distance between that sub-basement room—and truth be told, her feelings—as possible.

Because what she'd felt the second the President's hand grazed the side of her face and the incredibly close proximity of his mouth to hers was nothing short of thrilling, if not completely terrifying. Not since that moment in District Twelve, when their eyes had locked onto one another's for just a moment longer than either were entirely comfortable with, has Katniss felt this before. Not intentionally. Not this abundantly.

She'd been incredibly grateful for the dim light of the art room as soon as she'd caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror near the Trib locker room. Her eyes were dilated. Her breath came in short, raspy gasps. And when she studied her reflection long and hard enough, she noticed the popped shirt button directly in between her breasts. The buttons of her blazer had mostly masked it, but still, there it was, plain as day. And in front of him, no less.

Had he seen? If he had, he didn't stare. He didn't point it out, possibly because he knew it would make her flush and stammer. And she did enough of that around President Peeta Mellark.

Oh, cripes, she thinks. Why him? Why am I like this around him?

Her body had the same visceral reaction to that lingering gaze in Twelve, despite nothing seemingly sexual about it. There shouldn't be anything sexual about the way she looks at the leader of the nation, the father of the child she's sworn an oath to protect from harm. And yet her panties are uncomfortably, unabashedly soaked.

She steps out of her shoes, socks, trousers, and blazer quickly, hanging them over a chair to keep them from wrinkling. She pauses over the still-gapped front of her shirt as she undoes the rest of the buttons, her cheeks flushing furiously over the notion that President Mellark might have seen even a hint of her undergarments. As she shrugs the shirt off her shoulders, she catches a side-long glance at herself in the mirror.

There's nothing particularly pretty about her. She's plain looking at best, her hair her finest feature, and it's always pulled back away from her face, a requirement from her days as a rookie Peacekeeper. She pulls the elastic from the end of her braid and shakes it out so it falls kinked around her face. She twines her fingers in the tresses just above her ears and presses her fingertips against her skull. The massaging motion feels blissful—and yet she's sure it'd feel even better if the pressure was being applied by another pair of hands.

"Stop it, Katniss!" she snaps at herself. She moves quickly into the bathroom, where she brushes her teeth and relieves herself before padding back into the bedroom to change into a fresh pair of panties before pulling back the blankets on her bed. She snaps out the light, sure that sleep will claim her quickly from the expeditious jaunt home.

It doesn't.

She tosses and turns, trying to shake the feeling of her skin pebbling up every time she remembers the ever-so-brief brush of the President's fingers. She remembers it so implicitly because waves of gooseflesh prickle her skin every time she tries to push the image from her mind; it becomes harder and harder, so she finally tries to think of something, anything else. That's when the button comes back to her, and she feels her cheeks burn.

She's not sure if she's embarrassed because of what he might have seen…or excited because she secretly hopes that perhaps he did see.

She knows it's wrong, so very wrong, but her hand trails down her abdomen slowly, her thumb running along the waistband of the simple cotton underwear before hooking under the hem so she can inch her hand inside. Her fingertips barely graze the small thatch of curls that covers her sex before her middle finger parts her folds, testing to see how much, if at all, the memories have continued to effect her.

She isn't surprised to find that she is dripping once again. She pulls her hand out of her panties and holds it up to her face. Even in the scant stream of moonlight coming in from her bedroom window, she can see her fingertip coated in her own arousal. The mere notion causes a pained moan to escape her throat, a mewl so pathetic and desperate that it only ceases when she shoves her hand back inside her underwear and presses two digits roughly down on the pulsing nub of her clitoris.

"Ohh!" she yelps as soon as her fingertips begin to circle the mound tightly. She feels her breath hitch in her throat, her lungs struggling to keep up with the way she's already panting and gasping for air. It doesn't take but a minute, perhaps two, of picturing the cerulean eyes of the President staring her down before her toes curl and every muscle of her body seizes up, her orgasm ripping through her like a hot knife in a pat of butter. She screams her release, her hand cupping her sex limply as the bundle of nerves pounds with the rapid beat of her heart.

She wrenches her eyes open and takes a steady breath. This was wrong, she thinks. This was wrong in so many ways that she can barely believe she just did it.

"Never again. Never again, Katniss," she whispers to herself. And yet, somehow, she can't seem to remove her hand from her panties. When she closes her eyes, all she sees are those eyes staring back at her, a bemused smile between dimpled cheeks, and ten talented, lithe fingers that she'd give anything to have be touching her right now.

Her fingers trail through her folds again, the tip of her index finger circling her narrow opening, completely coating her fingertips in the juices rushing from her core before she pushes her index and middle fingers inside. The intrusion is quick but immensely pleasurable, particularly when she curls her fingers towards the front of her pelvis.

She keens as she imagines broader fingers connected to large palms and sturdy, muscular arms pumping in and out of her as she fucks herself, the most inappropriate name crossing her lips every time her hips buck.

"Peeta…Peeta…Peeta!" she cries.

She wants to stop after the second orgasm, and she does for a few minutes. But the need takes her over again. And again. And again.

Just one night of this, she swears. Just one night, and then never again.

Katniss doesn't run into the President once over the next three days. Rye's usual after-school visit with him in the Aula gets canceled Monday and Tuesday so he can work through the day in hopes of coming home early, and the First Lady has finally returned from her extended stay with their family in Twelve after the Festival of Lights District tour. Katniss is en route to the mansion Wednesday morning when Gale catches her on communicuff to inform her that Rye had come down with the flu overnight and won't be attending school.

Instead, Katniss spends the day in the Tribute Training Center, practicing sharpshooting with Thom until Johanna Mason complains all-too-loudly about the lack of a decent sparing partner. Despite not being particularly big, Katniss does pride herself on quick reflexes and agile moves, so she volunteers. The older woman is able to best her twice before Katniss finally figures out Johanna's signature move and how to use it to her advantage. In their last bout, she's easily able to pin her with her knee pressed against the curve of her neck; as a final flourish, Katniss pulls the fake gun they wear in their holsters for practice and presses the 'trigger' to her opponent's temple. Johanna's laugh is maniacal when Katniss releases her grip and lets her up, and the woman seems to spit fire when she regards Katniss with a simple "That's what I call over-fucking-whelming force." It honestly makes Katniss like Johanna just the tiniest bit more.

"Nice moves there, Catnip," Gale calls out to her. She takes a deep swig of water from a canteen as she saunters over to him, partially expecting him to challenge her to a spar next.

"What can I say, I've learned a thing or two in the last five months," she says wryly. He smirks at her and waves her over to a long bench to take a load off. He fiddles with the buttons of his communicuff for a moment before addressing her again.

"It probably shouldn't surprise you, but Little D—Rye won't be attending the State of Panem address with the President this evening. According to the residence guards, the First Lady has been going a little crazy all day fussing over him. Almost called in a doctor but settled on some medicine out of our infirmary to keep his fever in check and his vomiting spells to a minimum."

Katniss nods and wipes a bit of sweat from her brow with a small towel. "Understood. Do I have a different assignment for the evening?"

Gale rubs the back of his neck and sighs. "Actually—you're free to say no to this, but Abernathy doesn't want President Mellark standing up in front of Parliament without the First Lady in attendance. Not sure why it matters to him so much, but she's agreed to leave the boy...so he'll need some company for the evening."

Katniss nods without considering the implications whatsoever. Rye is her mark—it doesn't matter where he is, he's always her mark. "No problem whatsoever."

"The President didn't want me to ask you at first…something about you not being…"

"Rye's nanny, yeah, I know. He's made that clear. It's fine with me, Gale." Katniss doesn't want to admit the implications of actually missing the little boy after not seeing him all day. She's not entirely sure what that means.

Gale's voice drops a couple of octaves as he leans in towards her and nudges her shoulder. "Catnip…I know he's a charming kid and all, but don't let yourself get too attached or anything. You never know what might happen in positions like ours, and it's better to keep your relationship with your mark purely professional. We've had agents get in some trouble over this already—I don't want to see you be the next one."

Katniss wonders who he could mean as she considers his words; she shakes her head fervently and gets back up to return to the sharpshooting range, intent on trying out one of the composite bows and arrows as a change of pace from the regular rifle or pistol she's grown accustomed to in the exercises. "I'm keeping my distance, Gale. Don't worry about me."

He doesn't look convinced at all, likely because after so many years he knows exactly how bad of a liar she is—but he doesn't press the issue.

"It's all I ask, Catnip. The President and the First Lady are due to leave at 1800 for Parliament…can you be in the residence by then?"

She nods quickly as she runs her hands reverently along the smooth wood of the bow and picks it up to test for weight and draw-resistance. It seems like it was perfectly crafted just for her.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Gale says, amusement in his voice as he turns to leave. She's got an arrow nocked in place when she finally turns her head to see him disappear through one of the large double doors. She shrugs and focuses her eyes on the target before drawing back and letting the arrow fly.

It lands with a solid thunk in the very center of the black ink outline and she smiles to herself. She isn't proud of much, but this—this she's very, very proud of.

She steps through the door of the residence the same way she always does in the morning to pick Rye up for school, but the air of the place is decidedly off. Delly Cartwright bustles past her without even noticing her, her hair half done up and mascara smudged under her eye as she calls out to no one in particular about a missing earring. The sound of the television blares from the sitting room and she follows it to find a very pale Rye curled up on the sofa with a puffy blanket she doesn't recognize. He greets her with a wave and a smile, but doesn't make his usual running leap across the room to hug her around her waist.

"Still feeling poorly?" she asks him as she runs her hand gently over the top of his head. His forehead burns hot under his matted, damp curls, and he gives a pathetic little cough in reply.

"Auntie Delly isn't happy 'cause I…erm, threw up in my bed, only she doesn't have time to put new ones back on. That's why I'm out here," the boy says bashfully, curling deeper under the duvet. Katniss shrugs.

"It happens when we get sick sometimes. I'm sure she just wants you to feel better," Katniss replies conspiratorially. She's not entirely comfortable around sick people either, but she feels like Rye ought to be the exception, much the way Prim always was. She reminds herself all the same to hunt down soap flecks from the laundry room to put in the bottom of the little bucket near his head to absorb the smell in case he has to use it later.

"You don't gotta be here tonight if you don't wanna, Katniss. Auntie Delly said she could call someone else to—"

"I was gonna have to be with you tonight one way or another. At least this way we can play Sticks or something when your father's speech gets boring…how does that sound?"

"That sounds like a ringing endorsement to me," a decidedly different male voice says out of nowhere, chilling Katniss to the core and forcing her quickly to her feet. It would be just her luck that he'd walk in right at that moment. Despite a flush of embarrassment burning hot on her cheeks, the momentary glance at Peeta Mellark's face indicates he's found her backhanded comment almost…amusing?

"Mr. President, that was incredibly rude of me to say, I'm so, so…"

He holds up his hand and leans over the back of the couch to put his own hand on Rye's head. He tuts as he shakes his head. "Still no better than when I came up at lunchtime, huh? And wearing one of my sweaters, I see."

In response, Rye shoves the sleeves of the vastly oversized sweatshirt up his arms. "Auntie Delly got it for me after I got sick on my jammies. Sorry, Daddy." The President clicks his tongue as he rounds the couch to pour a bit of water from a pitcher into the brightly colored plastic cup with a lid-and-straw top. He hands it to the boy, who seems loathe to take a drink, but does so to appease his father.

"Don't you worry a bit about it, Duck. You probably would be pretty bored by the speech and all the people I'll have to stay and talk to after it's over. Katniss is right—you'll have more fun here with her. You need to make sure to take all the medicines that Auntie Delly's set out for you, though, okay?"

Rye nods and shrinks back against the side of the couch with the blanket pulled up to his nose. Katniss sees the conflicted look of a parent who only wants to comfort his child etched on the President's face (a look she'd seen more than once on her own parents' faces in regards to an ill Prim), but the fine cut and fit of his obviously expensive charcoal grey suit looks little like the sort of thing that can be easily spot-cleaned in case the boy has some sort of projectile vomiting fit. Her own suit, however, is far less important, and certainly won't be seen on television that evening. She insinuates herself on the couch next to the little boy and holds an arm out to him, not thinking twice when he nestles against her side.

The look on the President's face is largely indecipherable to her, but she reads it as affectionate warmth. She's surprised how comfortable that makes her, despite still feeling perpetually on edge around him—particularly in light of how she's been coaxing herself to sleep the last several nights.

"I appreciate you staying with him tonight, Katniss. I'm quite sure you'd rather not but—"

"It's no problem whatsoever, Mr. President." Her voice is more curt than she intends, and she wishes she could take the words back as soon as they're out of her mouth.

The President clears his throat and nods at her quickly before turning back to his son and tilting his chin up so their eyes meet. "You need to get lots of sleep tonight, Ry-Ry. It'll help you feel better faster."

"I slept almost all day today," Rye whines, but his father cuts him off with a shake of his head.

"Still. If you wanna watch my speech on TV, that's okay, but you need to go to bed right after, alright? No grousing to Katniss about it."

Rye huffs and nods. "Okay, Daddy. I will. But if you get to come straight home after, can you at least come in and say goodnight?"

"Always," the President says as he leans forward and presses his lips to his son's feverish skin. He ducks his head a little lower and murmurs something into the boy's ear that seems to perk him right up. Peeta's hand burrows into his pocket and drops a familiar little trinket into Rye's cupped ones. The boy crawls out of his duvet nest and works the tiny clasp of the golden mockingjay pin loose so he can fasten it to the lapel of his father's grey suit. It hangs just off center of the material, but the President makes no move to correct it.

"To protect you," Katniss hears Rye whisper.

"For good luck," the President replies, enveloping his child in his arms before Thom and Delly whisk him out the front door.

All 308 Parliamentary delegates, including the Prime Minister himself, have clambered to their feet in varying degrees of enthusiasm on the television when Katniss feels Rye stir beside her. The boy had dozed through the entire speech, as much as he'd tried to pretend he was awake and hanging on every word his father said on-screen, but he'd snorted out just enough muffled little snores to betray himself. Katniss leans forward to snap the television off with the tiny touch remote before testing the boy's forehead against the back of her hand. He feels slightly cooler and hasn't had a vomiting spell all evening, but she still supposes the best thing for him is a lot of rest. She smiles at him as his hetero-chromic eyes find her grey ones, and nods towards the hallway.

"What do you think? Ready for bed?" she asks him, her voice just barely above a whisper.

"I'm not tired anymore. And I wanna see my daddy when he gets home," the little boy says between large, unconvincing belly yawns.

"I'll tell you what—if you'll eat a couple of these crackers, I'll call Gale on my communicuff and ask him what time they'll all be back. If it's under an hour, you can stay awake to greet him. If it's more, you need to go to sleep."

The child sighs, but reaches forward and begins to nibble the corner of one of the crackers that his aunt had laid out for him while Katniss stands up and stretches her back before fiddling with the tiny buttons of the device on her wrist. She has to bark into the thing three times before a wisp of static buzzes back in response.

"Gale here. Is everything alright, Katniss?" the man trills to her. She can hear the hubbub of the Parliament auditorium in the background, so she makes a point to speak clearly in reply.

"Little Duck has asked me to ask you when Mockingjay might be expected back at the residence. Do you have an ETA?"

"Sorry, no. He'll be speaking with some of the delegates in his party during a brief reception, and then he and Boggs will no doubt walk the rope-line out front."

"Protocol had been that they'd skip it," Katniss begins, but a sneeze from behind her gives her the answer to that quandary. The President would skip it if his son was present, but without him, he's a little freer to glad-handle the assembled crowd. She wonders if Rye will be able to put two-and-two together that his father would have been home sooner had he not fallen ill, but she decides it's for the best to keep that from him as long as she can.

"Mockingjay's schedule is ever-changing, Katniss. Sorry, can't give you an ETA until we have him in the car for the ride back."

"Understood. Thank you, Gale. Katniss out."

When she turns around, she sees the little boy's face contorted in displeasure. She shrugs to verify the verdict and watches him cross his arms and huff. "But I'm not sleepy," he says with a scowl.

"I think we both heard your father very clearly, Rye. Your fever is still bad, so you need to go to sleep."

He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout and it's everything Katniss can do to not tug on it teasingly the way she did once upon a time to her little sister. She shakes herself out of the impulse and surveys the medicines laid out for him on the coffee table. One catches her eye in particular, and she knows even before she palms it that it's a tiny bottle of sleep syrup. Her mother had a supply of her own growing up, and she can remember it getting Prim through a few particularly rough nights in the heyday of her illness.

"I'll make you a cup of tea if you think it will help," she says gently as she slips the vial into her pocket.

"I don't like tea," he says, pouting once more.

"Are you hungry at all?"

"Nope."

"Tea or applesauce, those are your choices," she says firmly. The boy sticks out his tongue but concedes to a small bowl of applesauce and turns the television back on as she shuffles into the kitchen. She only adds a drop or two, knowing that'll likely be all he'll really need, and stirs it in well so he doesn't notice it—much.

He's opening his mouth to complain about the cloying sweetness of the stuff as he eats it when his eyelids suddenly appear to grow far too heavy for his face and the bowl nearly tumbles to the floor. She's able to catch it just in time to avoid a mess and gathers the little slumping body in her arms and carts him off down the hallway.

"You tricked me," Rye slurs as nudges his bedroom door open with her hip.

"I did. Because you need to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

She scowls as she looks at his unmade bed, vaguely remembering what he'd said earlier about the First Lady running out of time to remake it. She hoists him further up in her arms before grabbing the stuffed cat toy he sleeps with from his bedside table. She guesses correctly that the elaborate double doors at the end of the hall lead into the President's bedroom—it feels strange entering, but she has to put him down somewhere.

She can tell Rye is no stranger to nestling into his father's bed by the way he cozies up to the pillow on the far right side after she's pulled the sheets back for him to crawl in between. She surmises that the duvet he's been bundled up in all night long has also come from this bed, and she tries her best to remake it to some semblance of normalcy despite the boy's sleepy form tucked underneath. She perches on the side and smiles down at him. The look he gives her in return is pathetic at best, but actually makes her smile just the tiniest bit wider. Rye's cherubic grin and the sweet smell of childhood (grass, applesauce, and bubble bath) that always lingers on his skin seem to intermix suddenly with another scent decidedly more pungent and masculine (all lemon and sandalwood)—Katniss recognizes it immediately as that of the President's cologne—sending her head spinning for a moment.

What sort of effect do these Mellark men have on her?

"My auntie tells me stories to help me sleep," Rye murmurs as he rubs his eyes, snapping her out of her reverie.

"Oh…I don't know many stories…" Katniss stammers.

"My daddy sings. You could sing, if you want," he presses.

Katniss sighs. "You're gonna fall right to sleep, Rye. I can stay with you until you…"

"Please," the boy whines, and Katniss feels her defenses fade away.

"What, um…what sort of songs does he sing?"

"There's one about a mockingjay and a hunter in the forest…"

Katniss combs her memories of the songs her father taught her, songs he sang to her as a child when she was laying in bed looking up at him like this little boy is now; though she can hear the melody of the lamenting, tragic song, her brain is completely unable to put the words together.

"I'm sorry, Rye, I don't know that one. But I'll still stay with you, okay?"

The boy murmurs something mostly unintelligible that makes Katniss freeze in place. Surely there's no way, none whatsoever, even in his sickly state with the tendrils of the powerful sleep syrup making him woozy that the word 'Mama' crept past his lips in any context other than him thinking back to the mother he never knew. Still, she pushes his curls out of his eyes and tucks the blanket up under his chin as she hums what parts of the melody she can remember as sleep grabs him and pulls him under.

What Katniss doesn't know, of course, is that while the boy grumbles and snores his way through the first of many dreams, his father shakes hand after hand, waving and saluting the cheering crowd outside the Parliament House with the Prime Minister directly behind him. Every so often, the two leaders of the country pause and smile for the flash of a camera before shaking yet another stranger's hand, all the while completely unaware of the tense glances the assembled group of Tributes are casting at one another. If Katniss and Rye were still in the sitting room, arguing over applesauce and tea and the stomach medicine so foul tasting it made the boy cry when he'd taken his dose earlier, they'd have seen a bizarre hush fall over the crowd in the split second prior to Johanna Mason whipping around and locking eyes on the glint of steel in one of the windows of the building directly across the street. And they most certainly would have heard her terrified scream of "Gun!" immediately before the sound of bullets pierced the night.

Chapter Text

Peacekeeper motorcycles flank the limousine on all sides, their sirens screaming against the wind. Inside the limo, Peeta's head pounds as he listens to Thresh barking orders into the communicuff on his wrist. The sounds of bullets firing ring in his ears in conjunction with the wail of the sirens; he silently prays that both will stop, and he'll be bathed instead in glorious, peaceful silence. He's so lost in his thoughts and dreams of silence he doesn't hear Thresh call his name until the man shakes his shoulders.

"Mr. President? Mr. President!" Thresh commands.

Peeta blinks wildly as a surge of pain shoots down his right arm, helping to snap him out of the numbness of it all. He wonders why his shoulder hurts so atrociously until his brain flits back to being tackled to the ground by Gale; it must have jammed against the concrete. For now, it's something to keep him grounded, something to remind him he's still breathing. "Who's dead back there?" he asks Thresh quickly. "Who took hits? Where are Gale and Thom?"

"There aren't any reports yet on who might be injured, sir. We'll have more reliable information in a few minutes," Thresh responds.

"Why aren't Gale and Thom with us? Where are they?"

Thresh winces. "Gale…Gale was hit, Mr. President. Thom stayed with him to administer first aid until the medic corps arrive."

Peeta feels every ounce of air leave his lungs. "Castor! Turn around, I need to see what's going on back there!" he gasps.

"Mr. President, no, that isn't an option," Thresh says.

"I don't give a damn! We're going back and making sure he gets to the hospital!" Peeta snaps back.

"I will follow protocol to the letter in this situation, Mr. President, and protocol dictates I get you to the mansion as soon as possible. This isn't a discussion we are having or a decision you can override, sir, this is for your own safety. As soon as we're inside the mansion, I'll get you all the information you want." His voice is steady, unwavering. His deep brown eyes stare Peeta down, practically begging for a challenge so he can reiterate his point. Peeta knows it's no use and thunks his head against the seat behind him in exasperation.

"I need to know who might be dead back there, Thresh. Please," he pleads, his voice a strangled moan. The guard looks almost apologetic at having to deny Peeta's request again when his communicuff crackles to life.

"Johanna to Thresh! Johanna to Thresh, come in!"

"Thresh here, go ahead, Jo," Thresh says quickly.

"We got 'em. All three of the bastards. Forty-seven seconds from the first shot," Johanna's voice trills. "Abernathy is in a car bound for the mansion, and the medic corps just arrived."

"Who's wounded?!" Peeta cries, grasping Thresh's wrist. "What happened to Gale?"

"Mr. President?" Johanna stutters on the other end.

"Answer him, Jo," Thresh says calmly.

The other end is silent for a minute. "Sir, what did you see so I don't tell you what you already know?"

"All I saw was the ground coming toward my face as Gale took me down, then the inside of this car. Fucking hell, Johanna, I need to know which of my people are dead back there! Delly? Boggs? Finnick? Beetee?"

"The First Lady is secure, sir. She's in the same car as Abernathy, I saw her myself. Odair and Watts are still on the scene, but neither are injured," Johanna responds.

Peeta finds he can breathe again—for a moment anyway.

"Boggs? Where's Boggs? The same car?"

The line is silent again.

"Johanna, come in," Thresh orders.

"Hold, please," Johanna's voice shakes as the device crackles and seems to die. Peeta tries to suck air in through his nose, but it's useless. He knows. In this moment, he knows exactly what happened.

"Mr. President?" Johanna's voice comes again with a burst of static.

"He's here, Jo. Answer him," Thresh says.

"We had to wait until the medic corps arrived to make the call, sir, but they just confirmed what we already knew. I—I'm very sorry to be the bearer of this news, Mr. President, but Prime Minister Boggs sustained two shots, one to the lower spine and one to the back of the head. He—he died immediately, sir. The Prime Minister is dead."

Peeta's body convulses at the news before he pitches forward and empties his stomach on the floorboards of the car. He doesn't hear Thresh bark a final order to Johanna due to the sound of his own retching in his ears, and only barely registers Thresh's hand on the back of his neck to guide him back to a sitting position when he's expelled everything in his stomach. The dim light filtering in through the tinted windows makes the vomit look almost black.

Thresh twists in the seat next to him and looks down at the foul pool at their feet with wide eyes. Suddenly he kneels in front of Peeta and pats down his torso, arms, and finally his legs. When his hand grazes his left calf, Peeta registers a jolt of pain shoot up his leg that makes the pain in his shoulder feel like a paper cut.

"Cripes," Thresh growls before rearing back and calling to the driver over his shoulder, "The President was shot, Castor! Hospital, now!"

Peeta hisses in pain as the guard removes his tie and cinches it around his calf just under his knee. Thresh sets his jaw and nods at him. "You're going to be alright, Mr. President. You're going to be fine."

A nurse called Emmaline answers the phone in the emergency room. At first all she hears is the dial tone on the other end, then the insistent trill continues. She replaces the receiver for the incorrect phone and answers the navy blue one hanging on the wall instead.

"Medic ops."

"Operative 11 dash 567 here—Mockingjay has been compromised, and we are en route!"

Emmaline looks curiously at the receiver in her hand. "Is this a drill?"

"No!"

"We just had one of these last week, sir, I'd just assume..."

The screeching of sirens pulling up to the emergency room entrance door silences her. Her jaw drops just before the phone falls from her hand. She picks up the PA receiver and barks into it, "Code Orange! We have Code Orange incoming!"

It takes three minutes for the Tributes to clear the waiting area and non-critical rooms. An executive agent positions tertiaries at every door, just in time for the presidential limo to skid to a stop in front of the entrance. A team of doctors and nurses race to the door with a gurney, and a second later, Thresh pulls the President from the back seat.

"I'm fine! Thresh, we need to go back!"

"No sir, Mr. President. Who's the lead of this team?!" he bellows, surveying the medical staff. A familiar woman with chestnut hair steps up.

"Dr. Lindsey, at your service. What happened?"

"Multiple shots were fired at the President and Prime Minister as they walked the rope line after the State of Panem address. The only wounds the President appears to have sustained is a shot to his left calf muscle and possibly a dislocated right shoulder...can't tell you more than that, Doctor. Is the trauma room secure?"

"Yes sir! Mr. President, I'm Dr. Lindsey...I treated your son when he..."

"Thresh stays with me!" Peeta gasps as the nursing staff begins to cut away his clothing. He finally catches sight of his leg and nearly retches once more..

"Of course, sir! If this is the worst of your wounds you're incredibly lucky. We'll place you under anesthesia to reset your shoulder and clean and de-breed the muscle wound and assess for nerve damage. It's a minor surgery, Mr. President, nothing to worry about, I assure you."

"No! No, no surgery! I can't be placed under anesthesia!"

Dr. Lindsey gapes at him. "Sir, it's a minor procedure…"

"Do not put me under anesthesia!" Peeta cries.

"Mr. President, Mr. Abernathy and the First Lady are two minutes away. Please, keep calm," Thresh tells him, his voice surprisingly dulcet. Peeta grips the front of Thresh's shirt with his bloodied hand and pulls the man's face towards his own.

"Thresh, please. Please don't let them put me under..."

The guard looks at the doctors and nurses, all of whom are shaking their heads in confusion. He closes his hand around his mark's wrist and nods solemnly. "I've got you Mr. President. You're safe now."

Katniss closes the door of the master bedroom behind her when residence guards Cato and Marvel burst inside. Her nerves haven't quite adjusted to the pace at which some of the Tribs move, and she's certainly never seen the pair of them move with such urgency before. Marvel's hand whips out at once and slaps at a button on the wall; a moment later, a large solid metal sheet slams down on the multi-paneled picture window at the other end of the hall. She whirls around to face the guards and demand an explanation, but before she can get out a word, Cato shoves her aside to throw the bedroom door open.

"He is sleeping!" she hisses as he shines a flashlight on the boy's face. He ignores her as he sweeps the beam around the room before slamming the door closed, not even bothering to be quiet about it.

"Primary check of the residence indicates Little Duck is secure. Secondary sweep in progress," Cato barks into his communicuff and starts down the hallway without another glance at Katniss. Her hand whips out and grasps Marvel by the hem of his sleeve, forcing him to a stop in front of her.

"What the fuck is going on?!" she demands, still refusing to raise her voice above a harsh whisper, lest she wake Rye up unnecessarily. Marvel's lip curls as he yanks his arm from her and nods to her communicuff.

"Set it to frequency Alpha-One-Three. There were multiple shots fired tonight as the President left the State of Panem address. You are to await orders from Agent Courtney before leaving the residence. Mind your mark, Agent Everdeen," the man snarls at her before continuing on, practically breaking down the door to the First Lady's bedroom across the way. Katniss feels her stomach drop, and her mouth goes dry as she fiddles with the dials of her communicuff, the peaceful silence of her evening fading away into static and the sound of multiple voices all speaking on top of one another. It takes her several long minutes to hear a voice she recognizes, then another—none of them, however, belong to Gale.

"Wait!" she calls out as the agents make their way down the hall to exit out the front door. "This is all gibberish, I don't understand—who's Eagle? 'Eagle is down' means he's dead, but who the hell is Eagle?"

The guards share a look so condescending Katniss would love nothing more than to claw it off their faces with her stubby fingernails. Cato speaks first, rolling his eyes as he does.

"The Prime Minister is Eagle," he sneers. "The Prime Minister is dead."

Katniss feels as though she's been punched in the gut; a scant few moments ago, she was watching the Prime Minister and President clasp hands and raise them triumphantly above their heads. Now one of those men is dead, and all she can think about is the sleeping towhead who wanted so bad to greet his father when he arrived home. She wonders if Rye will ever get the chance to greet his father again. "The…is the President secure or is he…?"

"Listen to the frequency and figure it out for yourself, Everdeen," Marvel says bitterly before the men slam the door behind them.

It takes Katniss a long moment to process everything, but when she finally does, she feels herself sinking down to squatting against the wall outside the President's bedroom, her communicuff pressed firmly to her ear.

On the other side of the door, the little boy she guards sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware of anything outside of his sleep-syrup induced dreams.

The guards stationed outside the President's room don't even bother trying to keep Delly Cartwright and Haymitch Abernathy from bursting past them in an attempt to get to the man's bedside.

"Peeta? Peeta!" Delly cries as soon as she sees her brother laid out, hooked up to all manner of machinery. She leans over the rail of the gurney to press her forehead against his and attempts to smile at him through the tears rolling down her cheeks. "You're alright? You're really okay?"

"I'm fine, Dell, just…watch the leg, okay? And my shoulder isn't in great shape either."

"Mr. President?" Haymitch takes in the sight of the man, his pallid and panicked expression, and sets his jaw firmly, steeling himself to be strong and take charge. "What's your prognosis?"

"They want to do surgery, Haymitch. You have to make sure they don't…"

"It's an incredibly simple procedure!" Dr. Lindsey says exasperatedly. "We have to put him under to reset his shoulder and explore the wound. He'll be in a profound amount of pain if we—"

"Surely there are drugs you can ply him with that won't knock him completely unconscious," Haymitch growls, stealing his own glance at the wound. Blood has already seeped through the thick gauze they've dressed the bullet hole with, partially contributing to the sickly shade of the young man's skin.

"We can dope him up with enough morphling to take the edge off, but popping his shoulder back in place without anesthesia…"

Peeta's hand lurches out and grasps Haymitch by the wrist. His blue eyes are almost feral as they stare him down, but his grasp is shaky at best. "I don't have a Prime Minister, Haymitch. What happens if I'm unconscious for an hour and there's no Prime Minister?"

Haymitch immediately knows the man is correct. A line of succession has never been established, a residual effect of Snow's corrupt attempt to wrest as much control away from Parliament and into his own Aula as possible, and they both know it should have been one of the first bits of legislature they passed after taking power—but keeping the country fed had been more pressing, and thus it had fallen through the cracks. Haymitch knows they shouldn't have allowed it to do so, but it's far, far too late now.

"He's right," Haymitch calls over to his shoulder to the doctor. "With the Prime Minister dead, there is no next-in-command to assume the President's powers if he's under anesthesia. You can't put him under."

"So what, he's gonna bleed to death while you call a special session of Parliament to determine the new Prime Minister?!" Delly shrieks. "Haymitch, look at him!"

"Only Peeta has the power to call a Parliamentary session—you think he's in any state to do that? You think any of those delegates who were just shot at are clambering to go back into chambers to hold a head count?" Haymitch snaps back. He and the First Lady have never gotten on, and not even the President laying between them injured is enough for either of them to forget it.

"No surgery," Peeta gasps as a fresh wave of pain crests over him. "Just…hold me down and reset me and whatever else you have to do. I'll have to grin and bear it."

"It will be excruciating, sir," Dr. Lindsey says, stepping into his eyeshot. "You may end up passing out from the pain anyway, even with morphling to take the edge off."

"Well then, work fast, Doctor, and I'll try to keep myself from passing out. I'm not leaving this country leaderless, even for an hour." Peeta's resigned and stoic, even though the word 'dead' in reference to Leonid Boggs takes his breath away. Any minute now he's sure Haymitch will tell him there was some sort of mistake, and Leonid will breeze through the door and officially accept temporary leadership of the Aula so Peeta can spare himself the massive amount of pain he's about to endure. The moment doesn't come, and it's everything Peeta can do to keep the weight of despair from completely crushing him.

Delly turns green and pushes her head between her knees to try to stop the bile from rising up in her throat. A nurse loops an arm around her and moves to escort her out of the room. She turns back and looks forlornly at her brother just before the door closes between them. "Please don't die, Peet!"

"Check on Rye, Dell, please!" Peeta calls back, knowing full well his last few words were cut off by the closing door.

"She booted in the back of the limo—you know they'll charge you for that, right?" Haymitch says in an effort to distract Peeta from the large hypodermic needle that's about to plunge into the crook of his elbow.

"Yeah, so did I. Be a hell of a smelly ride home…"

The morphling works fast, and Peeta's world begins to turn muted and fuzzy around the edges. He barely makes out the doctors redraping his leg to try to disguise their movements for his own edification, but the dull throb of his leg as his heart continues to pump the blood out of his body nearly as fast as they can replace it reminds him again of the pain he's been assured he'll experience. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, but he's able to form the name "Gale?" before both men at his side just shake their heads at him.

"They took him straight to surgery, sir. We won't know anything for a while," Thresh tells him.

Suddenly, both his guard and his Chief of Staff grasp his good arm tightly as if to hold him in place. A nurse places a scrap of leather between his teeth and Dr. Lindsey begins a slow countdown from five as she grasps his twisted arm in preparation for the reset. Instead of waiting for 'one,' she jerks the arm back into place on 'two' and Peeta nearly pitches off the gurney, despite the two men doing their damndest to keep him still.

The leather falls from his teeth and his howl of agony resounds throughout the entire main floor of the hospital. It's only slightly less terrifying than his whimpering and begging a moment later when the smell of his burning flesh permeates the room as they begin to cauterize the bullet wound.

Flashbulbs burst continually, leaving spots in Finnick's eyes as he tries to maintain some decorum in his press room. Finally he simply resorts to yelling.

"I can only answer fourteen or fifteen questions at a time, cripes!" he bellows, and the reporters fall silent. "Thank you. Claudius, then Maura."

"Who'll be taking over the Prime Minister's position?" Templesmith demands. Finnick shakes his head.

"I'd like to remind you all that Prime Minister Boggs has barely been dead a couple of hours. Out of respect for his family and his memory, the Aula won't be speculating on who will be taking over his post. I can tell you that when the time is appropriate, President Mellark will be convening a special Parliamentary head-count to determine the successive Prime Minister."

"Finnick, who's in charge while the President's wounds are being treated? Surely he can't be expected to make executive orders from a hospital bed," Maura Cressida calls out.

Finnick pauses when Beetee sidles up to him and slips him a note. The man's scrawl is hardly legible, and Finnick has to swallow hard before dictating it back to the assembled group.

"The latest word on the President is that he underwent a procedure to reset a dislocated shoulder and repair a bullet hole in his calf. The doctors anticipate that he will make a speedy and complete recovery. Does that answer your question?"

"Resetting bones is usually done under anesthesia!" Caesar Flickerman protests. "Is he unconscious right now? If he's unconscious, who the hell is running the country?"

Finnick grimaces. "The President refused anesthesia. He was lucid while the procedures took place, and is holding counsel with Chief of Staff Abernathy to determine the best course of action to deal with the aftermath of tonight's tragedy."

"He was conscious?" Flickerman says with a gasp.

"Yes. One last…Maura, you have a follow-up?"

"Are there any additional fatalities you can confirm at this time?"

"One of the President's Secret Service bodyguards was critically wounded and is currently undergoing surgery. I can't give out his name at this time."

"Why not!?" the woman cries out.

"We haven't located his family yet. I'll be back in one hour, folks," Finnick says, ignoring the continual cries of his name as he leaves the podium and falls in step with Beetee towards the Aula. Both men move as if in a daze, but knowing they still have a job to do keeps them pressing forward.

"You handled that well. According to Haymitch, the President is already demanding to be released against medical advice. He's trying to talk him down, but he thinks he might need our help. We should head over there now," Beetee says quickly.

"Cripes, why the hell did he refuse anesthesia? He must be in agony…" Finnick says with a shake of his head.

"He didn't have another choice with Boggs dead," Beetee says. "Haymitch also said the First Lady is being treated for shock and has been sedated, so no one will be home with Rye save for his guard until one or both of them is released. Hence why the President is so desperate to leave."

"I just need to stop by my office for two seconds. I'll meet you in the driveway, alright?"

Beetee nods as Finnick ducks into his darkened office. He flips on the switch and immediately rounds to his desk and picks up his phone. The number he dials is a speedy, automatic action, and the voice he craves hearing most answers after only two buzzes.

"Finn!?"

"Hi, Annie. I'm alright. How're Noah and the belly?"

Finnick and Beetee walk into the hospital to find the President's bodyguard attempting to hold him still as Peeta claws wildly at the IVs and tubes shooting out of his body. The sight is gruesome and sad enough to turn both men's stomachs, as well as tear at their hearts.

"Thresh, let go! I need to leave, I need to go home!" the President groans, his voice thick and heavy from the residual pain-killers.

"I can't, Mr. President, you need to lie still. The doctors need to keep you here until…"

"They admitted Delly! I need to go home to Rye, someone needs to be with him, and it should be me…Thresh, please, I need to see my son…"

"Mr. President, Rye is safe and secure in the residence—Agent Everdeen is with him, and Agents Cato and Marvel are in their usual posts outside the front door," Beetee tries to reason with him. "He'll be fine. You need to focus on letting your body recover from the ordeal…"

"I'm fine!" Peeta snaps half-heartedly. "They stopped the bleeding, I just…I need to get out of here!"

"Boy, you touch one of those damned tubes again, I will tie you down myself," Haymitch says, looking the President straight in the eye. "You hear me?"

"Haymitch…"

"I'm not arguing with you on this. You should be in this hospital several days minimum to recover from this, and you've already cowed the doctors into releasing you in the morning. You need to rest, or else they'll go back on that and keep you here like they ought to. Lay back, boy, and stay still for three damn seconds."

Peeta slumps back on the pillows defeatedly and squeezes his eyes together. "How'd the briefing go, Finnick?"

"As well as can be expected, sir. Please don't worry about any of that, it's nothing Beetee and I can't handle," Finnick replies.

The President nods bitterly. "Did they ask about Gale?"

"Yes, sir. Effie is working to contact his next of kin, but it seems his mother works nights. I won't release his name or the specifics of his injuries until she knows," Finnick confirms.

"But he's not dead, right?" Peeta looks pleadingly at Thresh, who shakes his head.

"The doctors assured Thom that his wounds are treatable, but severe. You need to give them time, Mr. President," the guard says.

"Sir, if I may…I'd suggest Haymitch speak at Finnick's next briefing. The country needs to be reminded that there is still a leader, and until you are recovered…I have a short statement readied already," Beetee offers.

"Bold move there, Watts," Haymitch sneers.

"He's right, Haymitch. Give the statement. And tell them that I'll give one sometime tomorrow after I'm released. After I can be in the residence for a few minutes," Peeta says, gritting his teeth through the lingering haze of morphling.

"What else, Mr. President? Anything?" Finnick asks quickly.

"No. The three of you should go back. I'm not going anywhere for several hours, apparently."

"Thank you, sir," Finnick and Beetee say respectfully before filing out the door. Haymitch places his hand on the younger man's shoulder, and looks down at him. For the life of him, Peeta cannot fathom what the look could possibly mean.

"I meant no disrespect, Mr. President. But you need to rest," Haymitch says quietly. Peeta reaches up and cover's his mentor's hand with his own and nods simply.

"Make sure Effie gets in contact with Gale's mother. And keep Johanna close by so Thresh can call the pair of you back if I need you," Peeta replies.

"Thank you, Mr. President," Haymitch says curtly before he slips out the door.

As soon as he's gone, Peeta gives into a crushing sob, wincing as the sharp inhale and exhale of breath makes his entire body ache and throb.

"Sir…Agent Everdeen has a communicuff similar to my own that can project images. The screen is tiny, understand, but if you'd like, I could—" Thresh offers.

"Rye?" Peeta says hopefully, his heart leaping into his throat. "I can see him?"

"In a manner of speaking, sir, yes."

Peeta nods through the hot tears streaming down his face and watches as Thresh fiddles with the dials on the device, speaking in the code all agents use that is mostly gibberish to anyone not SS. He's vaguely aware that he's never, not once, seen Thresh, Gale, or Thom remove the device from their wrist, and so it floors him when Thresh pulls it off his hand like it were a watch and hands it to him.

"I'll be just outside the door so you can have your privacy, Mr. President."

Rye wakes up in a daze as someone shakes his shoulders. He whines and flips onto his belly, hoping that Daddy and Auntie Delly will just let him sleep. He's so sleepy and his nose is still all stuffy and he just wants to—

"Rye? Rye, I need you to wake up, okay?"

"Whaa...Katniss?" he grumbles.

"Will you wake up, please? Your father...he wants to talk to you..."

The boy sits up and rubs his eyes with his fists. He blinks around the room as he searches for his father but comes up with nothing.

"Where's my Daddy, Katniss? And why do you look so weird?" he asks.

"He's...he's on my communicuff. You're going to talk to him on that, okay? Can I sit with you so you can talk to him?" Katniss gestures for him to scoot over so she can sit against the headboard next to him. He pulls Maysi the cat against his chest and wipes his runny nose with the sleeve of his father's oversized sweatshirt. Katniss fiddles with the device on her wrist before holding it out in front of her; when the tiny screen flickers to life, Rye watches as a miniature picture of his father appears.

"Daddy?" He's probably imagining it because the picture is so tiny, but it almost looks like his daddy is crying.

"Heya, Ry-Ry. Oh, buddy, it's good to see your face." His daddy definitely sounds like he's been crying.

"Daddy, you just saw me a couple hours ago. Why aren't you home yet?"

Despite the tiny picture and his eyes still adjusting to the light of his bedside table, Rye can make out his father hastily wiping his eyes and taking a shaky breath in and out. "Buddy, you haven't watched the television at all since my speech ended, right?"

"No, I was asleep...Daddy, what's wrong? Why do you look so sad?" Rye asks, his own jaw beginning to tremble. His daddy only looks like this when something is the matter.

"I need to...it's okay. Everything is okay now, but I need to..." His daddy can't form complete sentences. This is a bad sign. "Do you remember when we talked about your nightmares? Remember, when you used to think there was a big hairy monster under your bed, and he'd come out when you were asleep to drag you away to someplace me and Auntie Delly couldn't get to you? Remember all that, Ry-Ry?"

Of course Rye remembers. That dream had only begun when he and his daddy had moved to the Capitol for good so Daddy could be the President. He nods, hoping that his father can make that out.

"I need to tell you something, Rye, and you need to listen to me very, very closely. It might scare you, but Katniss is there with you, and I will be too in just a little while. But you need to listen closely, okay?"

"I'm listening, Daddy," the boy says. He clutches his stuffie tighter against his chest and shrinks closer into Katniss's side. He feels her pet his hair tenderly and press her cheek to the crown of his head.

"Sometimes, Ry-Ry...sometimes monsters and nightmares are real. Sometimes people do bad things to other people and people get hurt, and it can be so, so scary."

"Are...are you hurt, Daddy? Is that why you aren't home now?"

On the tiny screen, Rye can see his father nod in confirmation. The little boy begins to cry, despite Katniss gently shushing him and rocking him slowly from side to side.

"I'm okay now, Rye. I'm okay, and Auntie Delly is okay, and just as soon as I can, I'm going to come home to you, I promise, Duck. This is the most important part of this story, and I need you to put on your brave face for me for one more minute so I can tell you this part."

The boy wipes his tears and snotty nose on his sleeve again and nods at his father's face.

"Sometimes monsters and nightmares are real, Rye. But you know what? Even when they are—we still wake up. We always wake up. So you're going to go back to sleep now, and when you wake up, you'll find me there waiting for you. I promise, Duck. I'll be there when you wake up," his daddy tells him.

Rye sucks in a deep breath and nods his head. "Daddy, can you sing? I can't go to sleep again unless you sing..."

For a moment, he thinks his father might cry again, but his voice is deep and rumbly and calming, just like it always should be when he sings.

"Deep in the meadow, under the willow,
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,
Lay down your head and close your sleepy eyes,
And in the morning, the sun with r-rise…"

His father's voice breaks with the last line, but amazingly enough, the song doesn't stop. Katniss picks up seamlessly right where Daddy trails off.

"Here it's safe and here it's warm,
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet,
And tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you."

Rye can tell his father is crying for real now, but he's smiling too, so he supposes it's alright. Katniss presses her cheek to the top of his head again and Rye puts on the brightest, bravest face for his father that he can muster.

"I'm gonna go to sleep again, Daddy. But I'm not 'fraid of nightmares, I promise. I'll see you soon," he says strongly.

"That's my boy, Duckie. I love you, Rye. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Daddy."

The picture fades out, and Rye clings to Katniss's side. She smooths his hair and shushes his gasping little sobs for several minutes more, until the boy more or less cries himself back to sleep. She's turned out the light and is letting herself back into the hallway when he calls out to her with a squeak.

"Katniss, how do you know my Daddy's song?"

Her reply is soft and hesitant. "It used to be my daddy's favorite song to sing, too."

"Will you finish it before you go?"

She seems to hesitate a minute, her shoulders rising and falling and her head beginning to shake back and forth—but a moment later she's back at his side, massaging his upper back lightly with her palm as she continues to sing from where she'd left off.

"Deep in the meadow, hidden far away,
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray…"

Katniss knows she ought not to, but after Rye falls back to sleep, she pulls up one of the plush chairs next to the bed and watches him, her eyes almost completely adjusted to the darkness. Her hand reaches out and strokes the child's curls every now and again, and when he murmurs in his sleep, she closes her fingers around his tiny hand gripping the cat stuffie close to his face. She knows she ought to have her communicuff tuned to Alpha-One-Three in order to get some sort of handle on what's happened in the meantime, or at the very least, determine why Gale's voice hasn't echoed across the wavelength, but she just can't leave Rye. The clock on the President's bedside table reads almost 4 am when her eyelids begin to droop. She leans forward at the waist and rests her head on the mattress next to Rye, vowing to only rest her eyes for a minute or two, until she's awoken hours later by the bedroom door flying open and Thresh stepping inside.

"Katniss?" Thresh says quietly, narrowing his eyes as the woman leaps to standing, sending the chair she'd been sleeping in toppling backwards. Her neck screams from her awkward sleeping position, and her gaze flits down to Rye's still soundly sleeping form before holding her head high and locking her hands behind her back.

"He's asleep," she whispers. "I realize it's inappropriate for me to—"

She can't possibly continue when the President walks in behind his guard. His skin is ghostly pale, and his right arm is hung in a sling while his left hand clutches an elegant cane as he hobbles into the room. His gaze focuses on Katniss for only a split-second before it shifts, and he drinks in the sight of his sleeping child. A soft whimper of relief escapes his lips as he limps around the bed and kneels on the mattress next to the boy. The President's uninjured hand covers Rye's curls reverently, the pad of his thumb slowly stroking the child's temple before he leans down and presses his lips lightly to his forehead. The sight of the reunion, even when one is fast asleep and dreaming, is enough for Katniss's mouth to go dry, and tears prick at the back of her eyes. The impulse grows when hears the man whisper "Daddy's here," into the child's ear. She looks to Thresh, who appears to be trying to slip out the door slowly. She moves to follow him, understanding at once that this is no place for her now that the President is home, but his shaky, hoarse voice calls out to her and stops her in her tracks.

"You stayed with him all night?" the President asks.

She turns in place and tries not to look at the man's tear-streaked face. "I…yes sir. He's my mark. It was my duty."

"Oh, Katniss…thank you…" he murmurs to her.

"Mr. President, I'm sorry, but are you…you look awfully—"

He waves his hand and returns his gaze to Rye's cherubic face. "I made them release me. I shouldn't have, but I don't…I have a country to run and Delly is still… Katniss, do you know about—"

"Peeta," Haymitch Abernathy's voice calls out a moment later. Never before has Katniss heard Abernathy or any of his senior advisors refer to the man as anything but 'Mr. President' or 'sir;' it clearly surprises the President too. What little blood remains in his cheeks drains, leaving them even paler than before. "Leave the boy for a moment and come to the sitting room with me."

It appears to be a spectacular struggle for the President to get to his feet, but he manages it and hobbles after Abernathy with only a few winces and gasps of pain. The elder man holds the door open for the President, but catches Katniss's own gaze. "Agent Everdeen…you ought to come as well. The kiddo will be fine for a couple of minutes."

Her blood turns to ice crystals in her veins, but she follows all the same, watching as Abernathy places a steady hand under the President's elbow to assist his tottering gait. The brief walk to the sitting room seems to take an eternity, but when they walk through the door, Katniss lays eyes upon Thresh, Thom, and Johanna Mason. All three stand straight and tall and share a mutual look of…what is that look? Katniss can't place it, not until she notices the pink tinges in Thresh's eyes, the hastily buttoned blazer of Thom's that doesn't quite hide the huge splotches of deep crimson marring the crisp white of his shirt, and the ever-so-slight tremble of Johanna's jaw. And then all she can feel is something akin to falling, even as she maintains standing ramrod-straight.

"Sir, I'm afraid that I have some bad news for you. You may want to take a seat," Haymitch says. The President sinks into a chair, an unmistakable look of horror etched on his face.

"It's Gale, isn't it?" the President whispers. He doesn't look at Abernathy, but instead at the three guards, none of whom move a muscle. "Johanna? It's Gale, isn't it?" he presses. Johanna appears to bite down on the inside of her cheek—and hard.

"Yes, it's Gale, Mr. President. The staff surgeons were confident that their work to repair the ruptured valve in his chest went as smoothly as it could have, but there was a complication that none of them could have foreseen. It…he began to bleed very rapidly, and by the time they were able to locate the source of the bleeding, he…Peeta, Gale is gone. They pronounced him dead just a few minutes after you left the hospital. I am very, very sorry, son," Haymitch says softly.

Katniss watches in abject horror as the President bows his head and pinches the bridge of his nose just before a racking sob echoes throughout the room. Her gaze flits from Tribute to Tribute, searching all of their faces for some sort of sign that Abernathy might be incorrect or simply playing a cruel joke on the man. She can see in an instant that it's real, very real. Her knees nearly buckle underneath her and an invisible weight begins to crush her chest to the point she's gasping for air. This can't be real, she thinks. This can't possibly be real.

Katniss watches as the President finally looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and his cheeks damp; he seems to be seeking someone out other than Abernathy, and finally his gaze settles on Johanna. Katniss watches as Johanna breaks formation with Thresh and Thom and steps forward, swiping at her own eyes angrily before clearing her throat.

"Mr. President, I am so, so sorry…" Johanna begins, but the President cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Johanna," he stammers sadly, and Johanna nods quickly before stepping back amongst her fellow Tributes. The President seeks out Abernathy again, and the older man leans down so the younger can whisper something in his ear. Abernathy nods first at the President, then the Tributes to gesture they ought to leave the room—all except Katniss.

With a final consoling cup to the President's shoulder, Haymitch walks out of the room, the guards filing quickly behind him. Katniss stands there in utter and complete disbelief. This can't be real, her brain repeats. There must be some mistake. There must be...

"Katniss..." the President croaks. "I...I need your letter."

She blinks at him, completely overwhelmed and utterly baffled. "I'm sorry, sir? I don't..."

"A letter of resignation. From you. I need you to quit, Katniss. I think it'd be for the best if you were no longer Rye's guard."

She rears back. Not ten minutes ago, he was thanking her for staying at Rye's side all night, keeping him safe. Why would he ask...?

"Mr. President, I don't understand. Have I done something wrong?"

He turns to her, and the look on his face is one which might have her believe she's sprouted a second head without knowing it. He shakes his head indignantly, wiping at the tears rolling down his face with the back of his hand.

"I can't breathe around you, Katniss!" he exclaims, his voice breaking and his tone incredulous. "I can't look at you without thinking any number of thoughts I should never, ever think of in regards to my son's guard! And the other night, in the art room, I could have murdered Finnick for interrupting us! I cannot breathe around you. And if this had happened to you... Oh, damn it all..."

He is in front of her in an instant, his unbandaged hand reaching for her, cupping under her jaw to tilt her face up, and the next second, his lips are flush with hers. She gasps, but it catches in her chest and air is almost impossible to find. His mouth claims hers so utterly, so completely that she forgets for a moment what it is to not have have his salty, chapped lips fused to her dry, pliant ones. She hears him whimper when her hands reflexively circle his broad shoulders and her fingers link behind the back of his neck. It brings them infinitely closer, their chests and stomachs and legs flush as their mouths continue to slant and slide together sinuously. She can feel herself becoming almost delirious with the lack of oxygen in her lungs, but no part of her cares. Not with the Pres—with Peeta kissing her.

The velvety tip of his tongue is tracing the seam of her lips when he suddenly wrenches away, their mouths popping loudly as they separate. Peeta whirls around looking wide-eyed at the door. Katniss follows his gaze and sees a gaping Delly Cartwright looking back.

"Dell..." Peeta squeaks.

"I just got back. Rye's awake, and he's crying because he doesn't know where you are. You should..."

The President moves faster than Katniss believes is prudent in his condition, clutching the cane like a lifeline as he hobbles past his sister and down the hallway, leaving the two women alone. With one more look at Katniss, Delly turns as well, moving to follow her brother when Katniss cries out on impulse, "Madam First Lady!"

Delly turns and sighs deeply. For a second, Katniss thinks she might be smiling, but surely she's mistaken.

"He's my brother, Katniss. Not my husband."

She offers nothing else before disappearing. And suddenly, without understanding exactly what she's feeling and why, Katniss ghosts her fingertips over her swollen, slightly moistened lips, and begins to weep.

Chapter Text

Within 48 hours of Leonid Boggs's death, a special session of Parliament was called to order by President Peeta Mellark, and through a special head count of all the delegates of Panem's five political parties, Alma Coin was officially sworn in as the new Prime Minister. With grace and tact, Coin declined a formal inauguration, insisting the focus of the nation should instead be on mourning the death of her fellow District Thirteen citizen. Peeta couldn't have agreed more, although his rationale was slightly different—he and Haymitch had hoped their own initial math would prove incorrect and that Brinna Paylor's party would outclip Coin's. For better or for worse, the very last chief delegate with whom Peeta wanted to share the political stage proved victorious by a razor thin margin.

With Coin's ascension, Parliament officially closes for business until the new session reconvenes the week following the New Year, and the onus of running the country is placed once again on Peeta Mellark's dislocated shoulder. With Boggs's formal state funeral just a day away on New Year's Eve, Peeta has little time to dwell on the events of the night of the State of Panem address—and nearly no time whatsoever to give any further thought to what he's done to Katniss.

She was gone by the time he'd calmed Rye that morning, and he assumed he'd never see her again. It killed him that that might be the case, but he told himself again and again it was for the best. His father and Delly's mother had been on the very next train to the Capitol following the shooting, and with his grandparents fawning over him, Rye has little time to question his father on the exact nature of his injuries, and even less to ask why Katniss is not around. Peeta knows he can't dodge the questions forever, but he takes solace in simply spending more time with his child. Rye hasn't slept in his own bed once in the past five nights, but Peeta doesn't mind. His son's snores next to him remind him he's still alive, that he survived, and that he has so much left to live for.

Ezekiel Mellark mills about the kitchen the morning of Boggs's funeral when Peeta wanders in in search of a hot cup of tea. His father has refused to retire and leave the bakery back in Twelve to Peeta's oldest brother, Bannock, and in truth, age has done little to slow the man down. Peeta catches the wafting scents of dill and cinnamon in the air as he and his father exchange good mornings.

"The bread ought to be ready in a few minutes. Is Duckie still asleep?" Ezekiel asks.

"Sound asleep. He kept rolling over and putting his feet in my back to scoot me towards the edge. Finally I just got up and slept on the side he was originally on," Peeta says with a slight smile. Rye seems to be the only thing that can make him smile these last few days.

"You did the same thing when you bunked with me after your mother passed," Ezekiel tells him. Peeta flinches—the last thing he wants to think about is the death of his mother and brother all those years ago, especially on the day he'll be commemorating his slain political ally. He doesn't even want to imagine the hell tomorrow is sure to bring, when the Presidential hovercraft takes them to Twelve for Gale Hawthorne's funeral.

"So...Delly mentioned something to your stepmother about the morning after the, erm, incident. With that pretty guard of Duckie's." Ezekiel tries to be tactful as he speaks, but it causes Peeta to squeeze the handle of the water kettle so tightly that it shakes and sloshes boiling water on the counter.

"It's nothing, Dad. Delly doesn't know what she saw," Peeta says firmly.

"For being a politician, son, you can't lie worth a damn. You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"That's impossible. I barely know her. Rye's fond of her, but he was just as fond of Annie."

Ezekiel shakes his head. "You say these things like I don't know you, Peeta. Like you aren't a carbon copy of my own romantic heart. Loving someone else doesn't make you unfaithful to Meg, son. She's been gone for years. And we both know you were never in love with her."

Peeta slams the kettle down onto the counter and glares at his father. "Don't you dare, Dad. Don't you dare..."

It doesn't stop Ezekiel. "You loved her. Of course you loved her, no one is saying differently. We all adored her. And I thought we might lose you to grief after that infection took her from you, but Margaret Undersee was never the love of your life, Peeta! She was the easy choice and a sensible partner. She was your Armarna. And she gave you Rye, which will always be a blessing. But don't doubt that you could love someone more passionately than you loved Meg when you never truly loved her passionately at all."

Peeta opens his mouth to rebut his father's far-too-keen observations when the kitchen door swings open and a tousled-haired, sleepy-faced Rye comes towards them with his stuffed cat firmly tucked under his arm.

"Daddy? Why didn't you wake me when you got up?" Rye murmurs.

Peeta plops into one of chairs at the breakfast nook and gathers his son in his lap. "No reason, Duck, I promise," Peeta says. "Let's have some breakfast before we get ready for the day, alright?" When Rye's head bobs up and down in agreement, Peeta pecks his forehead and hugs the boy as close to his chest as he can with his one good arm.

Peeta refuses to look Ezekiel in the eye for the rest of the morning. He knows he's been found out, and he couldn't be more angry at his father about it—or at himself, for that matter.

Tying a necktie has proved impossible for Peeta the last few days, so much that he's had to ask Ezekiel to do it for him. But speaking to his father any further this morning is the last thing he wants, so he fumbles with the scrap of woven silk in the mirror for an agonizingly long time instead until his bedroom door swings open. While he hopes to see Delly or his stepmother breeze in, his son is always a welcome alternative.

"Daddy, Auntie Delly wanted me to tell you we gotta leave in ten minutes. Are you ready?" Rye chirps, wandering up to his father's side and watching him jerk the tie loose once more before trying again.

"Almost. Will you get your auntie for me, please, Duck? I…ugh, I need her help with this thing," Peeta groans. Rye giggles and snatches his father's good hand to lead him over to the chaise at the end of his bed so he has something to stand on to bring them eye level.

"I can do it, Daddy. Watch," Rye says as he deftly begins to twirl the two halves of the tie in his tiny hands. Peeta marvels that within a minute Rye cinches the simple knot up to the top most button of his collared shirt, and even smoothes out the collar of the crisp black cotton against the pale green of the tie.

"Ry-Ry, how did you learn to do that?" Peeta asks, surveying the job in the mirror. The back end is just a scant inch longer than he normally prefers it, but with the buttons of his double-breast fastened, no one will be any wiser.

"I dunno. You wear a tie every day, so…"

"The one for your school uniform is a clip-on. Where did you learn this, Rye? You can tell me," Peeta presses, although he's almost certain he knows the answer.

"Um…Katniss showed me how. They want us to start wearing normal ones instead of the clippies, so…"

Rye seems to trail off instinctively, and Peeta sighs. He supposes now is as good of a time as any to tell his son about what will happen with Katniss, although he isn't looking forward at all to the tantrum he knows the child is capable of throwing.

"She's coming to the funeral for Mr. Boggs, right, Daddy?" Rye asks, his surprisingly strong jaw line set the way Peeta usually sets his own, as if to challenge his father silently. Peeta isn't sure who this cunning young man is who has replaced his sweet, cherubic little boy, but he's not exactly sure he likes it.

"Ry-Ry, I'm not sure she's going to. She's had all this time off because you haven't been going to school, and the reason you haven't been going to school…"

"I know what happened to Gale, Daddy. Mr. Finnick told me the other day. And that's why you've been sad, right? Because Gale was your friend and your guard, like Katniss is my guard, and I'd be sad if anything happened to her while she was protecting me," the boy says.

The gravity of Rye's words floors Peeta, and he has to sit down on the edge of the bed before his good leg buckles beneath him. "Yes, Rye. Gale died the same night Mr. Boggs did. That's why we're going out to Twelve tomorrow with Grandma and Grandpa when they go home for the New Year. Gale will be buried in the cemetery there, not too far from where Mama is, because that's his home, too."

"Gale was real brave, Daddy. I liked him a lot. And he liked you, too, I could tell," Rye whispers.

"You think so? You think Gale liked me?" Peeta muses.

"He took good care of you. Like Katniss does for me. They're real similar, I think."

Peeta rubs his hand over his face—he's not received a letter of resignation from Katniss Everdeen concerning leaving her post as Rye's guard, which means she will be breezing through the front door with Thom and Thresh any minute now. He doesn't know how he'll face her, and it goes beyond that bloody kiss. Gale was her friend, and all because of Peeta, her friend is dead. He could live a hundred damn lifetimes and never be able to make that up to her.

"I'll get your pin, Daddy," Rye pads over to the nightstand for the gold mockingjay medallion. "You need it to protect you."

Peeta hasn't worn the thing since the shooting. He barely even wants to look at it, especially the tarnished head of the bird that had apparently been wiped clean by the hospital staff, probably to rid it of blood. Gale's blood, most likely. Some bit of good luck it brought, Meg, he thinks bitterly.

"Do you want Mama's pin, Rye? I think she'd like you to have it," Peeta says suddenly.

His son marvels at the sentiment, clearly in shock that his father would willingly part with something so precious. "I can really wear it instead?" Rye whispers. Peeta nods his head, but without his other arm, it's impossible to do anything like clasp the pin on Rye's lapel. He watches the boy do it instead, and when it's in place, he stands tall and surveys his reflection. His son is far too grown up already—and yet poking out from underneath his blazer is a rumpled bit of shirt tail that resembles a duck tail.

"C'mere a second," Peeta reaches around to tuck the material back in place and smoothes the jacket before pulling Rye to his chest. "You aren't allowed to get any bigger, Ry-Ry, alright?"

The boy giggles. "You usually only say that on my birthday, Daddy."

"Well. I'm telling you now as well. Promise me?"

In the past, Rye has wisely reminded Peeta he can't make any sort of promise like that; now, however, his bright eyes widen with the sound of the buzzer of the front door. His curls bob as he excitedly makes for the hallway, and Peeta clutches his cane to follow him.

He supposes he can give his son a day or two more with Katniss before he has to let her go. It's all for the best, he reminds himself. You have a child to raise and a country to run. You can't afford to think of anything more than that.

He continues to avoid his father's gaze, as well as the brief flits of Katniss's as he secures the ivory arm band around his good arm as a symbol of mourning before he shrugs on his overcoat, although Katniss's presence is all he can think about. He swallows hard as he indicates to Thom and Thresh he's ready to leave. They're turning to walk out the door when he catches Katniss kneeling in front of Rye to reach around his waist and under his jacket.

"Let's just tuck in that tail, Little Duck," she says easily, in a way that betrays that she wasn't even giving thought to her words. Peeta watches as a horrified look crosses her face even as she stands and offers her hand to the boy.

"Daddy! Katniss says the same thing you do!" Rye exclaims. Grey eyes meet blue for a quick moment before Peeta whirls around on his heel, fully aware that everyone, even his son, notices the tense change in the air between them.

It doesn't matter, he reminds himself.

Peeta grasps Rye's hand and leads the group to the elevator, and then to the waiting cars outside. Just before he settles into his own car, Beetee places a gentle hand on his shoulder before offering him a small stack of index cards.

"The eulogy, Mr. President," Beetee says. Peeta thanks him with a short nod before settling into the seat with Rye tucked into his side. Thresh, Thom, and Katniss occupy the rear-facing seats opposite him; he spends the short ride to the memorial hall studying the cards, hoping it will distract him from her. When they arrive, he tucks the cards into the breast pocket of his jacket.

He leaves them there, even when he stands and takes the microphone in front of the Prime Minister's casket a few minutes later. He knows exactly what he's going to say, and just like with the State of Panem address, Peeta knows that Boggs would prefer his own words anyway.

Peeta has adequately braced himself for a great number of things in regards to Gale Hawthorne's funeral, but the one thing he realizes he could never have properly prepared himself for is meeting his late guard's family. He feels guilty for never having met them before the small, private wake held for Gale at the Justice Building just a short while before the funeral. But he knows he owes the mother who'd lost her eldest son a personal thank you.

Hazelle Hawthorne looks as put together as a woman in grief can. She stands straight and tall when Peeta offers her his hand, and she shakes it firmly. Her hair is pulled back tightly out of her face, and she wears no makeup. She's composed as they stare at one another, but her grey, Seam eyes disconcert him to the point he finds it difficult to speak.

After a long minute, she finally breaks the tense silence between them. "Gale was very, very proud of his position, Mr. President. He considered it his finest honor. And he was incredibly proud to be working for you in particular." Her words don't seem rehearsed or forced at all. Peeta feels tears prick the back of his eyes.

"He was one of the finest men I have ever met. He was more than my guard—he was my friend. And I cannot begin to tell you just how sor—" Peeta trails off when he sees Hazelle shakes her head, although he's sure she hasn't meant at all to interrupt him.

"My boy did his duty," Hazelle says gently, as though speaking to a wounded animal. "He wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he failed to do his job. You don't have anything to apologize to me for, Mr. President."

"I owe Gale my life, Mrs. Hawthorne," Peeta whispers.

"So live it well. That's all I'll ask in return. Live your life well, so my son didn't die in vain," Hazelle urges.

"I… I will. I promise," Peeta chokes out.

Gale's siblings aren't nearly as warm as their mother, but they are all respectful. The youngest, a girl who introduces herself as Posy, particularly affects him—she can't be more than five or six years older than Rye, and keeps looking at him queerly where he stands off to Peeta's side. He can feel his little boy fidget even as he keeps trying to flash everyone small smiles. Finally, Posy returns it with one of her own, and when they all make to leave for the cemetery a short while later, the girl offers her hand to his son to walk with him behind the hearse. Rye looks to Katniss, as though to check whether or not this is okay, and Peeta tries not to notice how sad Katniss looks when she nods that he ought to take the girl's hand. Emboldened by this strange kinship between two children who might not otherwise ever have met if not this tragic circumstance, Peeta finds himself offering his arm to Hazelle, who takes it gratefully. Despite how composed both of them seemed at first meeting, neither is surprised to notice the other is shaking.

The First Family's secondary guards take their places as they are ushered into folding chairs near the empty cemetery plot. Gale's two brothers, who Peeta hadn't noticed had been held back, enter a moment later at the sides of the regal mahogany coffin draped in the flag of Panem as it is carried in from the hearse. Peeta had wanted to help carry it out of respect for Gale, but his shoulder still throbs and he's bound to his cane for at least another three weeks. He'd asked Haymitch to take his place instead, and his mentor stands at the back, staying in sync with the slowly marching Thresh, Thom, and of course, Katniss. Peeta can't tear his eyes off her somber, focused face as she leads from the front of the casket, even after they set it down. She steps back amongst the assembled crowd of mourners, nearly disappearing in the sea of grey eyes and olive skin, but he always knows exactly where she is. It's comforting, considering this might be the very last time he will ever see her.

A Peacekeeper funeral, he soon discovers, is something of a choreographed dance. Most of the District seems to be in attendance, and unlike the long-winded eulogies delivered at Boggs's memorial (of which his was by far the briefest) the Peacekeepers who speak on behalf of Gale are clipped and concise. One Agent Jackson, whom Peeta vaguely recalls as the lead agent at the hospital the night of the shooting, reads the Secret Service Oath of Duty and a chill runs up Peeta's spine at the words "I solemnly swear to offer myself up in tribute to protect the lives of the men and women who serve the interests of the citizens of Panem." He realizes that this is something every one of his and Rye's agents has agreed to—vowed to—in front of throngs of others who've agreed to the exact same thing, but hearing the words aloud rattles him to the core.

But it is the grace and fluidity of the all the agents' and officers' movements that truly enrapture Peeta, and indeed, his entire home District. A group of them fold the flag draped on Gale's coffin in a perfect triangle and Twelve's Head Peacekeeper, Cray, offers it to Hazelle Hawthorne with a curt nod. Two other Peacekeepers that Peeta vaguely recognizes step forward with a pair of boots and a solid white Peacekeeper helmet tucked under their arms; he can make out the small printed badges emblazoned with "Hawthorne, G." on both. The first officer places the boots at the head of the casket, and while it shouldn't surprise Peeta to watch Katniss trudge forward, the item cradled in her gloved hands does: it's a handsome, wooden recurve bow and a quiver of arrows. With incredible precision, Katniss stands the bow and quiver in the opening at the top of the boots, and it stands perfectly vertical, as if suspended by magic. The final officer balances Gale's helmet atop the narrow tip of the bow, and all three stand at attention for a moment before offering a simple honor salute. When Katniss turns around again, Peeta sees the tears at the corners of her eyes, and it sucks the breath out of his lungs. Only then does he realize that despite apologizing to Hazelle and her children, he has still never apologized to Katniss.

She doesn't idle for long. She, Thom, and Thresh stride forward holding bows of their own. Peeta is confused—he's heard of a rifle salute to close out funeral proceedings, but arrows? Arrows seem positively dangerous. He and the assembled crowd watch in awe as the three guards are handed arrows with flaming tips, twelve in all, that they immediately fire into the air. All twelve burn from tip to flier in only the time it takes to reach their zenith before showering the snow below in ash. It is not lost on Peeta that Katniss's arrows fly higher and truer than either Thresh or Thom's, and for reasons he can't fathom, this doesn't surprise him in the least.

As the three head back to their military brethren, Peeta quickly glances at his son just in time to see Haymitch Abernathy lean forward in his seat to whisper into Rye's ear. Rye nods at Haymitch as he finds Peeta's hand and gives it a surprisingly strong squeeze. Only then does Peeta take note of the tears streaming down his own face. Lifting his injured arm as gingerly as he can, he offers his other hand to Hazelle Hawthorne as the straps holding Gale's coffin are slowly released, and it is lowered into the ground.

Rye's hand suddenly slips from his father's, and the little boy gets to his feet. Peeta reaches out, fingertips just barely missing the hem of his son's jacket to pull him back into his seat until the proceedings are concluded, but he stops cold when he sees Rye raise his left hand to his mouth. His thumb and pinkie are tucked into his palm, the other three fingers held in tight as he raises it high above his head. He shares a gasp of understanding with Hazelle as Posy, Vick, and Rory get to their feet and offer their brother the same salute. Haymitch Abernathy is not far behind, followed by a teary Thom and surprisingly stoic Katniss. Hazelle helps Peeta to his feet, and they raise their own left hands in salute to the man who gave his life for that of his mark's. Slowly, the rest of the assembled crowd follows suit, until every person in attendance is holding their hand aloft.

He isn't sure if his child is entirely aware of the significance of what he's done, but when Rye looks up at him, his green and blue eyes clear and innocent, the smile Peeta returns is as broad and calm as any he can muster.

"So, the officers on the detail aren't changing?" Peeta asks Thresh for what is surely the second or third time during the meeting. They're huddled in the hovercraft office, already well on their way back to the Capitol, though none are any less raw from the events of the morning. Peeta finds he has to focus on his guards instead of Katniss, who is sitting to Thresh's left. She's avoiding his eyes, too.

"No, sir. The only change is the transition of Agent Messalla, who used to be on Prime Minister Boggs's detail. Unless you have any formal objections, Thom and I will simply be stepping up our hours and presence in place of Gale's," Thresh reaffirms.

"Which of you got the promotion to AiC? Or is that rude?" Peeta asks dryly.

"Neither of us, sir. We both formally declined the title," Thom says.

"Out of respect for Gale," Thresh finishes.

"That was big of you. Both of you. But I don't want you running ragged on my account. You each need a couple of days off here and there."

"The backup agents are still in place, that won't change. But we're asking you not to concern yourself with that, Mr. President. Your safety, and that of your family, is paramount. The First Lady's detail isn't changing, except for when she makes her ambassadorial trips to the Districts, but Agent Everdeen has recommended some amendments to Rye's detail. Katniss?" Thresh has to nudge her elbow to convince her to speak.

She clears her throat and says steadily, "Yes. I've put in a request for supplemental agents at Rye's school for his safety. They'll be distance agents, so he won't feel like he's being hovered over, but they'll be in place around the parameters of the school at all times, and one will be stationed in the administration office as well. Rye will barely notice the difference, but it will be a vast improvement to his security while on school grounds."

Peeta's throat goes dry. "And…his main guard will…"

Her stare renders him speechless. "Remain the same, of course. I believe I have a good rapport with your son, Mr. President. I think keeping things consistent for him right now is incredibly important, which I'm sure you'll agree with."

Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. She's refusing to resign. I'll have to fire her. Cripes, did I ever not want to fire her…

"Is there anything else?" he forces out. Thresh and Thom shake their heads and get to their feet, but Katniss stays put. Like she's challenging him. Like she knows what is coming next.

"Thank you, Mr. President," the men say as they shuffle out. Neither look back as they close the door behind them. Peeta pinches the bridge of his nose, even as he feels Katniss stare him down. It's disconcerting to feel her watching him so intently. She's acting completely different, and it'd be intoxicating if it weren't so infuriating.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks finally.

"I'm doing my job, Mr. President. The job Gale hired me to do. He wouldn't want me backing down from a fight just because it's gotten difficult or dangerous. So in response to your request you made that morning…I'm sorry, sir, but if you wish to replace me as Rye's guard, you'll need to fire me."

He almost doesn't recognize this confident, steady woman in front of him. And it feels as though he's been punched in the gut. How has she not understood what he'd told her? How can she be so stubborn and bullheaded?

"You…you can't ask me to do that, Katniss," he stammers.

"You cannot ask me to resign, either. Not without just cause, sir."

"I gave you just cause!" he says, getting to his feet and beginning to pace nervously. "I told you exactly—Katniss, I need you to leave! I need you out of our lives before Rye gets any more attached and before I…"

He trails off as she stands and steps forward, closing in on him to the point where they could both reach their hands out and touch. A lump forms in his throat, and it takes everything to swallow it back.

"Katniss, I can't stomach the idea—" he tries again, but she shakes her head. A strand of her hair comes loose from the taut bun at the nape of her neck.

"Gale knew. He knew that the second he heard a gunshot, it was his job to step in front of the bullet to keep you safe. You have to stop thinking that his death is your fault, because it isn't. Not at all. It was his job, just like it's my job to do the same for Rye, Mr. President. I won't be stepping down unless I'm forcibly removed. I'm not leaving him. And I'm not leaving—"

She cuts herself off to take another step towards him. He's not sure how she's gotten so bold, where the nervousness and apprehension has vanished to, but it's gone. And it's driving him crazy.

"Please, Katniss. If something happens to you…I'd never forgive myself." His voice is raspy and almost painful in his throat.

"Nothing will happen to me. Nothing I won't see coming. And if it does, then I'll accept it readily, knowing that I died for the right reasons—for him. That's all I can ask of myself, Peeta."

They both freeze. His first name falling so easily from her lips is enough to make his heart, amongst other things, swell. He's wanted to hear that name on her lips for ages—maybe even from the first moment he laid eyes on her.

"If you come any closer, Katniss…I don't think I'll be able to stop myself f-from kissing you again."

But she does—she closes the space between them so they're a hairsbreadth away from one another. He trembles, but she stands strong. She pins him with her eyes, and though he tries, he can't possibly look away. He clenches his jaw, willing his arms not to reach out for her; the fingers of both their hands find each other anyway and tangle in a way that seems not only natural, but intrinsically perfect. He's felt it before—that fleeting feeling looking at her that seems to indicate what a goner he is. This time it crashes around him like a tidal wave.

"W-Will…will you call me by my name again?" he whispers to her.

"Peeta," she says with as genuine of a smile as he's ever seen grace her face. In the next instant, he's surging forward to claim her mouth. For everything their first kiss was—tearful, needy, surprised, nervous—this kiss is not. As his mouth moves over hers, her palms boldly splay up his back, gripping the material of his shirt just under the collar to press their bodies closer together. They suck in the same deep hiss of a breath as their lips mold together in complete fluidity. They dart their tongues out at the exact same moment, so the tips of each meet with velvety fire at first contact. His hands cradle the sides of Katniss's face, holding her almost completely still so that he can sweep his tongue deeper into her mouth and caress her soft palate. He feels her melt into his embrace, and the thrill that courses through his veins is electric. Ever since that first kiss, he's wanted to feel what her lips might feel like when he's in complete control over his emotions—and it's everything and nothing he could imagine.

They're pressed so firmly against one another that it's surely impossible for her to not feel him begin to swell against her belly. He tries to pivot his hips away, some sort of noble sense of decency commanding him, but she doesn't allow it; she releases his shirt and hooks her fingers in his belt loops to guide their hips flush. He gasps from the back of his throat in a way that pushes a little bit of the air he's breathed in into her lungs. She returns a wanton moan of her own.

He's the one who pulls away, although it pains him to do so. His eyes plead with her for any indication of where they go from here, for what this means and how it will affect everything else that awaits them outside this room. She tugs on his tie, bringing his forehead down against hers. "If you're wondering," she breathes, "this is real. All of it."

"You can't expect me to stop kissing you now that I've done it like this."

"So don't stop."

Their lips are still wet and swollen from the way their tongues and teeth had worked them over as they latch together again. Her finger finds the loop of his tie and tugs it downward to loosen the knot as he drops his cane and reaches to cup her ass and turn her around. He feels her grow compliant in his arms, and never once does she break their kiss as he guides them towards his desk. Their eyes open even as their lips dance together—they don't need words to know what comes next.

He hoists her up by the hips so she's perched on the edge, patently ignoring the dull throb in his shoulder. The space between them widens only enough so he can pop the buttons of her roughly starched blouse one by one by one. His fingertips ghost along a patch of skin directly above her navel, and her entire body shudders in anticipation. He pulls away and looks at her, worried he might have hurt her. She maintains her grip on his tie even as she yanks her hair loose and shakes her head so the freed tresses float around her shoulders. He groans in appreciation as he reaches out and tangles his fingers in it.

"I've dreamt of this before," he admits. "But you're so much better than any dream."

He feels her shudder again as he begins to map the expanse of her throat, nipping and suckling the skin from the corner of her jaw to the notch in between her collarbones. She throws her head back as his fingers knot in the hair at the base of her skull and tug, but the sound she makes is quiet, almost inaudible. Even so, it's one of the sexiest noises he's ever heard in his life.

He peppers the silky skin above her breasts with kisses when he feels her stiffen suddenly. He glances up at her, then follows her gaze towards the door. He whirls around, terrified that he hadn't heard it open, but it's still shut tight. The lock, however, is not in place. She grunts in objection as he presses his thumb firmly against her swollen mouth and steps away from her to limp across the small room and secure the lock with just a flick of his wrist. Her arms wrap around his neck when he limps back and steps between her thighs. His palms brush up her sides, leaving trails of gooseflesh in their wake as he leans her backwards. Her legs wrap around his hips as she settles on her back, her arms lolling uselessly at her sides. The desk isn't quite long enough to support her entire torso and her head, so her neck is arched backwards at a sharp angle. He leans over her with a reverent sigh and walks his fingers slowly up her ribcage, barely even pausing over the front clasp of her bra before popping it open with relative ease. The satin cups fall to the sides and her nipples pucker immediately as they're exposed to the cool pressurized air of the cabin.

"Oh, Katniss…" he sighs as his lips sweep over the concave curve of her belly. His front teeth nip lightly against the skin above her navel just before he laves the flat of his tongue over every inch of her exposed skin. His fingers ghost up and curve around the mounds of her breasts as his tongue flicks its way to the valley in between. Her spine arches up towards his mouth, only to melt into the desk once more when his lips close over the nipple of her left breast.

"Peetaaa," she keens in response as he roughly pulls the bud into his mouth. He suckles greedily, finding himself just as obsessed with the salty and sweet taste of her skin as he is with the luscious noises she's making. He particularly loves her whimper of frustration when he lets the bud fall from his mouth with a pop so he can pay equal attention to her other breast. He flicks his thumb over the first nipple teasingly as he toys with the second, lapping at the under-curve of her breast and nipping at the pebbled skin of her areola. Suddenly she's bucking herself up against the bulge in his trousers, which he returns with gentle thrusts of his own. He feels his teeth sink into her flesh so firmly she might bruise at the same second a heady moan escapes her throat. She goes limp underneath him and pants to catch her breath.

She feels boneless as he pulls her back to sitting, lapping his way into her mouth and gingerly trailing his nails across the skin of her lower back. The throbbing in his shoulder has almost dissipated, replaced instead by the incessant pulsing of his groin. He's clumsily able to hoist her into his arms and fall backwards into the plush desk chair, bringing her down with him to straddle his hips. Without any prompting, she scoots backwards an inch or two, and together they work the clasp of his belt and the button and fly of his pants. He's moving to loop his fingers into the fastenings of her trousers when she stops him with a squeeze of her fingers around his wrists.

"I—I'm not ready," she pants. His eyes go wide and his cheeks flush.

Dear God, what have I done? he thinks, utterly horrified, until he feels her hand slip past the waistband of his underwear. Her thumb and forefinger circle the rigid shaft, making him gasp in surprise. She stills, as though she's allowing him a moment to get used to the feel of her hand before she looks at him, eyes hooded but persistent as they request permission. He realizes he's nodded in acquiescence when she pulls his cock free and raises her right hand to her mouth to lap at her palm before closing around him again and beginning to pump.

He's not sure the noise that comes from his throat as he throws his head back is even human. All he knows is that he's ever been touched like this before. He can feel her run her thumb along the slit of his tip to gather the moisture weeping there and spread it around, but every few seconds she has to pull her lips away from where they are sampling the skin of his neck to lick her palm again as her ministrations become dry and harsh. He tries to keep his eyes open and his hips still, but the way she works him over is just too, too perfect. It isn't long before he can feel himself launching towards the precipice, and he grits his teeth to will himself to hold on.

"K-Katniss…if you don't stop, I'll…" he grunts, wrenching his eyes open to look at her as his hips continue to buck up into her fist.

"You can," she purrs into his ear, nipping softly at the lobe and sweeping her thumb along his tip once again. He can feel his cock pulse in her hand preemptively, but still, he tries to keep himself from shattering.

"Let go. Let go, Peeta," she whispers before trailing her mouth along his cheek to claim his mouth. Nary a pump later, she swallows the impassioned cry he utters as he comes for her. He can feel her smile against his mouth as the last spurt spreads out over her cupped fingers before his flesh begins to soften. Gasping to recover his breath, his hands tangle in her hair and their tongues dance lazily in the afterglow. For the first time in a week, he feels everything, but nothing hurts. Her presence in his arms sedates him, soothes him in a way he didn't think possible. Katniss, he realizes, is everything.

He has thoughts of placing her back on the desk and working her trousers free, so desperate is he to taste so much more of her, make her feel the fire that's raging in his veins, that he startles from head to toe when the shock of a fist banging on the door frame sends her skittering off his lap.

"Daddy! Daddy, why's the door locked?" Rye's cherubic voice calls out to them. It's instantly sobering, as is the gentle thump of the closing lavatory door as Katniss barricades herself there to straighten up. He clumsily cleans himself up with a handkerchief from his pocket before tucking himself back into his trousers and securing his belt. He finds his feet and limps towards where he'd dropped his cane, straightening his tie even as he untucks his shirt to hide what he couldn't quite wipe away before pulling the door open. He has to will himself not to look at his son maliciously for the interruption.

"You okay, Daddy?" Rye says as he strides into the office and perches on the couch, completely unaware of anything amiss.

"Yeah, Duck, I'm alright. What, um…what are you…"

"Thresh and Thom said that Katniss was in here with you. Did she leave?" the boy asks innocently.

"No, erm…she just needed to use the lavatory. Did you need her for something?"

"Mr. Haymitch says we're going to be back in the Capitol soon. I just thought she might wanna come see the lights out the big window in front with me. Do you wanna come?"

Peeta clears his throat. He's never been so nervous around his own child before. "I'm a little tired, bub—do you mind if I nap for a few minutes so we can go right to dinner when we get home?" In fact, Peeta isn't tired in the slightest. But being sandwiched in between Rye and the woman he just…

"Hi, Katniss!" Rye says brightly as Katniss suddenly steps out of the bathroom. She smiles at them both broadly, although Peeta can detect a twinge of guilt in her molten-silver eyes.

"Rye just wanted to let us know we'll be touching down in the Capitol soon enough," Peeta says nonchalantly.

"Wanna come watch out the big window up front with me?" the boy asks brightly. She nods and holds out her hand to him.

"Katniss will be along in just one minute, Duckie," Peeta interjects. "Save her a spot, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy!" Rye says before jumping up and letting himself out of the office. Katniss doesn't move to follow him, and Peeta breathes a sigh of relief when she insinuates herself into his arms as soon as they open to her. They cling to one another, and he breathes in the sweet scent of her body before curling a finger under her chin and forcing her to look at him. They share a shaky breath before Peeta finally manages to find his words.

"Please don't let this be the only time I get to have you, Katniss. Please," he whispers.

She places a hand on his chest before standing on her toes to sweep her lips over his own. "I'm not going anywhere."

She's out the door a moment later, and Peeta sinks into one of the plush seats before looking around his office. Already he can feel something stirring inside him, something he doesn't quite understand. All he knows for sure is that now that he's had her once, he's not sure he can live without her ever again.

Chapter Text

Katniss waits for Rye in the residence foyer the first Monday he's due back at school when the First Lady sidles up to her and smiles sweetly at her. Katniss is sure that Delly Cartwright's smile is meant to be reassuring and self-effacing, but all the same, she gulps and gnaws on the corner of her mouth as she gets to her feet.

"Yes, Madam First Lady? Is everything alright with Rye?"

"Of course, Katniss, he's fine. He'll be a few more minutes, I'm afraid, and…well, would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee?"

Katniss begins to shake her head in polite refusal, but something about the First Lady's air seems to indicate that the woman isn't going to take no for an answer. And if Katniss is honest, she's hardly slept since her return to the Capitol and the incident with the Presi—with Peeta—on the hovercraft, and the caffeine would go a long way. She isn't sure if her trouble sleeping has anything to do with the latter, although she is implicitly aware that no matter how often she rubs between her thighs to the memory of his kisses, the fervid way he sucked her nipples, and the mewls of ecstasy he made when he spilled into her hand, it never seems to be enough to bring on a restful night's sleep.

Not that she'd ever tell the man's sister as much.

"Tea would, um, be lovely, Madam First Lady. Thank you."

She follows the blonde woman into the kitchen, and sits at the proffered stool at the island. The residence cook, Ms. Sae, is nowhere to be seen, but Delly wastes little time in pouring the tea from an elegant, burnt-orange tea pot with gold leaf inlay. She pushes a cup and saucer towards Katniss before asking, "Sugar?"

"No, thank you, I take it as is," Katniss replies and wonders if she imagines the brief smile that crosses the other woman's face.

"Have you decided what you're going to do, Katniss?" Delly asks, spooning a teaspoon of dark brown sugar into her own cup before meeting her eyes again.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"About my brother, Katniss. About…well, I'm sorry this isn't such a delicate way to phrase things, but about that kiss the morning after the shooting. Have you decided what you're going to do?"

Katniss had half expected this walking into the kitchen, though she'd hoped it wouldn't come up—at least, not until she had an answer for herself.

"Madam First Lady, I suppose I ought to explain…"

"Please, Katniss… I really think we're past the formal title at this point. My name is Delly, if you don't mind. 'Madam First Lady' has always made me feel older and frumpier than I really am. Hell, I've never even been married."

The corners of Katniss's mouth quirk upwards, but she clears her throat as though it had never happened. "I should probably explain, Delly. I… I must confess, the morning after the shooting is a bit of a blur for me now. I don't know if you knew, but Gale and I…"

"Peet told me you two were close at the Academy. I'm so, so sorry for your loss; he was a great man, and my family owes him everything for what he did. Everything you did during his funeral was truly moving."

"Thank you. I only meant to say, ma'am, that I'm not entirely sure. I-I don't really know what that morning meant. And I have had almost no time to speak with the President regarding it."

Katniss hopes that Delly has no way of knowing about what a lie that is, even though overall, it's still true—she doesn't know what any of it means. All she knows is that she has clung to his parting words of 'Don't let this be the only time I get to have you' in such a way that even a besotted schoolgirl might be embarrassed for her.

"Well… If it's not too bold of me, I'd like to tell you just a thing or two about my brother, and maybe it will help you make up your mind.

"Peeta is… Well, he's a wonderful man. He's always been hopelessly devoted to our family, his father and me in particular, and he is incredibly disciplined in his studies and his work. He decided when he was young that he wanted to pursue a career in politics, although I'm not entirely sure that any of us thought he'd make it quite this far. He married the mayor's daughter, you see, so we were all convinced that when Ulysses Undersee decided to step down from the position, Peeta would be his natural successor. But his aim was always much higher than what Twelve had to offer, and after Haymitch Abernathy took him under his wing, he seemed destined for something truly great."

"You were quite correct, ma'am," Katniss says softly.

Delly smiles in return. "We were. And believe me when I tell you, being the sibling of the leader of the nation is quite the cumbersome burden to live up to in our family. But Peeta has always set the bar for my brothers and me—except, maybe, when it came to marriage. You see… Madge, Rye's mother, and Peeta were incredibly close as children, and they were the best of friends all through school, but we were all quite surprised when they announced they wanted to get married—until we found out that it was more a marriage of moral standing than one of true love."

Katniss feels her cheeks burn at the implication that Peeta Mellark might be the type to only marry someone because he'd gone off and gotten her pregnant. Delly seems to read into her blush and laughs lightly.

"Don't take that to mean that my brother didn't love his wife, Katniss—as I said, the pair of them were the best of friends, and on some level, they did truly love one another. But I doubt they'd have ever married were it not for that pregnancy. And when Madge lost the baby, we wondered if perhaps the marriage wasn't long for the world, but they stayed on, and a few years later, she became pregnant with Rye. And the pair of them were utterly overjoyed. I think the only thing Peeta's ever wanted more than to serve his country is to have a house full of children… Hence why he's so devoted to Rye."

"Madam Fir—Delly—is there a…"

"Right, of course; you'll be needing to take Duckie to school soon, so let me sum up. Peeta was destroyed when Madge lost their first baby, and then losing her right after Rye came along nearly did it again. But what I'm not sure you can truly understand, although my stepfather and I can see quite plainly: if he lost you, Katniss, he wouldn't be destroyed. He'd be devastated. He'd be lost. And I can see this because never, not once in twenty years, did I ever see Peeta Mellark look at Madge Undersee the way he looks at you. You've enchanted him, Katniss, although I'm not entirely sure you meant to. And now that he's met you, I'm not sure if he'll ever be able to move on from you. It'd be too much for him to bear. So, please, for the sake of my brother, and most definitely for the sake of Rye—please consider long and hard if his courtship is something you'd be willing to entertain. And if it's not…find a way to let him down as easily as possible, and soon? I'm not sure he could survive it otherwise."

Katniss's reply falls from her lips so easily that she wonders if they've been waiting to be spoken all along: "I don't want to let them go, Delly. I'm afraid that all I'll ever want from Peeta is more."

The other woman doesn't even raise an eyebrow at the easy way Katniss speaks her brother's name. "Then I wasn't wrong about you. And that makes me very, very happy to hear."

The pair hear Rye call out to them a moment later, and Katniss sips the last of her tea quickly before standing and nodding politely at Delly. "Thank you for the tea, ma'am. And for…"

Delly holds up her hand with a smile. "No need to thank me for the other thing, Katniss. Just…shoot straight, alright?"

Katniss has no intention to do anything but.

It takes a couple of hours, but her eyes finally adjust to the dim crack of light filtering in through the door of her closet. As she lays on her side, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her face looking upwards, she studies the neat row of her uniforms hanging above her. The trousers are clipped at the waistband, the blazers are meticulously pressed, and the blouses do not hang even an inch off-center on their respective hangers. She hasn't shaken any of her habits from her days at the Peacekeeper Academy, and she doesn't intend to do so now. Even if now, she's found herself barricaded in her closet for the third straight day, just trying to survive her loss. Her losses. All of them.

The first day, after she'd fled the mansion in hysterics, had been for Gale. As she'd laid and wept, she felt certain that at any moment, the man she cried for would pound on the door to her apartment before finally breaking it down, drag her off and dump her in a freezing shower, and insist she get ready for a day's work—he'd done it at the Academy, and she had little reason to believe that he wouldn't do it again. Except he couldn't. Not anymore. Gale was dead. Gone. A corpse. Just like Prim. She hadn't wanted to believe that anything could hurt as badly as when she lost her sister, but there it was: her best friend was gone.

The second day, she cried for Rye. She had tried, or at least she thought she had tried, to keep the child at arm's length, and not allow his innocence, his gap-toothed smile, and those precious, hetero-chromatic eyes to affect her. She'd promised herself night after night that she wouldn't worry about him once she left his side. She knew once she was dismissed each and every day that her duty was done, and he was the responsibility of those who were not paid to care for him. But every single night, she fell asleep fretting over which of the adults in his home had tucked him in, and made sure that he had his tattered cat stuffie in his arms. It is not her place to think of such a thing, she realizes, but she can't help herself—she is his guard. And whether she wants to admit it or not, little Rye Mellark may well be the best friend she has now that Gale is gone. And she may never see him again.

Which brings her to today…the day she cries for the Presi—for Peeta, as he will forever be to her now. No matter what he might say to undo what he did by striding across the room and taking her in his arms, he will be "Peeta" forever…his formal title no longer feels appropriate. She cries the hardest for him, and efforts to stop herself are futile. In one split second, Peeta Mellark had given her everything she'd never dared to hope for while simultaneously snatching it away from her. "I need you to resign, Katniss… I can't breathe around you…" Little could he possibly know just how difficult taking a deep breath around him is for her as well. Little does he have any concept how it is for her to even think straight when his eyes meet hers. Now that he's kissed her, now that she's tasted his lips pressed against hers, she'll never be able to separate that the two versions of the same man in her head. He will be "Peeta" forever more. And whether because of her folly or his own, he's made it abundantly clear he is off-limits now. He and Rye both. It stings, because she knows now that he wants her. It burns her to her very core because she realizes now (or at least, is finally ready to admit) that she wants him just as desperately. She wants every bit of him, every piece of him. She wants to be able to forget his title and standing. And yet, he has slipped through her fingers. She's lost him without even realizing just what she might be losing. And it's killing her.

So she lays still on the floor of her closet, moving only as much as her stiff limbs insist upon to keep circulation flowing to her extremities, and she mourns: for the man in her life she always thought she'd have, and the ones that she now wonders how she can possibly live without.

For the first time in her adult life, Katniss begins to really pay attention to the world at large. She's mastered being vigilant as a matter of course for her job. She's always been cognizant to the world immediately surrounding her and to the people in her life—but things like politics and news have never interested her unless they've affected her personally, so she's gotten good at ignoring them. As she no longer feels like this is a luxury she can really afford, she begins to read and listen: she gathers copies of the different news circulars every morning before picking Rye up for school, and she spends her time in between cursory surrounding scans pouring over the articles. She finds she favors Maura Cressida's optimistic but subdued overtones to Caesar Flickerman's ostentatious verbiage, and literally anything else to the sensationalist trash that pervades the Capitol Chronicle. She realizes she ought to give any and all articles a fair shakedown, but if the author seems to hit at disapproval of President Mellark's job performance, she turns the page quickly enough to tear the paper in half. It's the same for the radio and television broadcasts she catches during respites from exercise sessions at the Tribute training center or her downtime at home.

She engages Johanna in conversations about the objectives of the President's newly announced visit to Caledonia (a nation well across the eastern-most ocean) and the merits and downfalls of newly-appointed Prime Minister Coin's pet HAARP project. Johanna indulges her so long as she agrees to be a sparring partner, but it's clear the Chief of Staff's guard has nothing but bad things to say about Coin. The woman has never particularly rubbed Katniss the right way, either, but Katniss figures she herself is not informed enough to really have a set opinion. Peeta, however, Johanna seems particularly fond of. Katniss wonders what Johanna's reaction would be to knowing just what Katniss feels for the man.

Her diligent gathering of information only fuels her hunger for Peeta's presence—something she's had very little of since Gale's funeral and going back to a routine schedule. Sometimes Rye's afternoon visits are bumped in favor of his father promising (via Effie Trinket) that he'll be home early instead. Delly always invites Katniss to stay past dropping Rye off, but she prefers to vent her relative frustration by shooting arrows or wrestling another Tribute to the ground. It keeps her mind off how badly she still misses Gale, while her activities at home—particularly those after she turns out the lights or draws a bath—help her cope with the sexual frustration of the days she is fleetingly in the President's presence, but is unable to do anything more about it. The way he sometimes pins her with his gaze over the top of Rye's unruly crown of curls fuels the motion of her fingers as she rubs herself to completion, recalling the weight of his member in her hand on the hovercraft and the amazing way he'd writhed beneath her as she'd made him come.

It feels like a life time has elapsed since then. And so she decides to make another bold move towards him. Her handwriting is hastily scrawled and possibly illegible, but that hardly matters so much as what she's trying to tell him. If he was earnest in his request to have her again (and she had no reason to doubt he was), surely he could forgive her slight deceit with using stationery from Rye's school to convey her message.

And so, on a normal day that Rye proudly presents his father with his latest artistic masterpiece for display under the glass covering of Peeta's Aula desk, Katniss states quite matter-of-factly that one of Rye's teachers has asked her to deliver a private message to Peeta personally. The man's eyebrows rise, and Katniss is quick to form her practiced lie to assuage his concerns.

"I witnessed the message being dictated myself, Mr. President," she says calmly. "I believe that negates any need for safety screening."

"I'm sure. Thank you Katniss," Peeta says, and moves to open the flap of the envelope as Rye whines and tugs on the hem of his suit jacket.

"Daddy, I'm not in trouble, right? I didn't do anything wrong, I promise—tell him Katniss! My teachers say I'm good! I promise!"

Katniss's eyes go wide, and she shakes her head just once in as small of a motion as she can manage without alerting the little boy's suspicions. Peeta picks up on the gesture and reseals the flap before placing it in one of the top drawers of his desk.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Duckie. I'll read it and talk to you about it at dinner. But I'll be home late if you don't run along so I can get to the rest of my work," Peeta says smoothly, pecking his son's head and scooting him off his lap. Katniss casts one final look over her shoulder as she and Rye exit, and she sees the President reach for the drawer, his arm finally out of the shoulder splint after being declared healed by his physician. She wants to see the look in his eyes when he reads her message: I'll see you at midnight?

A thrill runs up her spine at the sight of him tapping his desk and nodding quickly in response.

She's still cowering at the bottom of the closet when Johanna slams her way into her apartment and calls out to her. She doesn't answer, hopeful that the other woman would just assume she's not at home and leave her be. But Johanna is much, much smarter than Katniss gives her credit for.

"Katniss, I know you're here. It's our job to know these sorts of things. Besides, the tracker in your communicuff says you are, and I know you're wearing it."

Katniss looks at her wrist and scowls—she should have taken it off and bashed it in with a rock or something. But Gale had told her that a Trib never takes off their communicuff, so she'd left it on, even though the frequencies were turned off and any alerts coming across it were silenced.

Johanna pushes the closet door open and shakes her head. "How the hell long have you been there?"

"Go away, Johanna."

"Have you eaten anything? Had anything to drink? I can tell by your stench you haven't showered."

"Leave me alone."

Johanna sits back against the closet door and folds her arms over her chest. She clicks her tongue resolutely and stares Katniss down. "I've seen some fucked up people grieve in some fucked up ways, Katniss, but this is a first. Normally they lie in the sort of comfy bed you've got over in that corner. Or maybe a bathtub. What's the draw of the closet?"

"None of your fucking business. Leave."

"No."

"Leave, Johanna."

"I won't unless you make me. And I'm pretty sure you're probably too sore from laying like that, and you're too dehydrated. I'm not trying to tell you you shouldn't be upset—but I was there, Katniss. I saw the gun. I heard the shots. Hell, one of my bullets might have been the one to take one of 'em out—ballistics results aren't back yet—but you don't see me cowering, now do you?"

Katniss sits up and hisses at her. "This isn't a game of who has it worse," she spits. "You still have your job."

"…The President fired you?!"

"He may as well have. He asked for my letter of resignation. So forgive me, please: I just lost my best friend and my mar—my job all in one day. Go away and let me deal with this my own way." She flips over, and tucks one arm under her head, and throws the other over her eyes to block out the light. She hears the other woman get to her feet, and expects to hear the slamming of the front door.

Instead, Johanna grabs her arm, loops one of her own around her waist, and throws her over her shoulder like a r ag doll. Katniss flails, trying to find anything she can use for leverage to get the other woman to let her go, but Johanna holds fast, only releasing her a moment later after she's kicked in the door of the bathroom and turned the taps of the shower on full blast. The pipes haven't warmed up yet, and the icy water hits her full-force on the chest, making her sputter and lurch forward to crank the hot tap as high as it'll go.

"You aren't the only one who lost Gale that night, Katniss. He was our boss, and despite him being a moody son-of-a-bitch, he was our friend, too. Thom, Thresh, me…we all lost him. You don't get to play the fucking martyr. And I'll tell you this even though you don't deserve it, because maybe it'll get you to stop feeling so damn sorry for yourself and get your shit together—unless the President said the words, "You're fired," you still have a job. So don't go whining to me about how much you'll miss that little nose-miner if you don't get to see him everyday, 'cause you also aren't the only one who swore to protect someone with your life, and believe in them enough to actually follow through with it. Gale did. And if he saw you like this, he'd call you pathetic, just like I am now. Now shower, put on some clothes that don't reek, and I'll make you some lunch. Then you have a meeting with Thresh and Thom, because Panem didn't stop running because you were sad. You might have an effect on the President no one understands, but you don't have that effect on me."

Johanna pushes the shower curtain shut and storms out of the bathroom. Now that the water has warmed up, it's not entirely unpleasant. In fact, the crust of sorrow seems to be washing down the drain the longer she remains under the spray.

Johanna is right—Gale would be insulted by how she's acted. He'd tell her that the sun persists on rising everyday, no matter their losses, and so should she. So, despite weak knees and shaky hands, she makes herself stand.

She paces around her apartment when she's dismissed for the evening, too nervous to do anything more than wait for the minutes to tick closer to midnight. A clock that had belonged to her father years and years ago chimes every quarter-hour, but she swears it's running slow. She imagines she ought to eat something, but she isn't hungry. Even if she were, her stomach is too tied up in knots to possibly be able to keep anything down.

She knows how badly she wants him, of course, and unless she's a complete fool, he wants her in return. But what more there could ever be between them she isn't sure—he's the leader of their nation, as she'd reminded him weeks (months? It seems a lifetime ago, so she can't be sure) earlier, and she's virtually no one. Take away her title as a Tribute, and she really is no one. What good could she possibly be to him as anything more than stress release—a solid fuck here and there long after his son is asleep and she's no longer responsible for his safety.

Delly told you he'd be destroyed to lose you. He cares. It's utterly unbelievable, but Katniss has to focus on that, has to revel in that, or else she's liable to go mad as she waits for the clock to chime its way on toward midnight.

She preens herself in the bathroom mirror at 11:00, trying to decide how she ought to look. She re-plaits her hair tightly, then yanks it free and runs her fingers through it—he'd liked it like that, she thinks, that day on the hovercraft. The weight of his hands tangling in her tresses had been practically enough to make her fall apart at the seams, so she leaves it loose and decides what she might wear. She has little other clothing than her Peacekeeper uniforms, though, so her options are limited. She does have a plush grey sweater made of some sort of soft cotton that's almost reminiscent of fur, but she's worried it will make her flush and sweat. It almost, almost makes her look as though she has curves with how it cinches in at the waist, so she decides to chance it. The only slacks she has that are warm enough for the walk back are work issued, so those will have to do. She just has to hope she can dodge other Tribs in the hallways as much as possible so she won't have to explain away why she's out of uniform. She touches some rouge and gloss to her cheeks and lips, but it feels silly and superfluous, the way makeup always makes her feel. But for all she knows, he'll expect it, and she'd hate him to be disappointed by her.

Then it strikes her that maybe she's trying too hard altogether, and it would just be better to go as herself, no matter what. She rinses her face and pats it dry, and conceals the sweater as much as possible with a tightly buttoned blazer so she won't look entirely out of place. Suddenly she realizes a half an hour has passed by, and she'll need to get going so she can walk slowly to the mansion—if her feet will allow her to.

A few of the evening agents nod curtly at her when she walks in the doors, and she studies the carpet in front of her like it's interesting, so as not to wrongly interpret their forced politeness. It's then she realizes that she hadn't specified where she'd meet him. It's such a foolish blunder she could kick herself, until she recalls the way he'd deliberately tapped his desk when she'd caught his eye over her smuggled note. The Aula seems a dangerous place for a liaison, but no more so than the residence, where Delly and Rye could easily happen upon them. She heads in the appropriate direction, continuing to dodge those lingering in the halls or offices wherever possible, but it's midnight, so those who remain are few and far between. Finally it's only Effie Trinket she'll be left to contend with, although how she'll make it past the woman without having to explain herself, she's not sure.

She doesn't have to—Effie isn't there. Nor, in as much as she can tell, is Haymitch Abernathy. The offices directly outside the Aula are empty, but a thin slip of light shows from the crack under the door of the grand office itself. She places her hand over her heart to feel it fluttering wildly before she reaches for the door handle. She slips through the thin crack she opens it by before closing it and pressing her back to it. Her chest heaves nervously as her eyes dart around the room, searching for him. He's out of his desk chair and crossing the room practically before she locates him. His hands are outstretched, reaching for and finding her hair to tangle in as he fits his body against hers and crushes her against the door.

"Mr. Presi—" she begins quietly before his mouth arches over hers. His tongue sweeps greedily between her parted lips and manages to coax hers into action, writhing eagerly as their bodies press flush together. Her hands grasp the open collar of his shirt. One of them moans, the other sighs; it's near impossible to tell who does which.

"Please don't call me that," Peeta gasps when he surfaces for air a long minute later. "It's Peeta. Just Peeta now, Katniss, when we're alone."

She nods quickly, nudging his nose with hers to bring their lips back together, a silent request for which he seems more than happy to oblige. His fingers abandon her dark curls, smoothing down her jacket and settling on her hips. She can feel him begin to swell where his groin is pressed against her belly and it affects her at once—she may as well not have worn underwear for how this interlude has already ruined them. She loses time in his kisses until he turns her gently and guides her backwards away from the door. Her heel catches on the corner of one of the elaborate rugs for a split second causing her to wobble precariously in his arms, which allows him to pull her closer to his chest.

She doesn't see the door they slip through until he's closing it behind her, as never once do they break the heated lock of their mouths and knotted tongues. She feels herself pressed her up against this new door, and barely manages to squint her eyes in order to verify their location before he insinuates his hand between her legs and rubs against her center mercilessly until she's whimpering into his mouth. His teeth graze her bottom lip as he pulls away and steps back slightly, as if he knows she wants a sense of their location before they proceed. The auto-lamps are dim but cast enough light on the dark wood walls, unlit fireplace, the desk and chair in the corner smaller than its compatriot in the Aula, but it's no less grandiose. Her dilated eyes pour over every surface of the room, pausing briefly on the painting that hangs in the corner. If he's thinking of asking her if she remembers the scene of the white-wigged man in the tiny boat on the ice-capped water, he refrains for her eyes must immediately give away that she does.

"What is this?" she breathes when her gaze finds his again.

"The Adyton. The room you almost walked into when you walked out the day I met you," he replies with a small smile. She feels heat in her cheeks for a different reason as she recalls that day, and his thumbs graze her cheekbones as he cups her face and forces her stare from the ground.

"You said only you were allowed in here…" she recalls.

"Technically I am. But that rule exists more for my staff who come and go as they please from the Aula during the day. This office, small as it is, is all mine. It's…it's the only place private enough for now…"

Her teeth nip lightly at his bottom lip, stopping any more words from coming as she hungrily claims his lips with no intention of abandoning them again. She feels his fingers begin to work the buttons of her blazer, and full of delirious delight, she raises her hands to do similarly. He pulls her away from the door, stopping her work on his shirt so he can slide her jacket down her shoulders and toss it to the side. Her fingers are back to working the buttons free on his pristine white shirt, and she moans in appreciation as his torso slowly but surely becomes exposed. With teasing fingernails, she trails up his belly, feeling the smooth skin over his toned abdominal muscles, the slight indentations around his rib bones, and the wisps of pale blonde chest hair. Her fingers run through it in search of his nipples, and she feels him buck against her when her thumbs tweak them.

"I'm a rational man, Katniss," he growls into her mouth, "but I can't be rational when you're doing that."

"So be irrational then," she replies, downright shocking herself with her easy flippancy. He likes it, though—she can tell by the way he twitches against her stomach.

He curls his fingers around her wrists and forces her arms above her head a scant second before he rips the plush sweater over her head. He whines in the back of his throat when he spies the silky camisole instead of her skin. He looks indignant, like a schoolboy being scolded, and it makes her giggle in response—she's not sure when she became capable of giggling. She hooks her own fingers in the hem of the camisole and pulls it over her head, and the cool air of the room mingles with her fevered skin, causing her nipples to pucker instantly. The camisole is cast in the same direction as her jacket and sweater before she's hoisted up in his arms to be carried to the supple leather office chair. It feels reminiscent of their first moments together until he sets her down, their lips popping apart as he straightens to shrug the fabric of his shirt off his shoulders before he kneels in front of her.

"Peeta," she gasps as he slowly peppers her face with kisses, holding the chair still with his strong hands so she doesn't roll or tilt backwards. His teeth fit to her earlobe, causing a delicious moan to bubble up in her throat that only makes him nip a bit harder before releasing and ghosting the flat of his tongue down the side of her neck and out to the tip of her shoulder. She feels her skin pebble in his wake, and she tosses her head from side to side as he kisses his way back to her throat and charts the same course on the other side. His eyes are hooded and a shade of blue so dark they're barely recognizable as his own when he halts his ministrations and looks up at her in reverence.

"You took care of me," he whispers to her, looping his fingers into the waistband of her trousers. "I want…I want to take care of you this time, Katniss. Please?"

She's a bit slow to get his meaning, her head full of want as much as it's full of confusion, but she manages to sigh and bob her head in permittance. She watches closely as he pops the button of her pants and pulls down the zipper. She shifts her hips one after the other so he can slide the material down. When he has it gathered around her thighs, he yanks roughly on the material covering only her right knee so he can coax her lower leg up and out of the pant leg, leaving her left leg mostly covered. He presses his lips into the hollow between her breasts as he caresses her belly with splayed palms. He surely hears her gasp, and his teeth nip the skin above her navel as his hands travel lower, leaving hot trails as he grazes her thighs with his fingertips. She begins to lift her hips again when his hands wander back to the hem of the simple white cotton underwear that covers her, but he looks up at her with a flushed, needy look on his face.

"You'll allow me to touch you?" he clarifies, sitting back on his haunches before skirting his thumb along her hip bone. "You'll allow me to…to taste you, even?"

Her head bobs again entirely on its own. She's almost certain she'd allow him to do anything he could think up with how wanton she feels right now.

His palms sweep along her hip bones and down between her thighs, spreading her legs as wide as the arms of the chair will allow. She watches him gaze at her, his tongue moistening his lips over and over as he seems to work up the courage to strip her of her panties and claim her with his mouth. She's worried she might resort to begging him to take her when his head dips, and he trails kisses up the inside of her leg, nipping and suckling on tiny patches of skin here and there before his mouth presses a firm kiss to the dark but trimmed patch of hair that covers her sex straight through her panties. If not for his hands keeping her spread for him, her legs might have snapped like a trigger-trap around the sides of his head.

As he parts his lips and trails his tongue over the thin material, she wonders if he can feel the heat radiating from her, if the way his chin has brushed against the crotch of her panties has given away just how wet she is. He presses his puckered lips directly under the triangular patch and her hips jut up against his face. She's conscious only of her heavy breathing as she sees him wrench his eyes open to survey her face; his own breath is shaky at best as he laves the flat of his tongue over her, as if the material the covers her isn't even there. He does it again when she rocks her head on her shoulders, mewling pathetically for him already. Suddenly he straightens, leans forward, and tilts her jaw up with a crooked finger under her chin to connect their mouths. She hears her moan mingle with his as their lips slant against one another's and their tongues writhe. A moment later, when he slips his hand carefully under the waistband and his fingers separate her moistened folds, she hears herself cry out for a deity that doesn't even exist, though the prayer is swallowed by his mouth.

His fingers must be immediately drenched in her arousal for how easily he can trail them along her slit. She nods to spur him on when his fingers glide smoothly along the pulsing nub he'd earlier sought out with the tip of his tongue, but it's her turn to whine when he slicks them down to her opening instead. He cups her so the palm of his hand grinds into her clit, as his first and middle finger toy shallowly at her entrance, making her practically shout into his mouth. Her head thrashes and from side to side, effectively breaking their kiss as he probes both deep inside her and curls them forward.

"I…I…" she gasps, her hands raising to the sides of her head to pull at fistfuls of her hair. He delicately kisses her cheek in a short trail to the corner of her eye, helping her to still and calm slightly, all the while deftly pumping his digits in and out of her.

"This feels good, Katniss, right?" he murmurs lowly in her ear. She purrs that it does, as she wraps her arm around his neck to pull him in for a quick, sloppy kiss before letting her gaze fall to his hand to watch him work. He tilts her chin up with his other hand, and she can feel his eyes boring into her.

"I'm going to taste you now, for real. I want you to tell me if it doesn't feel good…I…I want you to feel good," he says so seriously he ought to be speaking of something else entirely. Her mouth falls slack as she nods, and she watches him in wonder as he blazes a path down the center line of her body with his swollen, well-kissed lips. When he moves his wrist just right, the material of her panties pulls down, exposing her to him as fully as possible while they're still around her hips. Her licks his lips again before he lowers his mouth to her sex and takes her clit delicately in between his lips.

"Oh my…Peeta…" she yelps as he flicks his tongue along the pulsing little nub. Her hands grasp at his curls as he laps and suckles her, the noises he's making greedy as though he's trying to drink her in. His fingers twist and turn as they push in and out of her, the noise of which is wet and luscious, but nothing rivals his sweet groans and hums. She's grinding against his mouth, murmuring words like "More", "Yes", always punctuating them with his first name.

He's found the right pace of curling his fingers against her front wall and worrying the nub with his teeth before laving it with the flat of his tongue, so she can't possibly last long. The overwhelming need for release starts where his fingers pump in and out of her, and spreads to her stomach, her chest, her extremities until finally it overtakes the very tips of her being. Without meaning to, her fingers abandon his curls and instead grasp the tips of his ears as she gasps and pants and shudders as her release washes over her. She feels as though she's floating as she rubs the pads of her thumbs along his ears. She's only just conscious enough to watch his back seize and fully process the sound he growls against her sex before he twitches from head to toe, once, twice, and then looks up at her, cheeks crimson and eyes glassy.

She's seen that look before. On the hovercraft. After he came in her hand, to be exact.

"Peeta, did you…did you just…?"

His voice sounds absolutely pained. "You sounded and tasted so good, Katniss, I couldn't…and then you, um…you touched my ears…"

The realization hits her hard—she didn't even touch him, his cock was nowhere near her entrance, and yet he'd come all the same. Sending her over the edge had made him come. And while his face is guilt-ridden verging on mortified, the notion surges through her like a powerful wave, and thrills her to her core—she is certain she has never been more craved by a man in all her life.

"I'm sorry—" he begins, but she bends forward and kisses him firmly, shaking her head and pressing her thumb to his stung mouth.

"Don't. That was…maybe the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

She's pulled the sweater back on and tossed the doused panties in her blazer pocket by the time he comes back from cleaning himself up in the adjoining lavatory. She loops her arms around his neck and sighs, feeling comforted and safe just by being here with him. The intense stares across the Aula, the awkward pauses and nervous glances have led to this, and she can't help but feel it's entirely worth it.

But it also frightens her down to her bones.

"What are we doing?" she finally is brave enough to ask as his lips brush her hairline and he tucks her under his chin. His fingers are hopelessly knotted in her wavy locks, and she feels his chest rise and fall in a deep sigh.

"I have so many responsibilities, Katniss—to the country, of course, but to Rye, primarily. He's everything to me. He's my entire world. He's been my entire world for eight years."

Her heart sinks. He can't possibly have just made her shatter only to turn her away a few moments later.

"But I can't—I won't lose you. Not when I feel like it took me too long to find you in the first place," he concludes. She pulls away to look up at him, and his eyes implore her to say something as reassuring in reply. She wishes more than anything for his ease of eloquence, his incredible mastery with words, but try as she might, she just doesn't know exactly what to say.

"I don't want to…lose you, either."

He smoothes her hair behind her ear and smiles at her, perhaps a little sadly. "I'll…we'll find time. We'll make time like this if we have to. It's…it's not impossible, I'm sure of it. I'll just need you to be patient with me. And Rye—he can't know. Not yet. Not until we do."

It's fair, of course, and entirely logical, but it maims just a bit until he cradles her against his chest and sighs happily into her hair.

"I know it's late, but…will you stay a little while? It feels like it's been ages and…well, we've never really spoken much." His voice is hopeful and pleading.

She smiles a little lopsidedly. "I'm terrible at talking. I figured you noticed."

"I can talk to anyone. Even you. Just stay a little bit, please? If we're going to do…just stay."

He hadn't needed to ask her twice, of course. She had no intention of leaving his arms until she could barely stand from delirium. And even then, it might be worth it to press on, because something about Peeta Mellark's arms just feels like...

…Home.

Chapter Text

Peeta's hand is cramping up, so he pauses for just a moment to pour himself a glass of water. He takes a long sip of the cool liquid and runs his tongue over his bottom lip to moisten it before he nods at Effie, who slides another memo in front of him.

"This one's from Representative Marquise's office," Effie says curtly. "It's a formal invitation to visit Eleven within the month to reassess the productivity of the irrigation and bio-engineering systems they've been using since your visit to Rio de la Plata. It's marked as urgent, of course, but based on the pressing timetable of the Caledonia trip..."

"There's no way I can make it out there before then," Peeta says with a heavy sigh. He scans the memo and rubs his jaw, losing himself in thought. "Is there any way Delly's schedule might accommodate a visit in my stead?"

Effie considers this for a moment; when she nods, her orange curls bob over her eyes. "I believe that might be manageable, Mr. President."

"If things can be switched so that she visits Eleven before my trip abroad, please go ahead and do so. Then schedule a visit for me once I return from Caledonia. And to Nine and Ten as well," Peeta says.

"Why not have the delegates meet you in Ten and split the difference?" Haymitch says tersely as he strides in through his private Aula entrance.

"I could also have them just come straight here, but then I don't get the lay of the land like I will with a private tour of the Districts," Peeta retorts. Haymitch grins broadly, as though to communicate that this was exactly the answer he was looking for. His mentor did this frequently when Peeta was mulling something over as a freshman representative, like a little test to see if he could suss out the situation on his own before Haymitch offered his own advice. It surprises Peeta that Haymitch is employing the same tactic now, since it's not something he's done in years.

"Next one, Effie?" Peeta asks his assistant, but the woman holds her hands out to show they're empty.

"That was the last of them, sir," she says with a small smile. Usually Effie only smiles when she's particularly pleased at something—like the day's schedule.

"Are we running on time today?" Peeta asks with a cocked eyebrow.

"Four minutes early!" Effie gushes, though she's quick to scowl at the cheeky way Haymitch mock-applauds as he sinks into one of the couches in the center of the room. Peeta rolls his eyes at the animosity between the pair and shirks off his suit jacket before striding over to the wingback chair he prefers for senior staff meetings.

"Thank you, Effie," Peeta says in dismissal and rubs his hands over his face when she clicks out of the room and closes the door securely behind her. He crosses his left leg over his right and leans towards Haymitch, who he can tell is biting his tongue from saying something. "Hey, look, I'll take four minutes early if that means I'm done that much quicker today."

"You're not meant to run early, sir," Haymitch scoffs. "Politics always runs fifteen minutes late."

"Well, lately it's been closer to two hours, and I've barely seen Rye in weeks. So what's on your mind, old man? Might as well get it out before Finnick and Beetee come in."

Haymitch snorts. "Something tells me that there's a different reason you haven't seen the kiddo in weeks, Mr. President. Apologies if that's bold to say, but I don't think I'm wrong."

Peeta narrows his eyes. "What are you implying, Haymitch?"

Haymitch shakes his head and holds his hands up defensively. "Look, it's honestly none of my business..."

"But you're clearly making it your business, so spit it out."

"Alright. I'll apologize in advance, because what you do with your private time is your own prerogative, but… I think you might have misconstrued the thickness of the walls of Adyton."

Peeta feels the color drain from his face as he suddenly he recalls his midnight rendezvous with Katniss the night before in that very room. He hadn't even undressed her before he'd dipped his hand down the front of her trousers and worked her to completion up against the door. He remembers the way her face had fallen when once again, he'd denied her touching him; in its place, he had kissed her pout away and held her in his arms for almost a full hour after, nuzzling her neck chastely as she relayed stories of Rye's school day and drifted off against his chest. He'd longed to take her properly before letting her leave at 1:30, but they were both tired, and had simply kissed good night before she'd left. He'd fallen into a dead sleep as soon as he got back to the residence.

But with Haymitch's implication, and Katniss's tendency to repeat his name over and over as he teased her orgasms out of her, Peeta is suddenly struck dumb with an incontrovertible fact—Haymitch knows.

Finnick and Beetee choose that exact moment to walk in, and if they see the way Peeta is gaping at Haymitch, they don't say anything about it as they take their seats. Soon enough, Peeta snaps out of it as well.

"The press corps has the Caledonia trip, Mr. President," Finnick says quickly, flipping through his notes. "Caesar Flickerman cornered me in the hall about it, and if Flickerman has it, soon they'll all have it."

"I can have a speech drafted within the hour to quell it, sir," Beetee offers. "But Finnick and I were just discussing that planning a second trip without the approval of the Prime Minister, and by extension Parliament, isn't going to look good."

Peeta narrows his eyes, and he swallows back a snippy retort. "Oh, I hardly think this is the only office in the Capitol that's guilty of making plans without consulting the others."

"Careful there, Mr. President. There's a precedent here that you don't want to set," Haymitch warns, his air switching from that of an easy-going mentor to a more authoritarian one—Peeta suddenly isn't sure which one aggravates him more. "Odair, what did you say to Flickerman?"

"I said I couldn't comment, of course, and that if or when the office has an official announcement, President Mellark will be the one to make it," Finnick replies.

Haymitch swears under his breath. "You're too damn relaxed with those vultures, Odair. We appointed you to run a press room with decorum."

Peeta clears his throat angrily. "I think you mean I appointed him, Haymitch."

Haymitch sits back in his seat and nods contritely. "My apologies, Mr. President."

"I don't think it matters who or where the news came from, or even how it'll break. What I think is important is making sure the story comes from us," Peeta says. "Beetee, I want a draft of that speech, and I'll be ready to make the statement as soon as I can review it. Finnick, call the press back for the announcement before the five o'clock briefing, please."

"Yes, sir," Finnick and Beetee say in unison.

Peeta suddenly holds his hand up, as though he wants the other three men to freeze as he mulls something through in his head. "Haymitch…can Coin call a vote? Can she try to pass through some sort of resolution to stop the trip? Boggs had mentioned something to that effect when I spoke with him about Rio, but he'd promised me it wouldn't be an issue so long as he was in charge of Parliament…"

"Well, I think we can agree that promise is out the window now," Haymitch says solemnly. "I'm…I'm not sure, sir, but if anyone is capable of pulling a stunt like that to try to thwart this trip, it's Alma Coin. This is my concern with continuing to plan events like this without working with her to come to some sort of middle ground."

"I think we can all agree that Alma Coin's 'middle ground' is all the way back in Thirteen. It doesn't matter when she found out, this was always going to be a battle between her position on isolationism and my belief in diplomatic international relationships," Peeta says.

"I agree, sir," Beetee says.

"As do I," Finnick follows.

Haymitch licks his teeth and chuckles dryly. "You aren't incorrect, Mr. President. And while I believe we can all attest that your intentions are far, far more noble than any of Coriolanus Snow's, I would be remiss if I did not remind you that this, right here? This secrecy and conniving to get what you want is exactly what got Snow ousted and put you in power."

"I appreciate your honesty, Haymitch. But I believe you're wrong," Peeta says, his tone reflective of being done with the entire conversation. "What's next?"

"Nothing else from my office, sir," Beetee says. "I'd like to get started on that speech at once if I may be excused."

"Anything else on my docket can be pushed back. I agree with you, Mr. President, this is front and center. I'd like to go and round up the press corps before Flickerman can get his story to print," Finnick says.

"Excellent. Haymitch, hold on a moment, but Beetee, Finnick, that's it for now. I'll expect to hear from you both within the hour," Peeta says, getting to his feet and striding over to his desk chair. He picks up his suit jacket and flips it over his head to pull it down over his shoulders. A residual effect of the dislocated shoulder he sustained the night of Boggs's death is limited range of motion, and his doctors are unsure of when he might fully regain mobility. He supposes it's a small price to pay for his life.

Haymitch stands in the middle of Aula after Finnick and Beetee have filed out, and looks expectant. The haughty, bemused expression has once again taken over the older man's face, as though his opinion hadn't just been completely thrown aside by the younger man. This, of course, must have everything to do with their conversation about Katniss.

"Not like you need an explanation, old man, but she's…my friend," Peeta says, using a word that feels technically correct despite being completely erroneous. He realizes he doesn't really know what he and Katniss are. Friends? Lovers?

"Mr. President, with all due respect—a man in your position doesn't really have 'friends'."

This is news to Peeta. He considers Haymitch, Finnick, Beetee, even batty Effie, and must assuredly Thresh and Thom his friends. He'd considered Gale one of his closest friends up to a few weeks ago. "Then what do you call yourself?"

"Me? I'm your ally. Always have been, always will be," Haymitch says. "Presidents have allies, sir, not friends."

"I think you're wrong."

"Yes. So you've mentioned twice now this afternoon alone."

"Have you made your point, Haymitch, or is there something else you'd like to lecture me about?"

"It isn't a lecture, Mr. President. It's just a warning that whether or not you intend to be, you're playing with fire with that girl. And giving Alma Coin any further ammunition to question your job performance, or Parliament any more fuel to turn against you, or worse, your enemies—and you can't possibly be so blind to the fact that your enemies are multiplying, sir, and will continue to every day you're in office—is the absolute worst thing you can do here."

"My personal life isn't poll-able, Haymitch. It's none of anyone's business what I do with the few spare hours that are my own, and whom I choose to spend those hours with. Least of all yours."

"I agree, sir. I am merely advising prudence. And where you refuse prudence, discretion."

"Noted. Is there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Then we're done here." Peeta nods him off and crumples into his desk chair with his head in his hands when the door clicks closed. He thinks long and hard, rolling the word "ally" around on his tongue, testing it for accuracy when he thinks of her. Even though he believes it sells her short, he adds it to the list of words rolling about in his head he's using to figure her out.

He's returned to reviewing his briefing memos when he's startled by the buzzer signaling Rye's afternoon visit. Usually it's the brightest spot of his day, seeing Rye, and lately stealing the briefest moment to look at Katniss and try to silently communicate with her never fails to thrill him, too.

Something about today, though, is now making him dread it. Maybe it's Haymitch figuring him out. Maybe it's the announcement about Caledonia, and how it being sprung on him like this likely means his ahead-of-schedule day has been thrown so hopelessly out the window that he'll never be home in time for supper. He balls up his fists and jams them over his eyes, trying to rub out the exhaustion he feels behind his eyelids before his son bounds through the door. He feels terrible, but he can't help it. Being president and a father is difficult enough most days, but with the addition of his and Katniss being—well, whatever it is they are—things feel even more chaotic and overwhelming.

It's made all the more difficult when, upon their entry, Rye bolts straight to the lavatory. Peeta sometimes wonders if Katniss makes sure that Rye stays a little too well-hydrated at school for how often the boy has been needing to use the facilities when he stops for his after-school visits, perhaps so they might steal a moment in one another's embrace while the little boy remains none-the-wiser. Today, when she inserts herself into his arms, he can tell his weariness and distraction have not gone unnoticed.

"It's a bad day, Katniss, I'm sorry." He tries to soothe the bluntness of his words with a tender kiss to the patch of skin under her ear, but she shrinks away.

"Oh...well, we should go, then," she replies, clearly trying not to choke on her words.

"No! That isn't…" He sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't mean for it to seem like…"

But she's already pulled away, and when Rye steps out of the bathroom, she straightens her jacket with great authority and tells him, "Show your father your exam, Rye, and we should head up. Your aunt messaged me that she'd like you home early."

The ease with which Katniss speaks to his son floors Peeta, especially considering how stilted their own conversations still sometimes feel. It's drastically different than when she'd first came into their lives, of course, but how she can be so maternal with Rye, and so passionate and straightforward with him when they are alone together, but still so shaky when she supposes someone might be watching? It's one more thing about Katniss Everdeen he doesn't understand. But maybe, he supposes, he ought to be shakier about their situation as well—because if Haymitch can tell something else is going on between them, it might not be too long before everyone who works within 50 meters of the Aula can as well.

And Haymitch is right: he does have enemies.

With that in mind, he lovingly fawns over Rye's high mark on his spelling test and kisses his forehead before sending him along with Katniss. Their eyes don't meet again until the very last moment before she walks out the door. Typically, she takes this moment to mouth to him, "Midnight?"; this time, however, they both just sadly shake their heads.

Katniss's bath water has turned tepid, but she is so engrossed in her own whirling thoughts she barely notices. She slides her legs together under the bubbles and flicks her fingers against the wall, watching as the pearlescent suds pebble the tile before popping and dissipating.

She could talk to Delly, perhaps. In the last couple of weeks, Delly Cartwright has proven herself an incomparable ally. But speaking with Peeta's own sister about the most intimate details of their sex life seems like something out of a horror show. She already has a hard enough time looking the woman in her eye after last week when Delly had fixed the gap in the collar of Katniss's shirt, only to inadvertently expose a deep purple welt on her pulse point. She'd been unable to cover it with makeup and been unwilling to ask Peeta to back off on the night his mouth made it. She's been living with the mortification of feeling like a horny teenager ever since.

And telling Johanna, even if the woman is the closest thing Katniss has to a real female friend is similarly out of the question. She isn't sure how she'd be able to successfully dodge the inevitable prying questions about the exact identity of her mystery—lover, Katniss decides to call him—once Johanna would decide she needs to know in order to dole out advice. And while she doesn't suppose Johanna would be the type to blab the details, something that Gale said before he died ("…better to keep your relationship with your mark purely professional…agents get in some trouble over this already…don't want to see you be the next one…"), she isn't entirely sure whether or not she is actually putting her job on the line pursuing Peeta as she is. She imagines if it were a threat to her position, Peeta would have told her. But then, didn't he already, when he asked her to resign?

She sinks underneath the water, blowing air sharply out of her nose before surfacing and wiping her eyes. Her skin finally registers the drop in water temperature, and she sits forward to adjust the taps and rewarm herself. She grabs the small hand towel hung over the side of the tub and pours a dollop of soap onto it before rubbing it along her legs and arms and dunking it under to scrub her torso. She pauses briefly before trailing it down to the juncture of her thighs, and she rubs herself delicately before tossing the cloth aside altogether. Her hands move back, and her middle two fingers slide between her folds teasingly before she relents and plunges them both inside herself.

"Peeta…" she intones to the empty room, her eyes falling closed as she begins to pump her digits in earnest. Her fingers are small, too small for this to feel at all like the prize she so desires, and far too small to even replicate the feeling of his own fingers pushing into her and curling forward to find the soft, delicious spot that makes her tremble. She pushes her index finger in as well, and while it feels better than before, she's thirsty for more and it cannot be quenched. She wants him. She just wants him inside her at long last, so she can finally know how his cock stretching her inner walls might feel.

She has to tease her clit with her other hand to find her release, and it feels hollow in comparison to how his mouth and hands are able to work her into a frenzy. She rubs shampoo along her scalp aggressively, dunks her head to rinse it away, and pulls herself to standing. The water gurgles as it drains, and she huffs all the way to her bed, where no amount of sweet memories of him can quell the hunger she feels.

She sits at the kitchen counter with Rye, sipping a cup of tea Delly had made before she had rushed off to take a phone call in her in-residence office. Katniss's thoughts are not on Rye at all until he clears his throat and looks up at her with his familiar, cherubic smile.

"You know how to spell 'slush'?" he asks.

"Yes. Do you?"

The boy giggles. "That's why I'm asking you."

She peers over at his paper. "There are two S's and no C. Try it again."

Looking at him, it doesn't take much for Katniss to notice just how much Rye takes after his father. His curly mop of hair, the stubborn jaw and slightly clefted chin, the flat tip of his nose—every feature of his face, really, except for his eyes. And even then, the right iris still resembles the ocean of blue that is inherently Peeta Mellark to her. As her thoughts wander further and further away, she finds herself speaking aloud without really meaning to.

"Rye, do your remember your mother at all?"

She wants to slap herself for such a callous question to a young child who could be so easily hurt by it. Rye, however, looks non-plussed.

"Nope. Daddy said I'd just turned four days old when the angels came for her."

"Oh. I didn't realize you were so small. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"Oh, it's okay! It doesn't make me sad to talk about her. But I don't really know much 'cept what Daddy tells me, so you'd have to ask him anything else. Or Auntie Delly."

The thought bursts forth again before she can stop it. "Has your auntie been with you ever since your mother died?"

Rye puts down his pencil and rests his chin on his palm, actively looking lost in thought for a moment. When he answers, he's picked up his pencil again, and his tongue is already sticking out the corner of his mouth. "No. For a little while we lived with Grandpa and Grandma above the bakery, but then Daddy started working for the District and we got our own little house instead. I liked it 'cause I still got to help Grandpa in the bakery, and then when Daddy would get done with his work, he'd come and take me home and it'd be just the two of us until my bedtime."

"So, it was always just… You and your father? No one else?"

"Nope. Not until Daddy had to start coming here all the time for work, and then I'd stay with Auntie Delly while he was away. And then she moved with us out here last year."

While she supposes she shouldn't exactly trust the memory of an eight-year-old, Katniss finds herself deducing that it is entirely likely that she is the first woman in Peeta's life since his wife passed away. Eight years seems an awfully long time to go without sharing a bed with anyone, even as fleeting as most of her own lovers have been. But on the chance that she's correct in her assumption, she feels all at once placated—and even more concerned.

If she is, in fact, Peeta Mellark's first lover in eight years, surely the odds are in her favor that he'd be pleased with her, whatever she might do. He certainly has been thus far, although the extent of their trysts have been only him making her quiver over and over again, often with his face between her thighs as he pumps himself with abandon, or with him taking care of her before politely declining she reciprocate at all. Usually, he's too tired and the hour has grown far too late; still, it always stings when he rejects her advances, for as desirable as she'd felt that first night in the Adyton, his refusal to allow her to touch him in return has made her feel the polar opposite.

She wants to believe there is much, much more at play here—that whatever baggage he might be carrying is simply his own to manage, and that she need only be patient with him until he allows her to help him shoulder his burden.

The problem is, of course, that patience has never come particularly easily to Katniss Everdeen.

Peeta is just so, so tired. He hasn't slept much in over a week, and he's sure it has almost as much to do with not seeing Katniss outside of the ten minutes she spends with him and Rye in the Aula as much as it does with Coin. To say the new Prime Minister is less than enthusiastic about his plan for the Caledonia visit is a vast understatement—she's livid, and she has half of Parliament up in arms. If it weren't for his old alliances with representatives like Paylor, Lyme, Seeder, Chaff, and Blight, all of his hard work might be for naught. He's able to hold fast, and Paylor and Seeder specifically have been instrumental in keeping his dream viable by delaying the vote on the resolution Coin's proposed to stop the trip, and even sever ties with Rio de la Plata. Perhaps, if he'd been able to steal a few moments with Katniss, and take comfort in the pleasure and companionship that her body and spirit offers him, he'd be able to sleep restfully. But it feels like nothing more than a pipe dream to have her like that given the circumstances.

He gets the call from Seeder's office that Coin has pushed the vote to the end of the daily session just as his senior staff meeting ends and the buzzer is about to go off for Rye's visit. If he'd had his head more about him, he'd have called out to Effie at once to cancel the visit, have Thresh and Thom escort him from the building straight to the Parliament house to go over the last of his options with his allies, and sort through the remaining undecideds before the final hours tick away and the die is cast. Instead, he's awkwardly throwing his jacket on when Rye races through the door, brandishing his latest artistic masterpiece.

"Daddy! We learned about still-lives today! Look, I drew an apple and my teacher said it was the best of what any of us drew!"

Peeta has to bite his tongue as he opens his arms to his child and holds out his hand for the drawing. "It's still-life, Duck," he corrects with more patience than he really has in him.

"Oh, right. But isn't the apple good?"

"Yes, Duck, it's just fine."

"And the grapes, too? And the block of cheese…"

"Rye, it's all fine!" Peeta snaps without even meaning to. He registers the shock on his son's face before he even detects the drastic rise in his timbre; even when he's scolding his son, he rarely raises his voice. Something his father had taught him over the years was that a steady voice and reason work better than yelling and screaming, and he's taken that to heart. So he knows that the sudden vocal change must really, really have frightened Rye, particularly when it's over something as simple as a crayon drawing.

He's about to lean down, pick the boy up, and hold him to apologize when Rye turns deliberately on his heel towards Katniss, who stands awkwardly in the corner. Clearly she is as shocked as the Mellark men are about what's transpired.

"Katniss, I wanna go home now. Please." Rye is clearly trying to stay strong and brave in front of his guard, but Peeta knows the hurt he hears in his son's voice.

"Ry-Ry, I didn't mean to…"

"I want to go home now, Katniss," Rye repeats, as if his father weren't pawing at the jacket of his school uniform to bring him closer. He steps towards Katniss deliberately, rejecting his father's arms altogether in favor of the her outstretched hand.

"Duck, I'm sorry…" Peeta implores.

Rye waves coldly to his father. "Bye, Dad. Do good work."

There is none of the usual affection in the sentiment as Rye turns back and pushes through the door of the Aula, tugging Katniss after him like a rag doll. Peeta catches her fleeting glance before the door swings closed. Her silver eyes flash at him in confusion, almost as if she's suddenly seeing him anew.

Peeta feels like he's seeing himself for the first time as well. And whatever version of himself he's seen he decidedly does not like.

He isn't surprised at all that she's there waiting for him when he gets up to the residence. It's late—far later than she should be there if Delly's home, because Rye ought to have gone to bed an hour ago. But she's there all the same, sitting on the sofa in the living room, a bevy of news circulars on the table in front of her and the television on low volume in the corner. The ticker beneath Claudius Templesmith's face is scrolling the news of the narrow defeat of Coin's resolution in Parliament today, which on another day would fill him with a renewed sense of pride in his work. But the defeat was just that—a narrow one—and he knows he's not really in the clear yet. He's not sure he'll ever be in the clear where Alma Coin is concerned.

"Delly was called away," Katniss says, standing out of sheer habit when he enters the room. "She didn't say where, but she asked me to stay until you came back. Rye's asleep—or he's in bed, anyway."

"Katniss, what you saw earlier…" Peeta begins, but she shakes her head so quickly that it stops him cold.

"It wasn't my business. It's… I don't think it is my business at all."

It stings Peeta deeply that she feels that way. When she makes a move towards the door, Peeta catches her by the arm to stop her.

"Please stay," he whispers.

She doesn't disappoint him. She allows him to fold her against his chest and breathe in the scent of her, the latter of which calms him more than he thinks it ought to be capable of. He loosens the elastic at the end of her braid and knots his fingers in her hair when it unfurls around her shoulders. She doesn't speak at all, but her silence is telling.

"It was a very bad day," he says when he pushes her back just enough to look her in the eye.

"It seemed to end alright," she says simply.

"None of this is about you or Rye, Katniss. It's this job, this city, this…everything else. I just—I never thought it would change me like it has. I always figured that I'd still be me through it all, no matter what they threw at me, but, like as not, it has changed me. And I don't care for it any more than he does."

His eyes look towards the little boy's room down the corridor; she tilts his face back with the tips of her fingers and forces him to look at her instead.

"He doesn't understand, that's all. I think he's trying to, but he can't. Not without your help."

She cups his cheek as he nods and presses into it. He still feels tightly wound—too tightly wound to sleep soundly despite his exhaustion, but her in his arms is more helpful than she could ever understand.

"I should go," she says, and she tries to pull away. He grasps the fabric of her jacket tightly in his hands and refuses to let go.

"Please, don't. There's something else, I can tell. Just—say it, Katniss."

He expects her to say that she "isn't good at saying things", but instead she opens her mouth and lays him flat. "I'm the first one, aren't I? Since your wife died?"

"I… Yes. Why?"

"Is that why you don't want to… You know?" Her cheeks are bright pink and her eyes dart nervously from side to side, even when he tips her face up towards his. "You've been sort of…cold. And I didn't know if it really was something about me or if it was—"

His mouth curves over hers with haste, trapping the rest of her words in order to kiss them away. He feels her fingers tangle in his hair as his knot ever deeper in hers, and he pulls her closer so he can properly drink her in. He wants for her to understand, but he's sure even his own words would fail him if he tried to vocalize them without this first. He draws her bottom lip in between his and smoothes it over with his tongue. When her own slips into action, he moans quietly and feels his hips thrust spontaneously against hers. Her fingers tighten in his hair at the sensation, and he has to suck in a deep breath through his nostrils to keep from growing delirious with how much he truly does want her.

He cups the side of her face as he presses his lips against hers with a sort of finality. He leans his forehead to hers and sighs deeply. "No, Katniss. That's not the reason at all. And I should explain, but… Not right here, where Rye could walk in and see us, alright?"

He twines their fingers together and tugs her towards the hallway. She blinks rapidly in confusion, but follows all the same. They tiptoe past the closed door of Rye's bedroom and go straight through the double doors of his own. He closes and locks them behind them, then picks her hand back up to move her through the room to the en suite. A soft light flickers on when they enter, and he presses his finger to a panel on the wall so they don't grow any brighter. There's enough light for them to see one another, and that's all they actually need.

"W-what are we doing?" she says when he drops her hand so he can shrug off his jacket and hang it on a hook inside the door.

"After a day like today, I need a hot shower—and you. I was hoping to have both at the same time?" he says boldly, and it clearly takes her by surprise. He leans in and brushes his lips against hers before stepping to the shower stall to turn on the water. He stays still as the water rushes out of the nozzle and the air becomes humid until she's finally the one who begins to unbutton her blouse and step out of her clothes. They stare at one another as they undress, gently laying their clothes over a rack nearby so they don't wrinkle; when they step into the stall together and the rivulets of hot water pour over them, they find themselves locked in one another's arms, but in no rush or hurry to do anything else. He realizes that she's waiting for him to speak.

"The last time I was with a woman was my wife, yes. But that's not—it's not about her," he says, sliding his hand through her long locks.

"Okay?" she says patiently, though clearly she needs more.

"I'm worried about you, Katniss. I'm worried about what this—" he says, gesturing between them, "might end up meaning for your safety. I told you—I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. And the closer and closer we get, the more I realize that… I am putting you in a tremendous amount of danger."

She glares at him, and despite the heat of the water, his skin prickles with gooseflesh. "What part of my job do you not understand?" she says flatly. "Do you honestly believe that you're putting me in any more danger because of us than I already am in because I spend my days with your child?"

"That was your decision. You chose to take the job—" Peeta says patiently, but she cuts him off.

"And I chose you, too. Whatever comes with that decision, I can handle it."

Peeta worries the corner of his mouth and slides his hands around her waist to pull her closer. The fire inside her is flashing in her eyes, in her scowl, in the stiff way she's standing ramrod straight in his arms. He cups her face and his lips graze over her brow line.

"This is the reason?" she asks. "This is the only reason, really?"

"Yes," he nods. "I'd be lying if I told you that I'm afraid that once we take it that far… I won't ever be able to let you go. It terrifies me how much danger Rye and I put you in, and how gladly you seem to accept it."

"So your solution is to keep me away? Peeta, we shouldn't even be bothering if that's how you—"

He kisses her again, his lips roam over hers fervently and his fingertips dig into her skin, as though to claim her.

"That's just it, Katniss. I don't know how to stay away from you," he murmurs.

"Then don't push me away. If you keep pushing me away, I won't have a reason to stay. And I want to be here."

He nods rapidly, cupping her face to keep her from wriggling further in his embrace. "Okay. I won't…I won't keep you at arm's length anymore. I promise."

Her eyes close, and he leans down to kiss her again until his breath leaves his lungs with a sharp exhalation as her hand wraps around his cock. His voice is lost with a gurgle, and when her eyes reopen, they are a dark, gunmetal grey pierced with fat, black pupils.

"Starting now?" she purrs.

He gulps, and as her hand begins to work over him, he feels his head bob. In truth, the feeling of her groping him is almost too much, and he'd be lucky to last two minutes inside of her. But in stark contrast to how he so often guides her body back against a wall or door frame, her small hand pumps his length while the other cups his hipbone and pivots him towards the built-in tile bench. When his knees hit the cold stone, she pushes against his chest, forcing him to sit. He stares up at her in the split second before she kneels in front of him, pushing his knees apart and insinuating her torso in between them. Her hand continues to pump him languidly, even as she leans in and presses her lips gently to the skin above his navel.

He opens his mouth to speak, but she shakes her head before he can form the words. "You're overdue for a turn," she says simply, her lips grazing against his belly as she continues to graze down, down…

"Katniss…" he breathes as she wraps her lips around his cock. She bobs her head, shallowly at first, and then farther and farther as her hand finally abandons her work around his base. He feels his hips thrust again on impulse, and he sees her eyes widen as the motion plunges his member deeper into her mouth. He expects that to be enough to make her stop, but instead, her eyes pin him back and her hands loop around his wrists and bring his own hands onto the sides of her face. He loops his fingers into her hair, massaging in little circles as she sucks in her cheeks and hums against his flesh. The deeper and deeper she takes him into her mouth, the more he feels his toes curl and his back bow against the tile. When a low grunt rumbles past his lips, it spurs her on to move faster—when he hisses in surprise at her bottom teeth grazing against the underside of his shaft, she slows and fondles his sac and grazes her fingernails along his inner thigh.

She doesn't let him fall from her mouth when she freezes in place and raises her hands to his. Her eyes implore him, and for a moment he's not sure why—but when it hits him, it hits him hard, and his hips begin to move with a life of their own. He keeps his thrusts shallow at first, but the more she hums against him and pulls her cheeks into a tighter and tighter vacuum, the more and more erratic his movements become, until he's fucking her mouth with abandon he's barely aware he's capable of. When the heat at the base of his spine begins to surge forth he tries to pull her face away, but she grips his hips and swallows around him, moaning her permission until he empties himself down her throat with a reverberating shout of ecstasy.

He slumps against the wall, panting wildly as she sits back and wipes the corners of her mouth with her fingers. His knees threaten to give out underneath him as she pulls him back to standing, but her grip around his waist supports him.

"Can we please just agree to be in this together?" she asks as she tucks her head under his chin. His fingers roam along her shoulder blades and the back of her neck as he kisses the top of her head.

"Always," he tells her.

And with that, the stress of his day and the apprehension he feels being around her washes down the drain.

He wants her to stay, of course, but that seems to be the very opposite of the discretion they've agreed upon. He tries to walk her to the door of the residence, but she points out the night guards might become over-curious by that; they linger in the hallway where she kisses him slow and passionately, then slips out of his embrace and is gone. His body is as exhausted as his mind is at long last, but he can't, in good conscience, go to bed quite yet.

He slips into Rye's bedroom and perches on the edge of the bed, allowing just the light filtering in from the hallway and his hand gently rubbing across his son's back to stir the little boy from his clearly fitful slumber. Rye rolls over, rubs his eyes with his fists, and blinks several times before murmuring, "Daddy?"

"I know I woke you, Duck, but… I'm sorry. I'm sorry about earlier. I had a bad day at work, but that's never an excuse to talk to you like that," he says lowly as he pushes the curls out of Rye's eyes.

"Oh. That's okay," Rye says half-heartedly.

"No, it's not. I'm… I'm afraid I'm being a bad daddy to you because of how good I have to make sure I am at my job. And you don't deserve a bad daddy."

Rye clicks his tongue, surely something he's picked up from Delly over this past year. "You're not a bad daddy. I promise."

"Will you please tell me if I become one?" Peeta asks with a small smile.

"I promise," Rye says.

"Okay. It's a deal then," Peeta says, bending down and kissing his son's forehead before pulling him up and into his arms. Rye seems to resist the embrace at first, but his little arms eventually wrap around Peeta's neck and he clings to him all the same.

Peeta lays him back and tucks the covers up to his chin before running his knuckles reverently along his cheeks. "Go back to sleep, Duck. And maybe in the morning, before I have to go down to work, we can bake cheese buns for breakfast."

"I think Katniss would like cheese buns," the boy says, yawning widely as he settles back against his pillow. "Daddy, will you stay 'til I fall asleep?"

The invitation is so simple and sincere that Peeta can't possibly say no. Rye scoots towards the wall and Peeta stretches out next to him, keeping his hand protectively on the boy's chest as they curl together on the pillow. Rye leans over and kisses the very tip of Peeta's nose, and before either knows the difference, they are fast asleep.

Chapter Text

March

The silver slab Katniss sits on is cold and smells heavily of disinfectant, but at least she's not wearing the horrendous paper gown she'd had to wear the first time she made one of these appointments. She imagines that growing up with a healer for a mother and constantly being around a sick sister, she'd have grown used to dealing with doctors—she hasn't. It's one of the reasons that she's delayed this particular visit as long as possible. Every Tribute is expected to undergo a full physical and mental exam every six months to be cleared for duty. Thresh had finally cornered her and told her she'd be removed from Rye's guard if she didn't schedule her exam, and fast. The hastiness of the appointment is one of the reasons she's been assigned a male doctor instead of a female, although this would be much more traumatic if she were expecting to receive a pelvic exam, as she had the first time.

And yet, when it comes to her responsibilities for Rye, she finds herself not minding, even if it did.

"Agent Everdeen? I'm Dr. Marus Aurelius. My apologies for my tardiness," a bespectacled man says as he breezes into the room, pensively studying the thin manila folder with Katniss's name and agent number displayed in the corner. Katniss takes his hand and shakes it before drumming her nails impatiently on the exam table.

"It's no trouble," Katniss says. "I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice."

Dr. Aurelius says nothing, and instead peeks over his glasses at the notes the previous doctor had made in her file. He trails his knuckles along the dark stubble of his jaw for a moment before giving her a small smile. "Just a few questions and then we'll proceed with the physical exam. You must be quite busy."

Before she can confirm that, yes, as a matter of fact, she is, he prattles off a long list of maladies (headaches, anxiety, nervous stomach, restlessness, poor sleep, etc.), to which she answers honestly that she experiences very few and only seldomly. She confirms that she takes in the suggested daily value of calories, and fruit, vegetable, and protein servings per day, and utilizes the Training Center for at least the minimum required weekly hours of cardio and weapons training. The questions are formal and easy to answer, until he states, "I see you didn't complete the recommended counseling hours after the shooting at the State of Panem address."

Her blood sluices icy in her veins and she fidgets again. "I wasn't working the event. I was in the presidential residence, minding my mark. I didn't even hear about the incident until an hour after it occurred."

"It was suggested for all agents, not just those present at the Parliament house. There's a note here that you were flagged specifically because of your personal relationship with Agent Hawthorne."

Katniss's teeth grind together. "Agent Hawthorne was a good friend and an excellent agent. But I'm fine. I don't think I need any grief counseling. Would it be possible to move on, please?"

Dr. Aurelius looks at her suspiciously and makes a note. She could kick herself—she's likely put herself on a short list for required brain-picking sessions by being so damn flippant.

"I understand not wanting to speak of such an emotional ordeal while you're sitting on an exam table, Agent Everdeen. But in addition to being a medical doctor, I happen to be a specialist in psychology and trauma. In the future, if you feel the need to talk about Agent Hawthorne or his death—"

"I promise, Doctor… You'll be the first person I call," she says dryly. He doesn't believe her, she can tell. But she's willing to say whatever she needs to in order to placate him.

"Would you mind removing your jacket, please, and rolling up your sleeve?" he say abruptly, wielding his stethoscope. He listens to her lungs and heartbeat, tests her reflexes and vision, and then ties a tourniquet around her right biceps in preparation to draw blood. She has to look away when he brandishes the needle, and she lets her thoughts drift to the last time she's spent any time in Peeta's arms to get over the prick and the sting.

"Apologies for the indelicacy of this next question, but any changes in sexual activity, Agent? New partners, unprotected intercourse, things of that nature?"

She scowls—she understands the need for above-average health required of each and every Tribute, but she still finds this mortifying. Or rather, she would if she were simply admitting that, no, she has no sexual partner, and hasn't for a couple of years. Now that she has Peeta…well, things are a bit trickier.

"I, ah…have been seeing someone intimately, yes."

"Any concerns with sexual activity?" Dr. Aurelius probes.

"We…haven't exactly…" she stammers and stops before she can say the words. After the evening in his shower, Peeta's been much less guarded about her touching him in their infrequent and all too brief interludes—but they still haven't made love yet. It hasn't seemed…right.

"Ah. Well, I would suggest that, if you believe sexual activity will advance to the point of penetration at any juncture, we add a couple of sexually transmitted infection inoculations and a pregnancy prevention steroid to the agent-standard course of shots. Are you comfortable with that?"

Katniss cringes over the sterile usage of penetration. "I some how doubt that Pe… That my partner has any sort of infection," she stammers, realizing her folly too late and turning bright red at almost saying his actual name.

The doctor blinks at her just once before smiling kindly. "One can never be too careful, Agent Everdeen. I can administer both inoculations right now, as a matter of fact. Would you mind turning around and exposing just left hip for me? Just for a brief second, you understand."

She nods, her tongue too thick in her mouth to refuse. She feels the pinch of two needles consecutively plunge into the flesh of her lower back, then hastily tucks her shirt back in place.

With the exam over, Dr. Aurelius deposits his latex gloves in the receptacle in the corner and makes a couple of notes in Katniss's file. "Should there be any abnormalities in your blood work, we'll let you know promptly. But in the meantime, I must impress on you the importance of regular medical and psychological screenings for all Secret Service agents—in order to watch over others, we must have you in top form yourself. Please remember that in six months? And, as I said before… My door is always open if you need to speak about…"

She nods curtly and tugs her jacket back over her shoulders. He leaves the door ajar when he leaves, but as he goes, she can swear he winks at her over his shoulder. It isn't judgmental or crass, but simply all-knowing. She certainly hadn't meant to give her and Peeta away. But if she somehow did inadvertently, at least she'd done so to someone sworn to uphold confidentiality.

She leaves the infirmary as quickly as she can. After all, she has a mark to mind.

When Effie informs Peeta at the outset of the morning that Alma Coin has requested a special meeting with him before the end of business that day, it's everything Peeta can do to not groan heavily. Sitting down one-on-one with the woman sounds about as appealing as having his teeth pulled out without anesthesia. But he's known this has been coming since her resolution failed in Parliament, and a second was proposed by Blight and Seeder to formally approve the upcoming Caledonia trip. He'd seen the embittered look on the woman's face when Claudius Templesmith caught her outside of the Parliament house one day—and Peeta thought that had been a look the woman reserved solely for their conversations together.

He allows Effie to schedule Coin into the brief time slot between senior staff and Rye's visit, and isn't surprised in the slightest when she's ten minutes late. Effie shows her into the office, and Peeta is highly amused that even his impeccably mannered assistant can't seem to hide her disdain for the other woman as she asks her oh-so-politely if she can fetch her anything to drink. The Prime Minister declines with a shake of her silver hair and takes a seat on the plush sofa.

Peeta eases himself into his wingback and smiles curtly at her. "Madam Prime Minister, what can I do for you this afternoon?"

"I think we'd both be much better served, Mr. President, if we agreed to be honest with one another. Or, at the very least, to not brazenly lie to one another," Coin says tersely.

Peeta nods thoughtfully. "I suppose that's reasonable. You're welcome to speak candidly."

Coin licks her teeth and sits back, almost as though she's making herself at home in the elaborate office. "Very well. I think you're a daft fool."

"And I think you're overly insulated and vastly over-critical of things you don't understand." Peeta almost can't believe the words have left his mouth until Coin seems to process them.

"What exactly do you suppose we have to learn from the rest of the remaining world that we don't already know ourselves, Mr. President? Other than the sort of animosity and ire that almost destroyed the world last century?"

Peeta wets his lips. "I firmly believe that what we've gained just from the single trip to Rio de la Plata justified any and all risk involved in that visit. I clearly returned very much alive and intact, as did my entire staff. And the situation in Eleven has turned around dramatically in the months since, wouldn't you agree?"

"Perhaps. You might have merely gotten lucky, cozying up to a sympathetic leader with little to no firepower backing their militia. The intel you've shared with Caledonia does not seem to indicate the same sort of…savagery."

Peeta feels his eye twitch as the slanderous word crosses Coin's lips. He has more respect and admiration for a leader like Consuela Espinosa than he's ever had for Alma Coin. And something tells him Coin knows it, too, hence her barbed statement. "I believe if you'd seen Rio, you'd retract that statement, Madam Prime Minister. Of course, that would require you to board a hovercraft for somewhere bound other than District Thirteen."

"I've no interest in these little diplomatic trips, Mr. President. What irks me is that you seem so keen to shove them down our nation's throat when half the populace is as opposed to them as I am."

"Really? How do you figure?"

"Parliament speaks for the people, sir. Or has your whole year in this office made you to lose sight of that?"

"Parliament does its duty admirably and with my utmost respect, madam. But I was elected to this office by the same populace you claim disapproves of me so ardently. The vote is in one week. I suppose we'll have our answer to the question once and for all at that time now, won't we?"

"The vote won't pass, sir. I can promise you that."

"That remains to be seen. I do hope it's alright with you that I don't intend to change my flight arrangements until we know one way or another," Peeta says, a slight smirk crossing his face.

"Suit yourself, sir," Coin says impassively. "I'd at least recommend keeping your luggage unpacked."

The buzzer for Rye's visit rings, and Peeta's satisfied when he sees that it startles the woman for just a moment. He gets to his feet and nods towards the door. "If you'll excuse me, Madam Prime Minister… Your late arrival for our meeting cannot delay the one that follows it. Should you wish to discuss any of this further, I would be happy to have Effie contact your assistant to arrange another mutually agreeable time."

Coin gets to her feet, clearly as annoyed as Peeta is. She smirks wryly, as though she's just put two-and-two together, and is highly amused by her conclusion. "Still a father before you're a politician, Peeta?"

He feels white-hot anger bubble up from his gut, and it's everything he can do to retain his decorum. "I believe myself to balance both quite adequately, Alma."

"As you say, Mr. President. I'll have my assistant get in touch with yours. I believe we do still have a few more things to work out before that vote of yours."

"By all means. I'm glad we could come to such an…amicable arrangement," Peeta says, not bothering to honey-coat his voice at all.

"As have I, sir. Thank you for meeting with me."

He scowls when she's gone and runs his hands through his hair. He realizes at once this visit was meant to rattle his cage, maybe even make him rethink everything—but he won't give her the satisfaction.

Katniss and Rye arrive at the residence after an early-release Friday for Rye to find Delly in a tizzy. When she gets a good look at Katniss, Delly claps her forehead with her palm and swears aloud.

"Don't repeat that, Rye," she warns when the boy giggles. "Katniss, I'm sorry… I didn't tell you about this trip to Eleven, did I?"

"You didn't need to, Auntie," Rye says as he pulls his homework out of his backpack. "Katniss and me aren't going."

"Katniss and I, Rye. And who do you think is gonna stay with you while I'm gone and your father's in the Aula?" Delly says, tweaking the boy's nose. "Katniss, I know it's a lot to ask, but…"

"It's not, though, at all," Katniss demures. "I'm sure we'll manage just fine."

Delly nods, but pulls the other woman aside anyway after seeing Rye get settled at the counter with one of his workbooks and a pencil. "It's supposed to be a light weekend for Peeta, but I'll be gone all next week as well. Peeta needs me there to do some glad-handling, and then he'll be holding out for a vote on his Caledonia trip Monday, so…"

"It really is fine, Delly. It's my job to keep my eye on Rye. I don't consider it a burden."

Delly's eyebrow arches significantly, and she shakes her head. "That, ah…wasn't what I was getting at. What I was trying to say was if you and Peeta need some privacy, now's as good a time as any."

Katniss's stomach bottoms out a bit, though she supposes it shouldn't surprise her that Delly would be so blunt. "That seems like it'd be inappropriate with Rye so close by," she gapes.

"He's eight. He has an early bedtime for a reason. I'm just saying—you and Peeta can't keep sneaking around forever. Eventually you just need to… I don't know the proper euphemism, but you know what I mean," Delly says wryly. "And what better timing than when you're alone?"

Katniss shifts from foot to foot; Delly's been a good ally, but her brashness about something so private makes Katniss a little nervous.

Delly seems to pick up on this and backs off. "Well, anyway, don't feel saddled with Rye if you don't want to be. Just let Peeta know if you had other plans and he'll make any necessary arrangements. You aren't Rye's nan—"

"Nanny," Katniss finishes at the same time Delly does. She's found the more and more Peeta and Delly harp about that point, the more it annoys her and just makes her want to spend all the more time with Rye anyway. "It's fine, Delly. Really."

"If you insist, Katniss," Delly says, pushing the kitchen door open again and calling out to the boy in question. "Ry-Ry? Come help me with my suitcase?"

Rye huffs as he takes his aunt's hand and heads down the hallway. "If you didn't pack so much stuff all the time, I wouldn't still hafta sit on it so it'll close."

"But that's your job!" Delly teases, pulling the boy into her side and running her fingers lightly through his hair. He swats her hand away and gives her an indignant look as they disappear into her bedroom. Watching them, a frisson of what Katniss can only equate with jealousy runs up her spine. She tries to brush it aside, but the feeling grows and grows until Delly hands over her suitcase to the driver hired to take her to the train station and leaves with her own guards.

"You have a math test Monday, don't you?" Katniss says to Rye when they're alone again.

The boy groans. "Ugh. Why'd you remind me?"

"I'm pretty good at math, if you need any help…"

His face brightens a little, and it neutralizes the earlier pang of jealousy as he nods enthusiastically and spreads his workbook between them. With more patience than she realizes she has, she looks over the jumble of numbers and multiplication signs, and explains as much as she can.

Peeta surprises them when he comes up from the Aula earlier than usual. Rye hangs excitedly on his leg, gushing over how well he knows his seven and nine multiplication tables—all because of Katniss. Over the boy's head, Peeta shoots her an appreciative smile, and he can tell that her cheeks warm from the look.

"Would you like to stay for dinner, Katniss?" he asks casually, hoping she'll say yes.

Her eyes dart towards the front door, but she nods quickly. "That'd be very kind, sir, thank you."

He hates hearing the formal title cross her lips, but he can't very well ask her not to use it front of his son. Rye helps him dish out plates of barley stew, and Peeta tries not to stare at her as their dinners disappear. But it's far more difficult than he'd imagined it would be, and she catches him more than once. He dreads the moment their plates are empty and she'll have no further excuse to stay—until Rye gives them one.

"I'm tired, Daddy, I think I'm gonna go to bed now," Rye says after he scrapes his plate off and tucks it into the dishwasher.

Worried, Peeta places his hand on Rye's forehead and feels for a fever. "You not feeling well, Duck?"

"No, I'm fine. I just… I think I'll go to bed now. But Katniss, you don't gotta leave if my daddy doesn't want you to."

The pair of adults freeze in place, looking between one another with crimson cheeks and wide, shocked eyes. "Katniss, ah… Katniss doesn't have to stay once you're in bed, Duck," Peeta explains rationally. "Her job is all done once you…"

"You don't want her to stay?" Rye asks. "I thought…" He sighs heavily and retreats from the room, Peeta hot on his heels after an apologetic glance at Katniss. He barely catches the door in time before Rye locks it behind him.

Peeta clicks his tongue. "You know I don't like locked doors in our house, Rye," he says sternly. "What's going on with you? You never want to go to bed early."

The boy tugs his hands through his hair and sits cross-legged on his bed staring at his lap. "I just thought that…you and Katniss should be alone, that's all."

Peeta's mouth goes dry. "Why would I want to be alone with Katniss? I figured that you and I would be able to—"

"You don't like her, then?" Rye interrupts, his voice sharp with hurt.

"Katniss? I… I like Katniss just fine, Rye."

"So that's why I figured you'd wanna see her alone. You always seem to want to see her alone for a minute when we come see you after school, so why would now be different? It's okay, Daddy. I'm not hurt that you wanna spend time with her."

Peeta gapes at his child. Even more shocking than Haymitch's continued knowing glances and Delly's periodic winks when she spies he and Katniss looking at one another over Rye's shoulder, the crushing realization that maybe they haven't been quite so covert around the boy himself sends him reeling. "Rye, do you think that something is…going on between Katniss and me?"

"…Isn't there?" Rye asks innocently.

"What, ah...is making you think all of this?"

In a single second, Rye's entire demeanor changes, and an impish smile spreads all the way up to his eyes. "Oh, Daddy… You just aren't very smart sometimes."

"Hey!" Peeta says with wide eyes, and pinches the boy's knee.

"You're so obvious," Rye says with a shake of his head. "The way you look at Katniss, I mean. It's so obvious."

Peeta swallows hard. "How… How do I look at her?" And how have you possibly noticed it? he continues silently.

"Like the way that Grandma looks at Grandpa. Or Mr. Finnick looks at Annie. It's… It's just so obvious, Daddy. And you aren't the only one. She does it, too. I know you don't think I see, but—"

Rye quiets when Peeta pulls him into his side and places his chin on the crown of his head. It's so rare that Peeta is struck dumb and silent, but this—the little, lisping boy he's raised from a colicky newborn to this shockingly grown-up young man that sits next to him figuring everything out all on his own—this certainly has that effect on him.

The boy's next words are a bit muffled, and Peeta has to pull away to coax him to say them again.

"I asked if you love her," Rye repeats, looking both expectant and patient at the same time.

"Oh, Ry-Ry… I don't think I know Katniss well enough to…"

The boy purses his lips, as if to silently communicate with his father that he doesn't believe him.

"If I did? Would that be alright?" Peeta asks quietly.

"Of course it would be, Daddy. 'Cause I love Katniss, too."

Peeta leans forward and kisses Rye's forehead. "That, ah… I'm really happy to hear that, Duckie."

Katniss paces in the entryway, periodically gripping the door handle as if to leave before some sort of invisible force pulls her back. She looks down the hall towards Rye's closed bedroom, her heart fluttering with nervous energy to the point where it's almost hard to breathe. She's convinced herself it is for the best to just turn and go when she sees Peeta duck out of the bedroom and close the door tightly behind him with a huge smile upon his face. His dress shoes click on the highly polished floor as he strides to her and cups her cheeks. His lips just barely ghost over hers; when he pulls away, his is radiating happiness.

"As it turns out, I have a very, very clever little boy."

Katniss feels her face fall, and she immediately shrinks away; his hands hold her in place and his lips roam across her forehead and cheeks before tilting her chin up to look him in the eye.

"It's okay," he breathes. "He's not upset. He actually seems…well, happy for us."

"How did he figure—"

"It doesn't matter. We'd have to tell him at some point, wouldn't we?"

She considers this, and nods shakily. His exuberance is infectious, and despite her still-present apprehension, she relaxes into his embrace and lets herself melt into him. They linger there for a moment until she can feel him back her up to the wall and press into her harder as he pins her in place with his eyes.

"Katniss," he breathes, "I did it."

Unsure whether he's still speaking of Rye, she looks at him curiously, all the more confused when a different sort of smile plays at his mouth. His tongue glides across his lips as he presses his forehead to hers. "I have the votes I need. For the trip to Caledonia. I needed 156 and I have 165. When they vote on Monday, I'll have my trip. And there's nothing Coin can do to stop it. I…I won. My measure won."

He presses his lips to hers softly, almost experimentally. It's a simple kiss, if not exactly chaste. Katniss recognizes it as how her father used to kiss her mother when he'd come home from a day at the mines—warm and loving, with no ulterior motive other than to profess their happiness at simply being together. Somehow despite every caress, every time they've made one another fall apart with their hands or their mouths, this feels like the most intimate thing they've ever shared.

"You were the first—the only—person I wanted to tell. I'm so glad you stayed," he murmurs, stroking her cheeks with his fingertips and sighing contentedly. Her hands wrap up and around his shoulder blades, and she smiles back at him broadly.

"That's wonderful," she tells him. "That's so wonderful, congratulations."

"Stay with me tonight," he says. His azure eyes implore her, his eyelashes tangling together when he blinks as he waits for her response. "Please. I…I want you with me tonight."

"Peeta—"

He silences her with a kiss more like the ones she's used to. The taste of his lips lingers on hers after he's pulled away so he can speak, and it leaves her hungry for more.

"Please, Katniss. I want you. And I know I should care, I do, but… I want you more than I care about what the guards at the door might think. Please stay with me."

Her better sense tells her to deny him this request, insist on leaving for the sake of discretion. But his words are so seductive, so delicious, she cannot. She nods just once, and then he's leading her down the hall to his bedroom.

They are upon one another as soon as the doors close tight behind them. Peeta's hands roam every inch of Katniss's torso, from the curve of her waist to the column of her neck, while his lips glide sinuously over hers. Every breath they take is a short, shallow gasp between feverish kisses, and it isn't long before she feels lightheaded. As their arms and hips collide and Peeta's tie and both their jackets are shed, the electricity in the air magnifies. There is no denying what is about to happen.

She's the one to wrench her mouth away, though the pout on his swollen lips is pitiful when she does. "I'm just… The restroom, that's all," she gasps.

He nods, but seems reluctant to let her out of his arms without one more kiss—the one he plies her with is another so soft and delicate, Katniss can't help but think she would happily accept it everyday of her life without complaint. She spins out of his embrace toward the en suite, and places her hand over her fluttering heart when the door separates them. She's never felt this nervous around a lover before, not ever, and certainly not around one who has seen every bare inch of her as Peeta has. She runs cold water from the tap and splashes it on her flushed face before she slowly begins to undress.

She's unsure how to re-enter the room until she spies the slightly ajar door of his closet. She slips inside and reverently runs her hands along the many hanging dress shirts of his until she finds the perfect one. It's a vivid white with soft grey pinstripes; when she holds it up to her face, it smells of lemon and sandalwood and perfection. The material is light and cool as she pulls it over her shoulders and fastens just the three buttons to cover her bare breasts. She leaves on her panties and pulls the elastic out of her hair, shaking it loose before she grips the doorknob and returns to him.

He's lit a fire in the hearth, or rather, the illusion of one—the flames are clearly synthetic, though a lapping warmth emanates from them. His shirt is unbuttoned to mid-chest, his feet are bare, and his hair is rumpled as if he's been pulling his fingers through it while waiting for her. He's pulled a couple of pillows and the duvet off his bed, creating a little nest of sorts in front of the hearth. She smiles at him—it's perfect.

His eyes pour over her, drinking in her bare legs and exposed navel through his too-big shirt, and he gulps audibly before he speaks. "Oh, Katniss…"

She bypasses his outstretched arms and sinks to the floor in the middle of the nest of pillows. He slips behind her, legs on either side of her hips as he pulls her flush against his chest. Despite the Capitol-esque falseness of the fire flickering before them, his arms encircling her waist, his fingers entwining with hers, and the kisses he peppers on her neck are all very, very real. He's claiming her, she realizes as his teeth sink softly into her earlobe. And she has no objection. As his mouth trails hotly along her hairline towards the nape of her neck, she arches back and allows him to claim her lips instead.

Their mouths dance languidly, both completely content to take their time with one another. When her neck begins to torque uncomfortably, she pivots in his embrace and he wordlessly loops his elbow under the crook of her knees and splays them over his thigh. His free hand cups the base of her skull as his tongue slips between their parted lips and slants gently against her own. How she's cradled in his arms leaves no doubt as to how hard he's straining against the front of his trousers; she shifts her hip ever-so-slightly against his erection until he mewls into her mouth.

Still, nothing moves too fast. His left palm cups her cheek while his right works free the few buttons she'd fastened. He makes short work of them, and his hand closes around the peak of her breast, making her whimper and writhe against him as he tweaks the puckered bud and massages the mound at the same time. Her own hands tangle in his hair one moment, then scratch roughly at the fabric of his collar. His fingers abandon their work and ghost down her belly to push past the waistband of her panties and glide through the curls between her thighs, already damp with arousal. They groan together when he finds an entirely different bud to play with.

"So, so wet," he pants between breaths, "like you've been waiting for me."

She thinks silently that she has been waiting for him, and for what has felt like a short eternity, but her thoughts are lost once he begins stroking her clit. Her pelvis bucks hard against his hand, and he dips two fingers inside her, the brunt of his palm undulating against the already throbbing kernel.

Her orgasm takes her by surprise; his fingers already know exactly how to twist and curl and make her fall apart at his will. Tonight it's quck and urgent, and she quivers against him as he slips his digits out of her and raises them deftly to his mouth to suck the moisture away. She paws at his collar, still delirious from his ravishment, and mewls, "Peeta, please…please."

He kisses her softly, that same casual kiss from earlier, and croons, "I'm going to make you mine now, Katniss."

She crawls out of his lap and kneels in front of him, giving him ample space to stretch out as as their hands work in tandem to undress him. His shirt is tossed aside quickly, but they fumble with his slacks and underwear as they get caught over his straining erection, leaving them both flustered and impatient until he's able to curl his fingers into her panties and tug them easily down her lithe legs. He parts the shirt she wears to grab hold of her waist, pulling her back into his lap to curve his mouth over hers. Her hips twitch, feeling his cock trapped between them, so close but so far from being where it belongs. He bunches the fabric in his fists and pulls it off her shoulders and down her arms so her hands have to abandon the curls at the base of his skull, and then cups her ass as he bends her backwards.

"Katniss, I haven't done this in so long, I…" he grunts nervously when he's got her spread underneath him, her legs folded between their chests, closer than ever to finally being buried inside her.

"Shhh…" she murmurs, kissing the shell of his ear and pivoting her hips until she feels the head of his cock brush tantalizingly through her folds. She slips her hand between her thighs and grabs hold of him, smiling lasciviously when his eyes fall closed and his jaw clenches. "I'm right here."

He nods, thrusting into her hand gingerly as she positions him at her entrance before pushing his hips forward. The girth of him burrows shallowly at first, then stretches her walls taut as he buries his cock completely inside her. Every inch of Katniss's skin is on fire. Peeta's neck is all sinew and the thick, corded muscles on either side of his throat as he throws his head back and moans inaudibly. She thrashes her head from side to side, whimpering wildly.

He's slow to move at first, but only at first. His hips roll experimentally, pulling out shallowly before driving back in, making her whine and clutch his face between her hands. "Y-Yes," she moans, "exactly like that."

"Holy fuck… You're s-so tight, Katniss." he grunts before surging his face down to hers and locking their lips. She grips his flexing biceps as he begins to thrust into her steadily, and laps her tongue eagerly against his. She forces herself to take slow breaths through her nose, relaxing every muscle in her pelvis to accept him deeper and deeper still. With every new inch he delves in, it becomes harder to breathe. The weight of his chest propped against her shins becomes too much, and she wiggles until he arches backwards so she can straighten her legs and wrap them around his back. It brings them all the more flush, and he roars in approval.

"Take me harder, Peeta, please!" she begs after he backs off to a gentle roll of his hips instead of the steady thrusts that had been pushing her closer to the brink. His eyebrows knit together just before he kisses her fiercely and nods in assent. He rears up on his knees, and with her feet locked at the ankles behind him, he grips her hips and picks her up off the floor to bring them crashing together. Katniss feels her spine go rigid and her breath catch in her throat. She has to balance on her elbows to meet his thrusts, her neck bowing wildly so that the crown of her head is pressed into the duvet beneath her. Her fingers paw desperately at her breasts as her skin pebbles from her chest down to her wrists. The very tip of him has found the sweet spot inside her with this angle, and her jaw unhinges as she moans out a long string of unintelligible words, each more breathless than the last. She feels one of his strong hands abandon its grip on her waist and his fingers press against her lips, silencing her.

"Katniss, you'll ruin me sounding so sweet. And I want to last for you, damn it," he grunts.

She nods, but as he resumes his pace, it's everything she can do to not thrash and howl from how full she feels, how his fingers set trails of fire along her thighs, and how every slap of their skin coming together resounds blissfully in her ears. She flexes her thighs and inadvertently clenches hard around him; by the way he keens in appreciation, she can tell she's driving him further and further towards the precipice.

"Kiss me," she murmurs, holding her arms out for him. He collapses forward, propping himself on his forearms as his mouth ravishes hers. He doesn't lose momentum, and meets every single undulation of her hips with a wild snap of his own.

"Come for me, Katniss, please…" he groans, "please come for me." He punctuates each word with a deeper, harder thrust, and their new angle and friction leaves her breathless. She can feel the rush of warmth from her core to the tips of her being as he spurs her towards her release. Her jaw falls slack as she locks onto his inky blue gaze and feels herself begin to shatter around him.

"Oh my… Peeta!" she hisses as every muscle in her body clenches and shudders, and she screams out in exquisite relief.

"Katniss, I'm going to— Oh Katniss, I…!"

She can feel him begin to withdraw, perhaps because he fears he has to, but she keeps her ankles locked and clamps around him with all the strength she can muster.

"Inside me," she rasps.

He nods in appreciation, swears under his breath, and then his eyes flutter closed. She watches his lips form a perfect o-shape, and with one final unyielding snap of his hips, he cries out in satisfaction and empties himself inside her. He grinds into her just once, twice before he collapses heavily on top of her. Through labored breaths and rasping sighs, they bathe in their afterglow until he rolls off to her side, his arms wrapped around her waist to keep her close as he nuzzles his face into her neck.

"Oh, Katniss… I… You're so…" he gasps, clearly beyond the capacity to finish his sentences. She smoothes her knuckles down the side of his face and kisses him deeply, nipping delicately at his bottom lip before resting her face against his chest to listen to his heart thump wildly under her ear.

"Shhh," she coos, fitting herself as close to his side as she can manage. "Talk to me later and just hold me now."

His arms tighten around her, and she feels his lips press into the top of her head. She stares at the synthetic flames as they catch their breaths and let the warmth of the fire dry their sweat-slicked skin. His heartbeat—or perhaps it's hers, or very possibly, both in unison—resounds in her ears as her eyes drift closed. She can hear him whisper something before sleep overtakes her, and she means to ask him to repeat himself.

But nestled against Peeta Mellark's chest, sated from their lovemaking, Katniss falls into dreamless, peaceful tranquility.

When she wakes, she's swathed in luxurious sheets and her head is cradled by a plush, down pillow. She has to rub her eyes to orient herself, but when she turns her head to the left and sees Peeta's sleeping form, everything rushes back to her. She doesn't remember him moving her; the gesture is so sweet that her heart pounds strangely in her chest.

He's as naked as she is, sprawled out on his stomach with his head turned away from her. He hadn't extinguished the fire in the hearth, so the flickering light casts shadows along the planes of his back. Katniss creeps closer to him, the draw of him magnetic and irresistible. She gently rests her head next to his on his pillow, and ghosts her fingers over his skin, lightly enough so as not to disturb his slumber. His skin is smooth and taut over toned muscles, and she loses herself in tracing the lines and indentations along his spine and the curve of his rear. She marvels for a second that this man, so innocent and quiet in his sleep, can maintain such miraculous balance and poise over all the power he holds during his waking hours. And somehow, he's claimed her—he wants her.

It's almost too much for her brain to properly process, even as she feels the pleasant soreness between her legs and recalls the shuddering peak he'd brought her to just a couple of hours before. Suddenly she wants to wake him and take him again, claim him in return over and over. But she lets him sleep, and memorizes the contours of his skin with hungry eyes.

Her gaze flits over a tiny patch of extra-smooth skin, no wider or thicker than an indentation of a fingernail at the very base of his spine. It's almost invisible, this little scar, but she becomes fascinated with it, smoothing over it with the pad of her thumb repeatedly. She curls against him so her head is resting on his shoulder blade instead of the pillow, which is the only reason she feels the sudden clenching of every muscle in his body.

She sits up, ready to apologize for waking him, when he shudders violently from head to toe and bolts upright. A look of abject horror plagues his face and his mouth is open as if ready to scream, but no sound comes. It frightens her almost as much as it clearly frightens him.

"K-Katniss… I'm sorry, did I…" he stammers..

She moves towards him and wraps him in her arms. A cold sheen of sweat stipples his brow, the curves of his neck, and underarms, and he shivers against her as he accepts her embrace. There aren't a great many things that Katniss understands with absolute certainty—but she knows a nightmare when she sees one.

"I was already awake. It's alright. I'm… I'm here. I'm right here."

"You're here," he repeats, his voice disbelieving as if he can't recall his plea for her to stay and her falling asleep in his arms by the fire.

She kisses him soundly and tries to stoke a smile from his lips. It's gradual, but it shows in his eyes when she finally coaxes it out of him.

"You're here," he says again, gripping her tightly and pushing her back against the pillows. "Thank you. Thank you for staying."

She feels him swell against her thigh, and her breath catches as his mouth ardently claims hers. They share a soft moan when the kiss deepens and becomes tangling tongues and groping fingers. She's able to throw her weight against him just enough to pitch him onto his back; she props her leg over his lap and rocks against him, feeling his turgid cock press against her ass. He shudders again, hopefully not from fear but anticipation, and she writhes against him teasingly until his grip on her waist tightens and his eyes gaze up at her lustfully. She pivots her hips, capturing the head of his cock between her folds, and slowly sinks down until they're fit tightly together. As if him being inside her again weren't enough, he sits up and wraps his arms around her back and peppers her chest with an open mouth and a whorling tongue. Her head falls back and she mewls in satisfaction, sucking in heaving breaths as his teeth fit around one of her nipples and tugs the bud firmly between his lips.

They move together this time slowly, with less trepidation and more passion than she was rightly aware she could feel for another person. And yet, when she begins to fall apart in his arms and feels him quiver and writhe underneath her, she thinks insane, beguiling thoughts—thoughts that only multiply when later, as she's falling asleep in his arms once more, images of the two of them and Rye together as some sort of unit flits through her subconscious before the pleasant darkness claims her again.

Chapter Text

He doesn't want to leave her in bed alone, but his internal alarm wakes him at his usual early hour, and she looks so peaceful curled against his pillows. Her breasts rise and fall with every breath she takes, and it's difficult to restrain himself from latching on to one of the pert, dusky nipples in order to tease her awake. He pads as quietly as he can into the en suite and dresses, leaving a robe and one of his shirts at the end of the bed for her for when she rouses, and slips from the room. He peeks into Rye's room, and once satisfied that the boy is still sound asleep, he presses on to the kitchen where he flips on the oven to begin warming.

It's a rare day, even on Saturday, that he doesn't have to go down to the Aula. Haymitch, Finnick, and Beetee's staffers are keeping an ear out for dissent amongst the Parliamentary delegates that might turn on the Caledonia measure; he's still certain he's got the measure tied up and refuses to worry about it. A week from now, he and Rye will be on a flight across the ocean, with any number of new things to learn and explore. He knows as soon as he sits down with Rye to explain some of the ancient wonders that the other nation retained after the Great War, the boy will be overjoyed at the prospect of going. A scant second after that thought occurs to him, his mind drifts back to Katniss. She'll come as well, of course, because Rye will be going. But for a moment, his brain entertains the notion of what it might be like for her to come as something other than his son's guard, and he grows absolutely giddy.

The oven pings that it has come up to temperature, and he rifles through the pantry for flour and yeast and spices. Though he does occasionally set aside a few minutes to bake something with Rye, he can't remember the last time he had the time and energy to mix up a loaf of bread. Despite still feeling weak-kneed and having a slight twinge in his lower back from laying on the duvet and a couple of pillows in front of the hearth with Katniss only hours ago, he finds he's completely invigorated and can think of few other things he'd like to do. The bread he puts together doesn't need a full proof or rise, so he's able to pop it into the oven and serve himself a cup of tea long before the kitchen door swings open and Rye pads in, still sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired. Peeta holds out his arm so the boy can curl into his side, but Rye surprises him by hoisting himself up into his lap. They say nothing for a few moments until the cinnamony-sweet scent of baking bread invades their nostrils.

"Mmmm… The one with the raisins! Grandpa loves that one," Rye observes.

"So do you, if I recall correctly," Peeta says as he kisses the boy's forehead. "I thought Katniss might like it, too."

Rye turns in his father's lap and raises his eyebrow. "Katniss is still here?" he asks innocently.

"Yes, she is. Is that okay?"

"Is she gonna come have breakfast with us when the bread is ready?"

"I imagine she will," Peeta says.

"Then that's okay. Is she gonna stay all day?"

Peeta hadn't considered this, so he shrugs his shoulders. "I suppose she might if we asked her. Would you like her to?"

Rye has to blow a puff of air out of the corner of his mouth to push away the curls that fall into his eyes. Peeta grins; at least in this small way, his son is still his little boy, even if he's already beginning to saddle Rye with situations he's perhaps too young for. And yet, Peeta himself wasn't markedly older when his father and Carine married, and he'd turned out no worse for the wear—not that he and Katniss are even close to…

His galloping mind trails off when she slips into the kitchen, clad only in his robe. Rye rushes to throw his arms around her waist, and she looks vaguely mortified for just a split second before the boy's excited banter about what they might do that day sets her at ease. Rye drags her to the refrigerator so he can pour two glasses of orange juice, and Peeta follows them both with adoring eyes and a surge of something in his chest.

The feeling, he realizes a minute later, is undeniably love. When Rye guides her back to the chair next to Peeta's and makes a big show of checking the bread they'll all be eating for breakfast, Peeta snatches her hand under the table and squeezes her fingers tightly. He tries to mouth, "Are you alright?" to her, but in a fit of boldness he wasn't sure she possessed, she closes the small gap between them and presses her lips fleetingly against his own before sipping her orange juice demurely. Rye's voice is a happy trill as he announces to his father that the bread looks done, and Peeta slips away from her to see for himself. He sets it on the back counter to cool a bit before slicing into it; when he returns to the table, Katniss's fingers knit automatically with his own.

He knows that Rye spots it, but the boy doesn't say anything. Instead, Rye's mischievous grin radiates so strongly that Katniss's neck flushes and her face dips into the collar of the robe as if she's trying to hide. Peeta tugs her back with another squeeze of their fingers.

As Rye continues to babble and Katniss continues to smile, Peeta has a moment where he imagines this being their future—their everyday. He ignores the niggling feeling that this, too, would be an all-too-rare an occasion so long as he's running the nation, but the romanticization is alluring and fills him with hope. It's a new sort of effect she's having on him—hope—and looking at her and Rye, it's all he's capable of feeling.

A thrum of anxiety courses through both he and Katniss as soon as Rye comes up with the idea of taking a walk through the gardens after they've eaten breakfast and settled into the living room with a roaring fire and the morning circulars for Peeta and a game for Katniss and Rye. He doesn't want to deny his son the request—Rye is cooped up inside more than an eight year old should be—but leaving the residence means that Thresh or Thom will have to accompany them, and this little bliss of a day alone with just the two of them will end. Katniss excuses herself to change, and Peeta oversees that Rye puts on his thermals under his regular clothes. When he gets to his bedroom to change, he finds Katniss sitting on the bench at the end of his bed, her knee bouncing nervously.

"I've just realized that there isn't much hiding this anymore," she murmurs.

"There isn't much hiding anything when you're the President," Peeta sighs. "It just—well, it comes with the territory. We can still—we don't have to act as though we're… I mean, you can be there with Rye as his guard, if you prefer, and I'll just be there as his father, and no one has to be any the wiser."

"Cato and Marvel were on the door of the residence all night—they already know I never left. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before the rest know, too," Katniss says with a shake of her head.

Peeta feels guilt crash over him—Haymitch had warned him about his public image, his approval rating with the country, but he hadn't given much further thought to Katniss's reputation amongst the other agents she works with. He's certainly never meant to humiliate her.

It's almost as though she can read his thoughts for how she stands and strides up to him. She pulls his lips down to meet hers with a firm grip under his jaw, and her soft, perfect lips ensnare him to push everything else from his mind for the briefest of seconds. Of course, the guilt is still there when they surface and weighs just as heavily as before.

"If you want to go, you can," he says reluctantly. "Thresh and Thom are more than capable of keeping an eye onus."

"No. I don't want to leave you. Or him."

"I'm sorry this is such a mess."

"It's alright. You're both worth it."

It's everything he can do to not take her right back to bed for the way her words thrill him. His arms actually ache when he pulls away from her so he can dress. Thresh meets them at the elevator, and as they descend to the gardens, Peeta's fingers itch to find Katniss's. He refrains, even with the knowledge their secret is barely that anymore. He satisfies himself with simply brushing the back of his hand against hers, noticing the caress has made her skin pebble with gooseflesh, and he smirks to himself before slipping on a pair of leather gloves and taking one of Rye's mittened hands to lead their way outdoors.

A fresh layer of snow has fallen in the night and glints crystalline in the early morning sunshine. Rye runs ahead and tugs to coax Peeta to walk faster, already overzealous at being out from the enclosure of four well-secured walls. Even though it means more distance between him and Katniss, he allows himself to be pulled along with a smile on his face. He can't recall the last time he's actually had enough time to play with Rye.

Peeta had commissioned the building of a small treehouse in one of the large oak trees on the edge of the great garden for Rye last November, but the cold winter hadn't been conducive to the boy using it much. As soon as his little limbs begin scrambling up the rope ladder, Katniss has to clear her throat and remind Rye that she has to look inside first to make sure it's safe for him. Rye scowls and Peeta plucks off the boy's cap to ruffle his hair.

"Rules are rules, Duck," Peeta tells him gently.

"It's a dumb rule!" Rye whines. "No one's gonna get me in my treehouse."

"No, probably not," Peeta agrees. He's alarmed about how impervious Rye speaks about his own safety, but he does his best not to let on how much it distresses him. "It's just a thing Katniss has to check."

"Fiiiine," Rye says haughtily, before his face splits open in a grin when Katniss gives him the go-ahead. He's disappeared inside the trap door before his father can even blink.

"I'm just a few yards away, Mr. President," Thresh tells Peeta, signaling that he's checking the periphery. Peeta swears the man winks, as if to silently condone his privacy with Katniss. Whether he'd read into it wrong or not, he's grateful as he watches Katniss stare up at the treehouse, concern clearly etched on her face from being unable to see what Rye's doing.

"He's just fine, Katniss," Peeta says, gesturing to a small bench nearby. He dusts off the snow with the back of his glove before easing down onto it. He fails to suppress a wide grin when she sinks down next to him.

Their silence is amiable. Only their knees brush from time to time. And when Peeta glances over at her, her cheeks and tip of her nose rosy from the chilly breeze that circles past them, he swears no one has ever looked more lovely.

"What'll we do the rest of the week?" she says without looking at him. He finds himself almost choking on his tongue as he mulls over his reply.

"We can do whatever you'd like. All I know is that I want to spend as much time as I possibly can with you before we leave for Caledonia."

Her thumb grazes his thigh so casually that if his senses weren't so aware of her proximity, he might have missed it. Instead it makes him throb for her.

"I think that can be arranged," she says, her voice low and husky. All he wants to do is kiss her, nevermind the watchful eyes of Thresh and any other number of guards pacing around the gardens. He wets his lips and prepares to cup her face with his gloved hand when Thresh clears his throat and interrupts. Not since Finnick in the art room months prior has Peeta felt more annoyed.

"Apologies, sir. Johanna just informed me that Mr. Abernathy is en route to the mansion and would like a few minutes with you," Thresh says contritely. If Peeta were wondering if Thresh has correctly interpreted the situation at hand, he's positive now that the man's guess is dead-on.

"Of course he would," Peeta grumbles.

"Is this about the vote?" Katniss asks.

Peeta shrugs. "Maybe. When Haymitch says 'a few minutes,' he usually means at least an hour."

Rye pops his head out of the treehouse at that exact moment and scowls at his father. "Daddy, you said you didn't gotta work today!"

"Didn't have to," Peeta corrects. "And it's just a few minutes to talk to Mr. Haymitch. I'll be back before you realize I'm gone."

"If I may offer, sir," Thresh says, looking significantly between Katniss and Peeta. "I can stay with Little Duck if you need some time, and Agent Everdeen can escort you back into the mansion."

Katniss squeaks at Thresh's offer, though she says all the same, "I, ah, suppose that's fine."

"Rye, you'll mind Thresh while Katniss and I go back inside?" Peeta asks his son.

"Only if you promise to really only take a few minutes," Rye says matter-of-factly.

"I'll do my best. Katniss will be back in a little bit, and I won't take long, I promise." Peeta rises on his toes, his head just clearing the trap door of the treehouse to peck his son's cheek, and then turns back to Katniss and nods. When he looks over his shoulder, Thresh shoots them a broad smile before he folds his arms over his chest and stands to watch the child vigilantly under the tree.

"Well then," Peeta says.

Katniss laughs nervously. "I suppose there really is no going back now."

"No, I suppose not," he says before offering her the crook of his arm. She loops her own through it and they fall in perfect step as they walk back to the mansion together.

She lingers a moment at the garden entrance and wrings her hands. "If you don't think Rye will miss me for a little while, I'd like to go back to my apartment for… A change of clothes or two."

Peeta's eyes go wide. "You…you'll stay tonight as well?" he murmurs.

"If you'll have me," she says seductively and moistens her bottom lip.

He removes his glove so he can sweep his thumb delicately over that same lip and nods in approval. "I'd like that very much. And you're welcome to stay whenever you'd like."

Both want nothing more than to capture one another's mouths, but they refrain. Katniss straightens and nods him forward. "You shouldn't keep Haymitch waiting. I'll be back as soon as possible and… I'll see you later."

"I'll see you," he says with a smile, and strides into the foyer. He's got a definite spring in his step as he walks towards the Aula. He doesn't care how many pairs of agents' eyes might see him grinning like a fool, or who might have overheard their heated conversation. As soon as he takes his leave from Haymitch, he's going straight back into her arms, and the company of his son.

He can't imagine a better place to be.

Another fire laps in a different hearth, and for the sake of propriety, Peeta pulls the cashmere throw blanket from the back of the couch down over his and Katniss's naked bodies. Both of their skin is covered in a thin layer of sweat that beads every crevice, every curve, and Katniss hums gratefully for the added warmth. Their legs twine together and she shifts slightly so she's tucked into his side.

"I like this hearth better," she says. "It's real."

"There's some reason for the synthetic fire in the bedroom—but I like this better, too." His lips graze her hairline and he breathes her in—she smells of musk and sweetness and sex. She's utterly radiant. When she ghosts her thumb over one of his pebbled nipples and rears back, he realizes she's moving to stand. He holds her fast so she can't.

"Stay," he says.

"I don't have clothes for tomorrow if I stay tonight," she argues with a small laugh.

"You should have brought more then. Stay." He doesn't care that he's resorting to begging.

"I figured that'd be presumptuous," she murmurs.

She has stayed the past four nights. She's woken up with him when Effie's placed his wake-up calls, taken breakfast and tea with him, then had been the one to get Rye ready for school. She's been there when he's returned from the Aula, even when Rye's already asleep, and they've eaten supper together before racing to his bed. Their coupling has varied—from desperate and hurried against the bathroom vanity one morning after a shared shower, to celebratory and wild after his Caledonia measure passed the Parliament floor, to slow, rhythmic, and sensual here on the couch long after Rye has been tucked into bed. The more often he has her, the more desperately he craves her. Surely she must understand that.

"It's not. I told you—I want you to be here," he says before kissing her firmly.

She still seems reluctant, so he pulls her head down to rest on his chest and combs his fingers through her hair. "I'll figure out the wash cycle and clean the clothes you have with you. Although I admit, I like you better naked anyway."

She pinches his side playfully and laughs before he pleads again. "Stay with me, Katniss. Please."

She sighs, then her lips press against his steadily and she relaxes. Knowing she'll spend another night in his arms sets him at ease enough that he drifts off to sleep.

The dingy, sepia-toned streets of Twelve are lined with protesters. Men with coal permanently staining their fingernails and in the lines on their faces hold banners and signs. They're shouting, chanting, screaming phrases of revolution and demands of justice to anyone who'll listen. And Peeta is lost amongst them, desperately seeking out a Peacekeeper who'll help him find Rye.

The crowd begins to press in on him so that he's caught in the swelling sea of bodies. He screams Rye's name at the top of his lungs, but it gets lost in the din. He claws his way out, desperate for escape, for sunlight, for reprieve from the bitterly cold air that stings his lungs when he can manage a deep enough breath. He wails Rye's name again, but that's when the bullets pierce the air, silencing the crowd for a moment before their chanting morphs into screams of terror. In that moment, he braces himself, prepared to die, because it'd be better to die than lose the one person he loves above all others.

Another body tackles him. His shoulder slams into the dusty concrete hard enough to drive gravel into his skin. He hisses in pain, and despite the hands covering his scalp and face being distinctly male, he hears a female voice calling his name.

"Peeta."

"Peeta…?"

"Peeta!"

He's shaken awake, his taut limbs protesting how they've been flexed. He's frozen still and chilled to the bone, but gradually the chill dissipates and his body relaxes. Katniss's warm hands cup his face and draw his mouth to hers. He shudders against her and wraps his arms around her, craving her comfort above all else.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He really is. He despises waking her when his nightmares hit—it's been an all-too-often occurrence this week.

"Shhh," she returns. "It's okay. You're okay."

He recalls his dream as she holds him, and it strikes him that in it, he didn't know which Rye he was looking for—his son or his brother. He trails his fingertips down Katniss's spine and shifts her off of him. He can't go looking for his brother, of course, but he can check on his son.

Once he's content that Rye is sound asleep and hopefully dreaming far more pleasant dreams, Peeta returns to Katniss. The throw blanket is wrapped around her where she sits; it falls down and bares her breasts when she reaches for him. He curls against her, her turgid nipples and silky skin helping to ground him in place as they kiss slowly.

"What did you dream about?" she asks tenderly when he pulls away and leans against the couch to stare at the fire. "Maybe if you talk about it, it'll help."

He shakes his head. His nightmares are the last thing he wants to give voice to.

She kisses his face—a pattern starting under his ear, roaming across his jaw, temple, forehead, eyelids, down the slope of his nose, and finally finding his lips. "I'll… I'll tell you mine, if you'd like."

Sometimes, as she's lain in his arms in the dead of night, she'll begin to thrash and strain against him. But if he tightens his arms around her and murmurs into her ear, she stops, so he's never given much thought beyond that. But of course she'd have nightmares, too.

"You don't have to do that…"

"My sister was always ill as a child, do you remember me telling you that?" she says anyway. "Once we moved to Five, she got better. My mother believed that her lungs couldn't handle the coal dust in Twelve, and once we were away from it, they patched themselves up a bit. She was never really cured, of course, but for a lot of years, she was at least better. She'd spent so much of her childhood sick that when she ought to have started developing properly as a teenager she was…stunted. My mother opted to put her on a hormone regimen—but we could only get it from one place."

She swallows hard, and Peeta trails his knuckles down the side of her face. She shakes the caress away and clears her throat. "The, ah… The apothecary in Five and my mother didn't get along. When we moved to the District, she started seeing patients out of our home, because she knew all sorts of natural remedies and it was much cheaper for people than his prices were. More than once he accused her of 'stealing his business'. But by the time my sister was older, we figured he'd gotten over it. We had to get the hormones through him, and at first we didn't think anything of it. And then, she began to get sick all over again."

"Oh, Katniss…" Peeta says as he tries to pull her close, but she rejects his embrace. She swipes under her eyes angrily and shakes her head.

"We should have put two-and-two together sooner. Or my mother should have. She should have known. So my nightmares are watching Prim take poison day after day without my mother stopping her, because we're certain now that's what the apothecary was giving her. Watching her waste away. Yelling at the Peacekeepers about what that man must have done, even though we couldn't prove it, didn't even think of it until after they'd taken her body away. And hearing over and over: 'There's nothing we can do without evidence.' That's what I dream about."

The emotion in her voice is palpable, but it's not just sadness—it's pain, longing, anger, and regret. The day they met comes rushing back to Peeta: of her saying she'd gone to Peacekeeper training to find out more about the system that failed her sister. He sighs heavily and licks his lips. "Then… I suppose we're in the same place. Mine are always about the people I've lost, too."

There's an edge to Katniss's voice when she asks, "Your wife?" He refuses to let her pull away when he scoots closer to her and forces their gazes to meet with a nudge of his thumb. He presses the pad into her lips, silently reminding her that hers are the only lips he now longs for, but still he nods.

"Sometimes Madge, yes. Sometimes my mother. Or my big brother. Lately Boggs. And Gale."

She doesn't mean to, he can tell, but she flinches at Gale's name. He believes that she doesn't hold him accountable for Gale's death—she's told him so and he has no reason to doubt it—but he can't help but wonder if maybe, like she and Madge, it's simply easier for him and Gale to not occupy the same space in her brain.

"You mean the shooting?" she asks.

"Yes. Or the Uprising in Twelve. And sometimes, like tonight? Sometimes they're the same event combined. That's what I dream about."

She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes. Her defenses drop and she doesn't stop him from gathering her in his arms. He peppers her face with kisses and they melt together all over again.

"No matter what I dream about," he says after several quiet, charged moments, "it's always easier when I wake up and you're here."

"Then I suppose I should stay and help keep them away. Because mine aren't as bad when I'm with you, either."

A thought hits him hard and fast, and he brushes his fingers along his lips as he mulls it over. "All his life, Rye's had nightmares, too," he tells her. "I assumed that he got it from me—that somehow my demons entered his head and wreaked havoc on his imagination. But…" He pauses and thinks long and hard. He knows he's correct. "He hasn't had a single one since you came into our lives, Katniss. And even when he won't tell me what they're about, he's always told me when he has them."

Katniss's eyes flash. "That's...extraordinary."

"I don't think it is," he objects. "I… I think it might be a sign."

They stare at one another pensively for a long moment, an unasked question lingering between them when the very subject he's just spoken of interrupts them. Rye's face is peeking around the living room entryway, and Peeta silently congratulates himself on mostly dressing before he'd gotten up, and being imposing enough to block the child's view of Katniss's still naked form.

"Daddy? My tummy doesn't feel good…" Rye whimpers. Before he pulls away, Peeta adjusts the throw around Katniss, and then strides over to pick up his son and feel his head for fever. It's slightly warm, but not disconcertingly so, and Peeta tucks him under his chin to cart him off to the kitchen for some ginger seltzer water, looking back at Katniss contritely as he goes. But she's already pulling her clothes back on, and by the time he has Rye perched on the island and pours him a glass, she's followed them into the kitchen. Rye brightens considerably when he sees her. With her prompting, he doesn't whine once about the taste of the seltzer.

"Are you staying with my daddy again tonight, Katniss?" he asks. His face falls for a split second when she nods, and Peeta tweaks his knee with his thumb and forefinger.

"Typically when Rye doesn't feel good, he stays in my room with me," Peeta explains to Katniss, imploring her with his eyes.

She smiles and rubs the little boy's back lightly. "That's okay with me. It's a big bed."

Rye's smile stretches all the way across his face, as does Peeta's at her insinuation. He scoops the boy up and offers Katniss his hand as they head towards his bedroom. She dresses in her night clothes first and crawls into bed with a snuggled-down Rye, whispering to him with a smile on her face when Peeta turns on his heel to step into the bathroom for a quick shower. He dresses in his own pajamas and slips back into the bedroom; before he flips off the light, he spies Katniss and Rye with their heads pressed together on the pillow she's made hers, and he smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.

He continues to stare at them in the darkness, slightly overcome with what they both make him feel. As his eyes adjust, he sees her eyes flutter open as well, and another broad smile crosses her face. He settles in closer to them, and when his hand comes to rest on Rye's chest, her fingers curl together with his. So as not to wake the sleeping boy between them, they don't kiss goodnight—Peeta can't help but think silently that if he plays his cards right, this might only be the first night of his life he falls asleep like this. And if so, he might well be in for hundreds of nights without nightmares.

"Everything seems to be in order, Mr. President," Haymitch says as he taps the small stack of papers on Peeta's desk and slips them into a manila envelope. "And there's been no further buzz from Parliament about a recall vote. I think Coin's finally figured out she's been beaten."

Peeta smiles. "Alright then. I suppose that wraps us for the day?"

"I think so." Haymitch nods.

"Excellent. Then I'll see you tomorrow evening on the hovercraft."

"Thank you, sir," Haymitch says. When Haymitch offers few words, Peeta knows his mentor is proud. He smiles to himself as he buzzes Effie, asking her to fetch Finnick as soon as possible. He traces the crayon lines of one of Rye's drawings under the glass on his desk with his fingernail while he waits for Finnick to appear. Peeta motions to the couches in the middle of the Aula when he arrives.

"I'm sorry you won't be making the trip with us, Finnick," Peeta says as he crosses his foot over his thigh.

"As am I, sir, but I appreciate your being so understanding of the situation. And I'm sure Beetee is looking forward to being present for this excursion," Finnick says.

"Well, it might have been eight years ago, but I can understand not wanting to be an ocean away in the days before your child is due. How's Annie holding up?" Peeta says with an affectionate smile.

"You know Annie, sir. She's a bit heavy on her feet, but it's nothing she didn't go through with Noah. I probably shouldn't hold out much hope of ever convincing her to have another child, though," Finnick laughs. His dimpled smirk belies how excited he is to be a father again, and Peeta feels a twang of jealousy. He'd always craved a house full of children, but the pain of losing Madge like he did was too much for too long, and by the time it finally wasn't, he was too wrapped up in his work and raising Rye to entertain even the notion of dating.

Until Katniss, of course. And that's why he's asked Finnick here.

"Finnick, I… Well, I need some advice from you. Professionally, of course, but also personally."

Finnick's eyes go wide. "Is something the matter, sir?"

"No, no. On the contrary—everything is quite wonderful."

With careful and respectful words, Peeta explains to his friend and advisor about the situation with Katniss: how he knew her as children in Twelve, but forgot about her once she and her family disappeared after the Uprising. How patient and kind and affectionate she is with Rye. And then as gentlemanly as possible, he explains how they've become lovers, and have no intention of ending things between them anytime soon. As he speaks, it's not difficult to see how Finnick is grinning at him.

"You look like you're dying to say something," Peeta says. "Go ahead."

"Oh, it's nothing, sir," Finnick laughs. "Beetee owes me money, that's all."

"Oh, cripes," Peeta says with a laugh of his own.

"Apologies, Mr. President—but the way you and Agent Everdeen look at one another, the chemistry between you—well, something like this was always going to happen. I just knew it."

"So I've been told. But now that it has, I've come to realize that it won't be her and my secret forever. And furthermore, I don't want it to be. After we get back from Caledonia, and after Annie resumes her duty—if she does, of course—or helps me find a replacement guard for Rye, I have every intention of asking Katniss to…"

He trails off, because despite knowing he never wants to let Katniss go, he's not sure what exactly he'll be asking her. To live with them? To marry him? To simply never leave his side?

"I think she and I belong together," Peeta backtracks. "And in the meantime, I think it's important that it not look like I've been hiding anything about my personal life—even if I do happen to think that it's not anyone else's business."

"The public and the press will make it their business, sir. I can promise you that," Finnick says.

"I realize that. I wanted you to be amongst the first to know, since I'll be needing you to—"

"Spin it," Finnick finishes for him. "Of course, sir. While you're away I'll come up with some ways of breaking the news to the media that will provide as much privacy as possible."

"It's going to be a shock to her," Peeta says. "Katniss isn't very… Well, I think she'll be needing an ally of sorts."

"I think I can help there as well. It won't be an easy transition, but if she's as resilient as you are, it'll be just fine."

Peeta's worried about this very thing—her resiliency. He has chosen a career in the public sector, knowing full well he'd be privy to scrutiny and invasion of his privacy and limitations to his free time and free will. It's something she'll have to come to terms with if there's a future for them, but he can't deny being worried that it'll be too much for her. But he thinks of how fiercely protective she is of his son and how Rye always seems happier when she's nearby. And Rye isn't the only one—Peeta himself has never felt safer or more cared for than when Katniss is with him. Recalling these things calms him and puts a confident smile on his face.

"I trust you'll keep this confidential until the proper time, Finnick?"

"Of course, Mr. President. Though if I may ask—who else knows?"

"Ah, let's see: Haymitch sussed us out pretty quick. Delly was the first. I believe the residence guards and Thresh and Thom know. And Rye, of course."

At this Finnick whistles. "How'd he take it?"

"Rye thinks Katniss hangs the moon," Peeta says proudly.

Finnick nods, but is clearly considering something. He speaks tentatively. "Do forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, sir, but—are you concerned at all that once you make things official that she'll be willing and able to take on the role of First Lady? It wouldn't be appropriate for your sister to hold the mantle any longer—is she prepared for that? And furthermore, does she grasp the magnitude of what it will be like to take on the role of being a mother to a young child?"

Peeta purses his lips. "If I know anything about Katniss Everdeen, Finnick, it's that she shouldn't be underestimated."

"Of course, Mr. President," Finnick says.

"Peeta."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

Peeta snorts. "I just gave you the nitty-gritty about my love life, Finnick. I think when it's just you and me, you can call me 'Peeta'."

Finnick shifts a bit, smiling despite reluctance written all over his face. "Is there anything else?"

"No, I want to get up to the residence. Rye wasn't feeling too well last night, and I want to see if he's feeling better. And you should head home as well, seeing as you'll be holding this place down while I'm away. Tell Annie I said hello and that she should rest plenty for her sake and the baby's. And when we get back, we'll set something up for Rye and Noah to have an afternoon together."

"I'm sure Noah would love that. Thank you, Mr. President," Finnick says, blatantly ignoring Peeta's request. It'd been a long shot that Finnick would actually heed his request, and Peeta knows it. But he'd had to at least try.

Once Finnick is gone, Peeta flips his coat on over his head. As he reaches for the door handle, a small electrical shock surges through his hand and makes the hair on his arm stand on end. He shakes his wrist and mutters a curse as he glances upwards at the domed glass ceiling of the Aula—though the sky has already begun to darken for dusk, there's a steely color to the remaining blue of daylight.

"You ought to head home soon, Effie," he says to his assistant as he strides toward the elevator. "It looks as though a storm is brewing."

"Of course, Mr. President. Do rest well, you've a big, big, big day tomorrow!" Effie chirps.

"Thanks. Good night," he says as the elevator doors separate them.

He expects to see Katniss when he walks into the residence these days, but not seeing Rye is unusual, particularly for this early in the evening. She looks up at him from the circular she holds in her hands and smiles sheepishly.

"Rye started running a fever at school. I brought him home early and put him to bed. I'm sorry, I should have called you…"

Peeta's heart wrenches at the thought of taking a sick little boy on a hovercraft journey across the ocean. "No, you did what I would have told you to do. He really went to sleep all on his own?"

"I, ah… Please don't be upset…"

"Why would I be?" His face contorts with confusion.

"I put a couple of drops of sleep syrup in the ginger seltzer before I gave it to him to calm his stomach."

Peeta begins to laugh. "And I'd be lying if I told you that Delly and I haven't done the same thing before." He gathers her in his arms and kisses her soundly as his remaining apprehension about Katniss as a caregiver begins to drift away. "I'm not upset at all. Hopefully if he sleeps soundly enough, he'll be all right for the trip tomorrow."

"And if he isn't…?"

Peeta sighs. "I'm not sure. I haven't thought of that yet," he admits.

She runs her fingers through his hair and along his shoulders; he can feel the tension leaving his body all at once and smiles at her in silent gratitude.

"You're staying again tonight?" It's not really a question.

"It'll be our last for a while… Won't it?"

He nods sadly. At least until they return home. "I suspect so."

She leans forward and brushes his lips over hers. "Well… I suppose we ought to make the most of it."

He groans involuntarily, wondering what cunning thing she has planned with such an impish smile affixed to her face. She pats his cheek lightly and turns on her toe.

"Give me five minutes," she says. "Then come in the bedroom."

She may as well have said five hours. He paces the living room, running his hand along the frame of The Oxbow, and gulps hard when he finally treads towards the bedroom. The room is dimly lit as he lets himself in; when he turns from locking the door behind him and his eyes find her, he's nearly slain in place.

She's leaning against the door frame of the en suite, and to say she looks stunning would be a vast understatement. She's nearly naked, but not quite. Her panties and bra are matching black lace, and the thigh-high sheer black stockings are suspended from hooks on a garter belt. Her regular, simple, black Peacekeeper shoes have been replaced with shiny pumps. Best of all, her hair hangs kinked and glossy around her shoulders.

"Fuck, Katniss…" he gurgles. He'd never expect her to be the sort of woman own lingerie—not that he's complaining. He begins to remove his jacket, but she shakes her head and strides toward him.

"Let me," she purrs as she trails her fingernails down his chest. She hooks into the knot of his tie and tugs; the scrap of silk is unceremoniously tossed over her shoulder before she leans forward and hungrily claims his mouth. All Peeta can process is the feeling of her lips slanting over his, her tongue darting along his soft palate, and her thong-clad center radiating impossible heat against his already-tented trousers as she works his jacket tortuously down his arms.

She's utterly merciless with how long she takes undressing him. She slips the buttons of his shirt through their holes as though they're fragile, and slides his belt out his belt loops with a gradual gentle whisper of leather against fabric. He tries to cover her hands with his own when she works the fastenings of his pants, but she growls into his mouth until his hands return to rest on her waist. He kneads her skin with roaming fingertips, digging his nails in once or twice until she whimpers, though it seems to only make her want to draw out the torment of undressing him that much longer. His fingers ghost up her sides to linger over the cups of her bra for only a second before she's kneeling in front of him, slipping his trousers down over his knees and coaxing him to lift one foot at a time out of his shoes. He grows impatient and grasps a handful of her hair when she tickles the arch of his now bare left foot. He swears he hears her cackle in return.

"I don't think we have to rush this, do you?" she says, her voice honeyed.

His own voice catches in his throat when she places a feather-light kiss near his navel above the waistband of his shorts, and another on the flesh of his thigh. His grip on her hair releases, and instead he rakes his fingers through her tresses tenderly, gazing down at her to watch her working just a bit more diligently than before.

When he's bare but all of his underwear, she returns to standing and takes him by the hand. Her ass flexes in all the right ways, the hooks and garter straining just so as she sashays toward his bed. When she reaches the foot bench, she perches on the edge and pulls him by his last scrap of clothing toward her before palming him delicately through the fabric.

"You're going to ruin me," he mumbles as she hooks her fingers into the waistband and slowly tugs them down. His cock bobs and strains as soon as she releases it, then twitches almost painfully when he spies her actually licking her lips at the sight. When his shorts pool around his ankles, he sweeps them away with the side of his left foot and shivers as her fingernails graze his sides just firmly enough to leave pinks tracks in their wake.

"No, sir," she insists cheekily, "I'd never dream of it."

He could beg to differ, but she sits up high on her haunches and presses her lips into the middle of his stomach. Her quicksilver eyes gaze up at him adoringly as she peppers his belly with delicate kisses, trailing the slight indentations of his abs with the tip of her tongue as she rounds her spine out and takes his cock in her hand. Her tongue laves from his sac to weeping tip before she whorls her tongue around the head and pulls him in between her lips. He bellows her name just a bit too loudly as he cheeks suck in and her head begins to bob; he swallows hard and the second time, his tone is tremulous, but at least quieter. Her tongue laps at the swollen tip when she nearly lets him drop from her mouth before drawing him back with a wet suck. His fingers rove down her back and tangle hopelessly in the thin band of her bra to work at the hook enclosure. The effort of trying not to come hard down her throat as she teases and suckles and gropes him, and unhook the clasp is almost too much, but he manages. He brushes her hair back from her face and caresses her scalp as the scrap of satin and lace glides down her arms, all the while her mouth never stopping its delicious work.

"Katniss…" he grunts finally when his toes are curling and his knees are quaking, "s-stop, or I'll…!"

The heat at the base of his spine almost rips forth anyway when she pulls away, panting as she gnaws on the corner of her swollen bottom lip. The breath he pulls into his lungs is sharp but calming, and he falls to his knees partially from no longer being able to stand, but also to sample her lips, the silky column of her throat, the slightly flushed skin of her chest, and finally her puckered nipples that strain until he captures one with his mouth.

"Yes," she mewls, her head falling back. Her breasts fit perfectly in his palms as he pushes her back towards the foot of the bed, where she props herself on her elbows to watch him descend down her belly. Her skin is dewy and slightly salty as the tip of his tongue circles her navel and his hands work into the barely-there scrap of lace stretched over her hips before nudging them down. He grunts in frustration when the thong catches on the hooks that hold up her stockings, and she sits up to help him remove them before he bats her hand away.

"Can't we… leave them?" he asks, hopefulness replacing irritation. She smirks at him as though she'd expected the request, and simply unclips the little things briefly so he can rid her of her panties before rehooking them for him. As he nudges her thighs apart with the palms of his hands, he makes a sly murmured joke about the waste of such a pretty garment before tossing her stocking-clad legs over his shoulders and surging his face in between her thighs. Her legs snap around his ears like a trigger trap with the first few merciless laps of his tongue against her clit, and he puffs against her to relax her before working into a rhythm all over again. He peers up her torso, and her hooded, dilated eyes lock with his. It's an effort for her to keep them open, he can tell, but their gaze doesn't falter, even when he slips his middle finger into her seeping opening.

"Yes, Peeta…" she pants. "Yes!"

He grins wolfishly to himself before mauling her clit with his mouth, sucking the hooded bud in between his lips and nibbling it gently as his finger curls inside her. Her face contorts in seemingly a thousand ways, all more beautiful than the last as she pierces him with her stare and he pushes her further and further towards the edge. The heeled point of her shoes bury into the flesh of his back whenever he slows, harder and harder until he resumes his pace, and his chin is quickly coated in musky rivulets of her as he drinks her in. It's a second finger and a buzzing, nearly numbed tip of his tongue flicking against her unyieldingly that finally coaxes a strangled cry from the back of her throat; then her hips buck hard against his face in completion and she slumps back onto the mattress, gasping for a deep breath. He wipes his chin and mouth with the back of his hand and stands—in an instant he's swept her into his arms and is walking around the side of the bed to lay her down.

He hovers over her, their legs intertwined until he props himself off to her left side and roams his hand across her feverish skin. She's still panting from her high when he leans down to kiss her softly until she's caught her breath. She laces her fingers into his curls to bring him down closer to her. Without breaking their kiss, he grips the crook of her left knee and bends and pivots it off to the right, twisting her spine gently so her rear juts against his erection. His arm slides under her neck and their kiss ends with a soft pop.

"Is this alright?" he says, twitching his hips so the head of his cock glides through her damp folds. Her jaw falls slack and she nods enthusiastically.

"Please, take me now," she keens.

He takes his cock in his hand at her sweet words and guides himself inside her, already trembling when he feels himself encased by her slick walls. He's lost track of how many times he's moved inside her in the past week, but every time the first couple of thrusts are completely euphoric. He curves his body into hers and cups her breast with his hand as he steadily begins to slide in and out.

Instead of their lips meeting again, their eyes do. Her silver irises are thin rings around inky pupils, and her plump lips form words he cannot hear. The way her features screw up with every roll of his hips makes Peeta contemplate things he shouldn't be thinking about—but that phrase is at the forefront of his mind, and he realizes that it's only a matter of time before it comes tumbling across his lips.

"Katniss…" he struggles, his voice thick in his throat, "Katniss, I…"

He must hit the right spot inside of her for how her eyes suddenly clench closed and she throws her left thigh over his hip. It lets him plunge deeper inside her, and his hand abandons her breast for her stockinged leg as the sheer silk against his skin causes his brain to grow cloudy. She reaches up to twine her fingers with his on the arm under her head, and her moans of pleasure are guttural and hoarse.

"Peeta… Peeta, touch me," she begs, her timbre unmistakably that of someone desperate for another release. The words he'd almost spoken are still stewing in his brain as his fingertips comb through the thatch of curls between her thighs and find where they're joined. He can feel her pulse pound when his fingers circle her clit and press in, but she yowls in ecstasy and distracts him from them yet again.

"Shhh…" he breathes into her ear, "we can't wake—"

His thought is lost when she clamps down hard around his cock, and he knows this is the beginning of their undoing. He arches his mouth over hers, and their collective wails as they plummet towards the edge are muffled. The more she grinds her hips into his hand, the more licentious his fingers become, plucking and and flicking her clit with abandon and coaxing colorful words from her vocal chords that all get lost in his mouth. He's overcome with how tight she is, how wet she is, how he seems to fit so perfectly inside her that before any other thought can infiltrate his brain, he comes inside her with a frantic but muted cry. He pounds into her a handful more times before he can control his hand in order to rub her to completion. Her body tenses and quivers just a moment later, and he slumps, utterly sated, against her. He gasps into her hair as she cradles his head with her hands, and kisses his damp brow as she sighs through her own recovery.

After several long minutes, his softened cock slips out of her, and he's able to prop himself up on his elbow to look down at her. Her eyes have fluttered closed, but a resplendent smile adorns her face. He presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, making her stir and look up at him.

"You're so beautiful when you smile like that," he murmurs, sweeping his fingertips along the curve of her jaw. She rolls her eyes and shifts until she's laying flush against him so she can bury her face in his chest. He shakes her slightly, coaxing her to look up at him again. "Katniss, please, I'm trying to…"

She looks expectant as he pauses, pursing his lips for just another moment before he knows what to say and how to say it. And then, curled between their damp bodies, her communicuff trills softly and silences him again.

"Sorry," she mutters, rolling away to swipe her finger over the tiny device and silence it. "It's been glitchy all afternoon with the storm..."

He tries not to notice the communicuff when they're lying together, because it reminds him too much of the technical line drawn between them of protector and protected. But still, she's never once taken it off all week out of obligation, and while it has seldom buzzed for her attention while they're in one another's arms, he'd still love nothing more than to slip it from her wrist and toss it across the room.

"Katniss, would you ever… step down? From your position? For real?" he asks hesitantly.

"You've ah… You've asked me that before," she says, squirming uncomfortably.

"That was different, and we both—" He swipes his palm over his face and rolls onto his back. This isn't how this was supposed to end up sounding at all. "It's just that I thought if we were to—"

An incredible flash of light pierces the dim room and a rolling clang of thunder follows not too long afterwards. It's as though the heavens themselves are trying to stop Peeta from saying the words in any way but bluntly, and his heart is simply pounding far too hard in his chest for that to be an option. He sits up quickly, running his hand down Katniss's confused face, and nods towards the door.

"I ought to go check on Rye, in case that woke him," Peeta tells her. He scurries into the bathroom to grab a robe before slipping through the room and into the hallway. More thunder rolls outside the mansion's thick walls, and another flash of light penetrates even the thick curtains in his child's room when he enters. Rye grunts and rolls over, but when Peeta perches on the side of his bed to feel his forehead, he can tell his son is still asleep. He's tangled a bit in his sheets and Maysi has fallen on the floor from his movements; Peeta props the stuffie between his son and the wall instead, and smoothes the blankets around him before pressing his palm to his forehead. It's dappled with sweat and Peeta's instantly relieved—hopefully a bit more sleep is all he'll need to feel nearly right in the morning. He knows if it comes to it, he can leave Rye with Delly while he travels, but Rye not coming means no Katniss either, and the thought of both deflates him.

All the more reason to just tell her already, you great dope, he thinks to himself. He bends forward and pecks his son's temple before returning to his room, hell-bent on finally explaining himself to the woman who's now redressed herself and is perched on the foot of his bed.

"It's still early," she says, pulling her legs up under her chin and smiling at him. "Is there… I know tomorrow will be busy with preparing for the flight, but we don't have to turn in early, do we?"

He cocks his eyebrow. "You'll have to give me more than just a couple of minutes, you know."

A bemused grin spreads across her face. "Not that...yet. It'll sound silly, but I've been here for hours and hours sitting with Rye, and—well, I can see how he starts to feel sort of cooped up in here. Though I suppose we don't have much choice with the weather."

As if on cue, the room illuminates with lightning and Peeta braces for the thunder clap. A thought occurs to him, and he holds up a finger before disappearing into his closet to dress properly. "I've an idea, then," he says, grasping her hand and leading her into the foyer.

She hesitates when they get to the front door. Peeta realizes that she may well have never crossed its threshold wearing anything but her official uniform, and usually hand-in-hand with Rye. The guards who stand outside the doors certainly will have noticed the infrequency of her actually leaving this past week, but her leaving with him, with neither of them dressed in any sort of official way will all but verify any suspicions the pair of men might have.

"You know as well as I do they're under obligation to be discreet," he says reassuringly.

"I know, but… they'll look at me funny."

"Ignore them. They look at me funny all the time."

"I work with them," she presses. "They look at you because you're the President. They'll be looking at me like I'm…"

Peeta feels dejected. "Please don't let it affect you, Katniss. It'll pass in time."

"I suppose," she says reluctantly, and follows him through the door.

Peeta nods at one of the guards—taller, ganglier, and brunette—and informs them they'll only be a short while, and that Rye is fast asleep inside. Both nod tersely, and the other—brutish and blonde and intimidating—locks the door as Peeta and Katniss step onto the elevator. Katniss's cheeks are ruddy, and he pulls her into his side for the short ascent.

"That wasn't so bad, right?" he says. She won't look at him as she sighs and shrugs her shoulders. He laces her fingers with his own.

"I'm just not like you yet," she says timidly. "I'm not used to being looked at. And when I am, it's not really me they're looking at—it's Rye."

"It's not really me they're looking at, either. It's the title."

The elevator dings and he nudges her forward. "Come on," he coaxes. "This will—well, I think you'll enjoy this."

Peeta's wondered ever since he saw Katniss shoot the bow and arrow at Gale's funeral how she manages to be so skilled at something so exacting. It doesn't surprise him in the slightest that she can outshoot him when it comes to the regal dart board hung in Haymitch's office, even though he can tell that at first, she was holding back. A solid kiss on the mouth and a gentle reminder that he hates pandering caused her to show her full hand, as it were, and ever since, she's landed bulls-eye after bulls-eye while his own flyers find their ways to the middle, but not dead-center rings.

"So is this what you do during those late nights down here?" Katniss says coyly as she yanks the darts out and returns to their shooting point. He finally hits the bulls-eye before the next dart nearly embeds itself into the wooden outlay and shakes his head.

"If I did, I'd clearly be better at it than I am. Last time I played—" Peeta begins, trailing off when he realizes that the last time he and Haymitch had used the board, he'd lost the game after the mentor had repeatedly mentioned Katniss by name. Peeta wonders if even back then Haymitch didn't already know what was bound to happen, just like Finnick apparently did. "Well, it's been collecting dust for several months now."

"I don't think anything in this entire building ever collects dust," Katniss says.

"I'll grant you that."

She wins another game, and the rumbling of thunder outside echoes even louder now that they're on the top level of the mansion, so close to the domed glass roof of the Aula. Peeta knows they shouldn't take too much longer, that it's only a matter of time before a clap of thunder really does wake Rye, and the poor thing and his stuffed cat go searching about the residence for he and Katniss. But watching Katniss shoot, so fully in her element even when it's just a simple dart game has him proposing "just one more rematch" for the second time.

At least I'm not dumb enough to propose anything else, he thinks.

"If Rye isn't well by morning, will you still take him to Caledonia?" Katniss asks, invading his peaceful revelry.

"I shouldn't, I realize. Delly hates it enough that I want to take him out of the country for the second time. I could only imagine the tizzy she'd be in if she felt his forehead before we boarded the hovercraft."

"She, ah… She's very protective of him," Katniss observes. There's something in her voice, though, and Peeta has a hard time placing it. Is it bitterness?

"She's the only mother he's ever had. And he might be the closest thing she'll ever have to a child of her own, thanks to me," Peeta replies.

"How so?"

"There aren't a heap of eligible bachelors looking to hunker down with the acting First Lady and her entire Secret Service guard. Or so she's mentioned to me more than once when I've done something to really frustrate her."

He watches Katniss fiddle with the end of her hair, pulled back again into her signature braid. He'd love nothing more than to release the elastic, as he so often does, but it wouldn't do to get too carried away in Haymitch's office, even with the Aula and Adyton just a few short strides away.

"Has Delly said something to you to upset you at all?" Peeta asks, placing his hand over hers when she lines up a shot.

"No! Not at all… She's been, well… nothing but supportive, really."

"I hoped so. I just wasn't sure why you were asking."

Peeta hopes he knows why she was asking. But she won't meet his eyes, even after a cannonade of thunder makes them both pause and look up at the ceiling. The storm is getting worse, closer, and Rye really will wake any moment. But he doesn't want to lose this moment if he can help it.

"I think he'd be disappointed if he couldn't go, that's all," Katniss says when all is quiet again. "Sick or not. He wants to be with you more than anything. More than anyone, really."

"I want that too. And if he doesn't go, you don't go and—well, then I'd be disappointed in more than one way."

The color on Katniss's cheeks glows hot for just a moment until she tosses her flyers on the end table nearby with a clatter. She throws her arms around his neck and presses her mouth hotly to his own, writhing against him all over again like a woman who knows exactly what she wants. It would seem fortuitous, then, that the room suddenly be plunged into utter darkness, if not for both of the lovers knowing that the lights should never go out in the mansion for any reason at all, even as an electrical storm rages outside.

It's just a moment before the back-up generator kicks on and they're bathed in light again, albeit dimmer than the lights before. Peeta doesn't allow her to spin out of his arms before kissing her again and growling lowly, "We ought to check on Rye. And then I think I need to have you once or twice more before Delly gets home and spoils all our fun."

"Y-Yes," she pants.

They put the dart board back as they found it and walk hand-in-hand back to the elevator. Peeta stabs the button for the residence floor with his knuckle and presses her back against the elevator wall with fervor before insinuating his knee between her thighs and smoothing it against her center. She lets her head fall back against the wall with a thump, and as if on cue, the elevator lurches to a stop and they're again ensconced in darkness.

It would be extraordinary for a storm, even a powerful one, to knock out the mansion's main power-supply and the back-up generator. Peeta steps away from Katniss and finds the button panel on the wall and punches in the code Gale had made him memorize for just such a strange emergency that's supposed to trigger the elevator to return to its original floor immediately. The override doesn't work, and Peeta wills himself not to panic despite claustrophobia quickly taking him over.

A tiny light emits from the device around Katniss's wrist, and she shines it on the panel to type in her own code. Still nothing happens, and Peeta wonders if the elevator plummeting to the floor below would actually kill them outright, or simply paralyze them both.

"Are you alright?" she asks, as though she can sense how tightly he's clenching his jaw.

"I, ah, don't much care for small spaces, really," he admits.

She pushes another button on her communicuff and identifies herself by name and rank, stating "Mockingjay is secure but the central elevator is inoperable," before asking for Cato and Marvel to respond. When she doesn't even receive the usual crackle of static back, she presses it again and calls for any agent to respond at once. It would appear that, like the elevator, her communicuff is dead.

Peeta pinches the bridge of his nose hard and tries to remember to breathe. Katniss continues to push buttons on the elevator panel and try her communicuff, and Peeta tersely thinks about Haymitch's favorite saying about the definition of insanity when, as quickly as the lift had seized up and the lights disappeared, it moves and is bright once more. It might have been a minute, maybe two, but for Peeta, it seemed like a short eternity.

"Hey… Hey, it's alright," Katniss says, trailing her fingertips down the sides of his face. His tongue is thick and dry in his mouth, like he's swallowed sand.

"It's silly, I'm sure, but when I was young, my brothers and I used to play Hide and Seek, and one time—"

He's cut off when the elevator doors slide open and out of the corner of his eye, he sees what he swears is a spray of red paint across the ivory-colored foyer wall. His eyes trail downwards, and he grows instantly dizzy when he sees the crumpled body of Agent Marvel lying in a pool of blood so large that he's not sure a human being could possibly hold so much in their body.

Katniss springs to action so fast his head spins even harder. "Get in the residence now!" she commands, drawing a weapon and pushing him forward and along the far wall towards the double doors to avoid the pool. He hears groans and a gruff, scratchy male voice call out to Katniss, but she puts her hand on the back of his neck to keep him facing forward as she pushes him through the ajar doors and into his home. These doors should never be ajar, he thinks, bile rising up in his throat.

"Secure M-Mockingjay—shouldn't have left your m-marr—" the voice of Agent Cato trails off as Katniss shoves Peeta through the doors the rest of the way and bolts them behind her. He stands paralyzed for a moment as if he's waiting for something. He is waiting for something, he realizes. He's waiting to hear a simpering little voice cry out for his daddy, and when the sound doesn't come…

"Rye!" Peeta roars, finally regaining the use of his legs. He nearly trips over his own feet as he plows through the door of Rye's room, not caring in the slightest that he'll startle the child awake and have to deal with confused, just-rudely-awakened tears.

The sheets of his bed are torn back, and Maysi the stuffed cat is lying face down on the carpet in the middle of the room.

"Rye!" he screams again, bolting from the bedroom and down the hall to Delly's room, clipping past Katniss, who's scrambling for the hidden panic button on the wall. He hears heavy leaden shields clank down on the windows, but surely Rye's hiding in the little recess in Delly's closet. The first thing Rye'd done when they moved into the residence was find his favorite hiding places, and Delly's closet was his favorite for a whole month.

He tears her dresses and suits and casual clothes off their hangers and knocks more shoes off her shelves than he'd even realized she owned. But he's not there either.

Two more spots, he thinks—the squat cabinet underneath the vanity in the half-bath off the living area, and the storage space in the butler's pantry that used to house barrels of grain and wine when the residence belonged to Coriolanus Snow. But just like there has been since Peeta and his family moved in, both places are devoid of anything but basic necessities—and certainly no cowering, scared-witless little boy.

"Rye… Rye…" Peeta sobs, tearing at his hair as fat tears stream down his cheeks. He crumbles to the floor of the kitchen, unable to move and unable to speak anything but the repeated mantra of his child's name until Katniss is kneeling in front of him. Her hands, usually so warm and soothing, are frigid and shaking.

"Where… Where is he, Katniss?" he chokes out, his body overwhelmed with the need to wretch and curl in on itself at the same time. "Where's my son?!"

Chapter Text

"What the hell do you mean Odair isn't here?!"

Mags Cohen shrugs her shoulders at Haymitch's outburst. "It's exactly that, Haymitch. He isn't answering his messages, and calls are going straight to the message center. We've been trying for ten minutes."

Haymitch usually appreciates Mags' placid, no-shit-taking attitude, but not in a moment such as this. "Try again," he says as evenly as possible and strides away, bursting through the door to Beetee's office with enough force to startle the man whose fingers are alight on his keyboard.

Haymitch says. "I need you to make the announcement."

Beetee lifts his glasses off his nose and peers under them. "They still can't find Finnick?"

"No. And we can't wait any longer. Midnight deadline is looming, and this needs to be front and center as soon as possible."

"Right," Beetee says, his voice measured. "I'm on it."

He looks over the words he's written just once more to make sure he has them memorized and stalks behind Haymitch to the press room. He's not as adept as Finnick at speaking on his feet, but it's hardly the time to be persnickety about it. His stomach somersaults and he fiddles with his glasses as he strides up to Finnick's podium and taps the microphone for attention.

The press corps seem baffled as to why they've been assembled so late. Several open their mouths, perhaps to ask where Finnick is; Beetee clears his throat and sucks in a shaky breath, expelling it just as fast. He had written the words completely on autopilot, intending them to cross another's lips. He takes just a second more to square his shoulders and remind himself to speak clearly.

"At 9:32 this evening, Agent Katniss Everdeen of the Secret Service, personal bodyguard to Rye Mellark, called in a code 'Seven-four-AoP'—'AoP' meaning 'Attack on the Principal'—after discovering the Secret Service agents tasked with monitoring the door to the presidential residence murdered and the residence unsecured. The residence was immediately locked down, and an exhaustive search of the entire mansion was conducted, with no sign of Rye Mellark herein. The Secret Service is officially branding this an abduction—Rye Mellark, President Mellark's son, has been kidnapped, and the Secret Service has been mobilized to locate him and his captors."

The press is silent, struck dumb, as if Beetee has just told them the sky is falling. Many look to one another for confirmation that they all heard correctly, and for one second more, their mouths collectively hang open in shock.

Beetee barely has time to form the words, "I'll take questions," before every reporter begins to call out to him.

When the elevator stops at the residence floor, Johanna pushes the button to keep the doors sealed and turns to Haymitch. "You should prepare yourself—the bodies have been removed, but they're still gathering evidence, so there will be blood everywhere."

"It's fine," Haymitch snaps at his guard, though his stomach churns all the same. He'd overheard the exchanges on Johanna's communicuff well enough to understand that one guard had been killed quickly—a shot through the neck, enough to drown him in his own blood within seconds—but that the other had been shot in the stomach to simply immobilize him, and then had been repeatedly pistol-whipped. His death had been prolonged and painful, and while Haymitch remembers Johanna had frequently complained of Agent Cato being brutish and arrogant, no one deserved to die so wretchedly. When the doors open, Haymitch can't help but gape at all the blood. Even for two grown men, it seems like too much.

Effie buzzes about the residence foyer, gasping and seething about being unable procure a change of clothes, or even fetch an aspirin for the President. Dozens of agents swarm the apartment, and thick yellow tape forms a barrier between the foyer and the bedroom corridor. Haymitch wants to tell Effie to calm down, but he doesn't have the heart to do so when all he wants is to see with his own eyes that Peeta really is safe.

It'd taken weeks after Peeta had taken office for Haymitch to get out of the habit of calling him 'Boy' and get used to calling him 'Mr. President.' But when Haymitch strides into the kitchen, where Thom and Thresh have Peeta secured, 'Boy' is the only term Haymitch can come up with to describe him. As his guards bark orders and responses into their communicuffs, Peeta sits between them, tendrils of steam billowing from the untouched cup of tea in front of him, and stares at nothing. His skin is sallow, his pupils damn near the size of dinner plates, and he seems…small. Diminutive, even. The very antithesis of presidential.

"Can I have the room, please?" Haymitch asks the guards and Effie, who all glare at him. He holds up his hands. "Five minutes, that's all."

The guards all still look wary, but leave one by one, pulling Effie along with them. The chair Haymitch pulls out scrapes loudly against the tile floor; the grating sound doesn't even seem to register with the President.

When he speaks, the words fall from Peeta's lips in a rush, but are completely devoid of any feeling. "Effie said she was going to contact Chancellor Grech in Caledonia about the trip. Do you know if she did?"

"I haven't had the chance to ask her yet, no sir. But it's Effie; you know she'll take care of it."

"It didn't even occur to me I'd have to cancel the trip until she brought it up twenty minutes ago."

"That's alright, Mr. President. This is why she's on your team. Same as me. Same as Finnick and Beetee. We're all in this to support you."

"It's my job," Peeta breathes as he finally looks Haymitch in the eye. "It's what we've been working towards for a year, and I should have known…"

Haymitch shushes him the way he might a small child. "Don't do this to yourself, sir. It won't help anything."

He knows the words are falling on deaf ears. It's the younger man's eyes that give him away—puffy pink eyelids, vivid crimson veins that make his irises even bluer as they dart about, seeming to look everywhere and nowhere all at once.

"You have the finest troop of Peacekeepers in Panem on the hunt for who did this. Beetee is giving a speech at this very second that'll be broadcast on every screen in the nation. The entire country will be looking for him within hours, and he'll be found. He will be found, sir. You need to stay calm and let us help you."

It's as if Peeta hasn't even heard. "How? How am I supposed to stay calm when someone has my child, Haymitch? Tell me what to do and how to do it, and I will, but I can't! I can't stay calm when I don't know where he is or if he's hurt or how scared he is! I don't even know if he's still alive!"

"You have to believe he is. You have to believe he's alright and that he's coming home. Mr. President, please…"

"What did I do?" Peeta whispers as his body begins to quake. "What did I do? Why does he deserve this? Why come after a little boy who still sleeps with a stuffed kitten, and not the man they so clearly hate for whatever it is I did to them? What did I do?"

Haymitch grips the back of Peeta's neck, forcing their eyes to meet as the rising panic in Peeta's voice becomes violent, gasping hiccups.

"It is going to be alright, Mr. President; you need to breathe…"

"I cursed him. This is my fault. I cursed my son when all I was supposed to do was love him," Peeta cries. "His namesake didn't live to twelve and his mother didn't live to twenty-five, how is it fair that he won't live to see…"

"Rye is going to outlive us all, Peeta," Haymitch says. "He's going to be back here bossing you and Delly around, and making everyone love him the way that only he knows how, and soon. They're going to find him, and they're going to bring him home."

Haymitch opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Thresh returning to the room. "Mr. President, the GPS signals for your son's trackers have come through. We believe we have his location, and a team has been dispatched to retrieve him."

Peeta sobs in relief, but Haymitch snarls, "Why did that take so long, he's been missing for hours!"

"Our entire system was shut down due to the storm, and the signal was badly compromised. We did our best to activate the trackers as soon as we could, but we couldn't hone in—"

"Thresh, I don't care!" Peeta gulps. "Please, go. Go get him, please."

"The team is on their way, sir, they'll have him shortly. Our intel indicates he isn't far outside the Capitol, and they'll reach him in less than an hour."

"Who's leading the team?" Peeta's voice suddenly sobers, but Haymitch notes the panic has yet to leave his stricken face.

Thresh licks his lips and prattles off a bunch of names Haymitch barely recognizes. Despite the man's strained composure, he stutters over the last. "And…Agent Everdeen, of course. She's leading the team, sir."

With his grip still firm on the back of Peeta's neck, it's easy to swivel the man's head down between his knees when his chest begins to heave violently. Nothing comes from the younger man except rasping gagging sounds, and Haymitch can only assume he'd emptied the contents of his stomach earlier.

"I…can't lose her…too…" Peeta sobs so quietly that Haymitch is barely sure he's heard him.

"You aren't going to lose her. Or him," Haymitch whispers tersely. "You have to believe that."

He can tell from the forlorn look on the younger man's face that Peeta doesn't believe him—not at all.

As soon as the agents clear Peeta's bedroom of any trace evidence, Effie insists he lay down, although Haymitch knows there's little chance he'll actually rest.

"You don't want Rye coming back to a daddy with bags under his eyes, do you?" Effie coos gently. Haymitch is surprised that Peeta doesn't fire her straight away. But it actually works, and the President agrees to go as long as Haymitch reports to him immediately once the rescue team has completed their mission.

Having received his instructions, he and Johanna head towards the Secret Service base of operations for an update. The hallway is labyrinthine and sterile, the epitome of Peacekeeper order and logistics, and Haymitch finds he likes it. So much—too much, really—of his job is thinking on his feet and scrambling to make sense of the latest information. Order and sterility seems like a breath of fresh air amidst all his chaos. Johanna leads him to a room, covered floor-to-ceiling with holographs mapping out different sections of the country via satellite signals, with one large, central image taking up the majority of the space. Haymitch quickly deduces that this is Rye's location.

He recalls the day Peeta, Delly, and Rye received their trackers. The entire procedure could have been done with a simple local anesthetic, but after conferring with Prime Minister Boggs, Haymitch had insisted on all three being under general anesthesia instead. Better to not know where they are, he and Boggs had urged, just in case. Peeta had objected until Haymitch had reminded him how Rye tended to carry on when he received his booster immunizations each year. Now Haymitch is glad he'd further insisted upon an additional sub-dermal implant for each without the President's knowledge. If two trackers were good, he and Boggs had argued with the doctors, surely three were better. With a small, knowing smile, Haymitch can hear the telltale beeping of three distinct beacons emitting from one of the myriad of computers in the room.

"Where's the team?" Haymitch asks, setting his sight on the centered image.

"Just three minutes away, Mr. Abernathy," an agent informs him.

"Tell me there have been scans done that confirm they aren't walking into a giant booby-trap," Haymitch presses.

"The structure looks clean, sir. You can see the boy is being held right here; we believe it's a closet of some kind," the agent says. "Our scans indicate there's but one other person in the structure, likely one of the boy's captors. We're assuming he's armed, but our agents are more than equipped to handle him considering it's just him versus an entire squad."

A frisson of dread courses through Haymitch; why would only one man be guarding the most visible missing child in the nation? Surely he isn't the only one in the room concerned by this. He opens his mouth and turns to Johanna, but he doesn't have the chance to voice his concerns before Agent Everdeen's voice booms over the speakers.

"We're in position," Haymitch hears her say. "Ready to go at first signal."

Johanna speaks into her headset, "Roger that, Agent. You'll have minimal interruption once you break the perimeter based on our intel. You're authorized to shoot to kill."

"Roger that." Katniss Everdeen's voice is hollow and terse—Haymitch has to wonder if shooting just to subdue would even cross any agent's mind in this scenario, let alone one as incredibly close to a mark as Everdeen is to Rye.

As Johanna continues to give Katniss orders, Haymitch finds himself holding his breath. He wills away the waking nightmares of the shooting at the Parliament House when he hears shots fired and Katniss cry out, "Got her, got the bitch!" Haymitch blinks cautiously—Rye was abducted by a woman?—and focuses on the tiny screen that pops up in the corner as Katniss switches on a hidden camera somewhere on her uniform, which gives the room a first-person view of the mission.

The house is more District Twelve than Capitol, with dingy curtains and flickering light bulbs. The other agents on Katniss's squad bark out when they've cleared rooms or closets, but Katniss strides steadily as Johanna guides her closer and closer to Rye's homing signal. Everyone in the control room watches as Katniss pauses at the door—a closet indeed—with her hands on the knob, and seems to take a body-shuddering breath as she opens the door, only to find…

"Johanna! Little Duck isn't in here. Where is the signal pointing?" Katniss hisses.

"You're on top of it, Katniss! He should be right—"

Johanna stops cold when a new source of light penetrates the pitch black space, and every agent, male and female alike, gasps. At the bottom of the closet, amid a pile of tattered, soiled blankets, are three pools of rust-colored blood. In each pool lies a tiny pebble-shaped plastic device that Haymitch recognizes immediately as none other than the kidnapped boy's trackers.

"You sons of bitches!" Katniss screams, whirling around on her heel and stomping towards the front entrance of the house. "You fucking sons of—"

An image of the slain kidnapper—a petite woman with a shock of red hair and a bit of blood congealed at the corner of her mouth, eyes open in shock—infiltrates Katniss's camera view for a split second before the agent pulls her weapon from her holster, trains it on the center of the dead woman's face, and fires. Other agents scream for her to stand down as the feed cuts out, and Johanna tugs Haymitch roughly by the hem of his sleeve out into the hallway.

"You cannot tell the President what you saw her do, Haymitch," Johanna rasps.

"You mean go ape-shit-crazy on a dead woman after finding the boy's bloody trackers and not the boy? Cripes, Johanna, I'm not a moron," Haymitch snaps back.

"She could be let go for that. She could be dishonorably discharged for tampering with evidence, or worse…"

"He's not there?" Haymitch interrupts. "Rye isn't in that house, is he?"

Johanna scowls. "No. No, apparently not."

"That's all I have to tell the President," Haymitch spits, and stalks down the hallway towards the building's entrance. He sets his jaw and steels his nerves. Peeta will be optimistic, eager even, and all Haymitch will be able to tell him is they do not have his boy, and his abductors have rid him of their most vital means of getting him back safely. He braces himself for abject horror and despair.

But nothing can actually prepare Haymitch for just how crazed Peeta Mellark becomes when he finds out that his child may well be beyond rescue.

District Twelve Peacekeeping units sequester the members of the Mellark and Cartwright families to their homes immediately after Rye Mellark's disappearance. First Lady Delly Cartwright, however, had already boarded a train in District Eleven bound for the Capitol when her nephew was reported missing, and the Secret Service concluded she was as safe on that train as she possibly could be. After the failure of his son's rescue mission, Peeta Mellark authorized the stoppage of Delly's train in favor of an emergency hovercraft dispatched to bring his sister home. While the agents on her detail had informed her of the situation as gently as possible, as soon as she strides through the door of the residence, Thom and Thresh can tell that she had taken the news about as well as Peeta had.

"Where is he?" Delly hisses at the two guards.

"The President is in his bedroom, ma'am, we've convinced him to lie down down for—" Thom begins, nearly struck dumb when Delly forces past him and bangs on the double doors.

"Peeta!" she howls. "Peeta Mellark!"

One of the doors swings open, and the ashen-faced President steps from his bedroom. He doesn't even try to duck the hand that flies at his face. Delly's palm connects with a loud crack against his cheek, but the man doesn't even flinch.

"You son of a bitch!" his sister screams. "You son of a bitch, Peeta, I told you! I told you if anything happened to him, I'd kill you!"

"I know," Peeta says morosely.

"You left him alone?! How could you leave him alone? You should have been there! You should have been there to protect him! We promised each other we'd protect him!"

"I know." He sounds utterly defeated, and takes his sister's barbed comments without complaint.

"You son of a bitch, Peeta. You son of a…"

Delly begins to sob, and falls into her brother's now outstretched arms. Her cursing dissolves into coughs and cries of Rye's name, and Peeta holds fast, impervious of her assault on him only seconds before. All at once, Thom and Thresh realize that nothing Delly Cartwright has said or done is not something the man wouldn't do himself if he had the opportunity. And perhaps, the guards wonder, it is in some strange way comforting that the words come from outside his own head for a minute or two.

The siblings sigh out "I'm sorry" to one another over and over again, both crying and shaking for several long minutes until Peeta pulls away and tucks his sister into his side. On impulse, Thom grabs hold of Delly's free arm, and the pair of men begin to walk her towards her bedroom.

"He wouldn't have gone without… He would have tried to… Oh, sweet mother, they drugged him, didn't they?" Delly wails.

Peeta nods to Thom, urging the guard tell the truth.

"Yes, ma'am. We believe that Rye was drugged prior to being taken. We found evidence to confirm it," Thom says gently.

Despite continuing to weep, Delly stands surprisingly erect and clears her throat. "Well then, give me whatever it was that he got."

Hours later, Finnick Odair hurries through the corridors of the mansion, and arrives at his office breathless. Mags Cohen greets him frantically, slamming her telephone down mid-call.

"Where the hell have you been? We've all been—"

"Haven't you heard? The entire Capitol is on lockdown. The bridges are roadblocked, transit is shut down, cabs are stalled, and my car…where are Beetee and Haymitch?"

"Odair!" Haymitch barks. "Where the Sam Hell…"

"Cripes, I'm not explaining all that again, Abernathy. Where is the President? Is he alright?"

"Stupid question from a smart man." Haymitch sighs. "How do you think he is?"

"I'm about to go into another briefing to tell the crowd what's developed since the failed rescue. Finnick, do you want to—?" Beetee asks, offering the other man his hand-written notes.

"Yes, let me," Finnick says, glancing over the papers and nodding. "Right. On it."

He pauses mid-step towards his briefing room, and turns in place. "The hospital," he says quietly. "I was at the hospital with Annie. She had the baby an hour ago, and we didn't even hear… That's where I was. That's why I didn't answer, it just all happened to fast and—"

He'd only meant for Beetee, Haymitch, and Mags to hear him, but when he looks up, he sees the entirety of the bullpen has leapt to their feet. In a pair of worn jeans and a rumpled sweatshirt, and looking as un-presidential as he ever has since he was elected, Peeta stands in the doorway of Beetee's office, looking at Finnick appraisingly.

"Annie had the baby, Finn?" Peeta asks, his voice surprisingly strong.

"Mr. President, I so sincerely apologize for my tardiness, we truly had no way of being informed…"

"What is it?" the President presses. "A girl? A boy?"

Finnick stares at his friend's pasty pallor, his slumped shoulders, the very air about him hanging thick with sadness and despair; and yet somehow, Finnick still can glean that it's alright to share his news.

"A boy, Mr. President," Finnick whispers. "I have a second son."

The President strides forward and before Finnick can even process it, the blonde man is embracing him tightly.

"Congratulations, my friend," Peeta whispers in Finnick's ear.

"Peeta, I'm so, so sorry…" he replies, low enough he hopes only they can hear. "When we finally got the news, Annie started going out of her mind for him, and with the stress of the birth…"

"She should be worrying about her boys, not mine," Peeta says sadly. "I'll call her; what hospital is she at?"

"Sir, please, that isn't…"

Haymitch cuts Finnick off with a gruff clearing of his throat. "Odair…the sharks are getting restless."

"Does he have a name yet?" Peeta presses Finnick, flagrantly ignoring his Chief of Staff.

"No sir, not yet."

"Tell me when you two decide on something." Peeta pats Finnick's cheek and offers him a small smile, somewhat diminished by the forlorn look in his eyes. "I'm overjoyed for you, Finnick. Truly."

"Thank you, sir."

"Odair. Now," Haymitch orders. "And Mr. President, you should go back to the residence. You shouldn't be around when the sharks start to circle, it'll be disastrous." Haymitch has to place a hand on both men's shoulders, but finally Finnick turns and Peeta resolutely follows Haymitch to the elevator.

"After Finnick's briefing, Haymitch, I need you to call over to the Prime Minister's office. And to the Parliamentary heads, as well," Peeta says when the doors click closed. "I'm going to shower and put on a proper suit, and when I'm done, I'll expect them all to be in the Aula waiting for me. Instruct Effie to have my stationery ready, and a non-partisan witness. Or two. I'm not sure how many are actually needed, better make it two just in case."

"Sir, what are you implying?" Haymitch says warily.

"I'm not implying anything. My country needs a leader, no matter what the situation or how trying the day. They need a leader." Peeta's voice is robotic as he stares straight ahead, and marches through the now cleaned foyer towards the residence. A new pair of guards open the doors for him, as though hours before the bodies of their predecessors had not been carried away in body bags.

"Panem has a leader," Haymitch says, and touches his palm gently to Peeta's chest, stopping him in his tracks.

The corners of Peeta's mouth pick up in a half-hearted smile even as he shakes his head. "Ah, Old Man, let's not start lying to one another now, shall we?"

Thom, Thresh, and Johanna slip into a meeting of various Tributes, held by Agent Jackson, to reevaluate the steps taken to rescue Rye Mellark. Johanna spies Katniss Everdeen sitting near the front, though her eyes are fixed on the back rung of the chair in front of her rather than the agent at the podium. Jackson proposes a District by District search effort carried out by local Peacekeepers and citizen volunteers.

"We expect the President will permit the lifting of restrictions on searching the District boundaries for this purpose. What we're looking for are volunteers, preferably those with experience in their own home Districts, who can be sent out to organize the effort."

Thresh, Thom, and Johanna all get to their feet immediately, ready to call out their candidacy, but Jackson shakes them off. "Executive guards are not eligible at this time. Your services are needed here, with your marks."

"I can organize the effort in Five and Twelve," Katniss's voice calls out. She doesn't stand and her voice is stilted. "Send me either place and I can handle it."

Jackson purses her lips. "I'll ask you to step out into the corridor, Agent Everdeen. We'll need to speak privately about your continued role in this rescue effort."

"You mean the rescue of my mark? You cannot possibly expect that I'd stand aside and allow others to—"

"In the corridor, Agent Everdeen. You are dismissed from this meeting." Jackson's tone is final, and she stares Katniss down as Katniss stalks to the door, and slams it behind her. As other agents stand and volunteer to spearhead the efforts in their various home Districts, the three executive guards file out into the hallway to find Katniss pacing back and forth while ripping her fingernails down to the quick with her teeth.

"Would you three have done any differently?" Katniss snaps when her fellow guards approach. "Would you not have been infuriated that they slipped through your fingers when you were so convinced you had them?"

"We would have all been frustrated, Katniss," Thom says calmly. "But what you did… Cripes, the woman was already dead!"

"You knew better," Johanna says. "You knew better, and you let your emotions get in the way."

"This is why Gale championed distance," Thresh explains. "Distance from your mark—a proper, civil relationship."

"Oh, fuck that. We're instructed to take bullets for these people and we're still supposed to keep them at arm's length?" Katniss scoffs.

"That's exactly why we're supposed to keep them at arm's length," Thom says patiently.

"We've all let the barrier slip from time to time," Johanna admits. "But Katniss, this is bigger than any of that, and we all know it."

"I fucked up," Katniss hollers. "I fucked up, and I never should have left him, and I wasn't thinking straight but this… If everyone is going to blame me for what happened, shouldn't they at least give me a chance to make it right?"

The other three look at one another as they process Katniss's melancholy words. Just as Johanna is about to speak again, the door to the conference room swings open, and a man pokes his head out and waves them inside.

"There's a special briefing being streamed in from the Aula! The President is speaking!"

Katniss leads the others back into the room, and pushes towards the front. Johanna notices the pained look on Katniss's face when she takes in the image of the usually so sturdy and commanding President Mellark. He steps up to the podium, visibly shaking as he speaks into the microphone. After so many hours at their mark's side, Thresh and Thom are used to the haunted look on the man's face and the craggy timbre of his voice. But nothing can prepare any of them for what he says when he opens his mouth.

"Effective immediately, and until such a time that my son's whereabouts become known, I am hereby recusing myself of any and all duties related to the Presidency of Panem, and passing them onto Prime Minister Coin. Her duties to Parliament and the nation will be serviced by Parliamentary heads Lyme, Paylor, and Chaff. Despite the tragedy that has befallen my family, we as your elected officials owe you nothing but our most devout servitude, no matter the time or matter of crisis. I humbly request that all citizens support our acting President and Prime Ministers in the same manner as you have supported Prime Minister Coin and me. And I thank you for your thoughts and well-wishes during this difficult time."

The assembled reporters scream questions at President Mellark, asking how this recusal will work, how this line of succession was established, if the constitution of the nation even permits for such an act, but the man has already stepped away. A steeled Finnick Odair silences the crowd when he returns to the podium to introduce acting President Alma Coin as Peeta Mellark slips from view.

The door bangs open and closed again, and Thresh, Thom, and Johanna see a whip of a long braid disappear from sight. Shocked as they are by the announcement, several beats pass before they have the presence of mind to follow Katniss wherever it is that she's going.

Chapter Text

If it weren't for Peeta's locked bedroom door, Katniss wouldn't even have announced herself when she stormed into the residence. After several minutes of knocking and calling out to him, he finally pulls open the door and allows her to slip inside.

"What were you thinking?" she snaps after he closes the door behind her.

"Hello to you too," he says.

"Why would you…how could you…?"

She watches him sidle over to his window and look out to the gardens beyond. She wonders if he's searching for the tree that holds Rye's playhouse, maybe thinking back to the morning of the last week when they'd watched him clamber inside, proudly announcing, "No one is gonna get me in my treehouse."

They hadn't, she supposed. They got him from someplace far more secure.

"I pledged an oath to an entire country, Katniss. To lead them. And when I found myself in a position where I could no longer lead, I stepped aside so someone more capable could do so."

"You have the power to do anything to bring him home!" she cries. "Why aren't you using it?"

He blinks at her and folds his arms over his chest. "You mean mobilize the Peacekeeping units in every District to storm into every residence and search from floor to ceiling? Compel every citizen to abandon their day's work to check in basements and storage units and up in trees, just in case someone has stashed him there? Stop and arrest every person who force marches an eight-year-old who doesn't want to go to school, just in case he doesn't belong to them?"

"You can do whatever it takes," she seethes.

"You think I don't want to?" he snaps, finally losing his cool. Anger radiates from him in waves. "You don't think all of that was exactly what I wanted to do once Haymitch told me what you found in that house? For fuck's sake, Katniss, those trackers were supposed to protect us! They were supposed to protect him! Two men are dead and my son is missing and it's all on me, because of the decisions that I made! I doomed him, don't you think I know that? Don't you think I'd tear down every building in the Capitol if it meant him being back here with me?"

"Then why won't you?" she screams back.

"Because that's what a father does, Katniss!"

He stops himself, clearly recognizing his tone has become out of control. He rubs his face roughly with clenched fists and shakes his head woefully. "That's what a father does. But I'm not just a father, am I? I'm the President of Panem. And that isn't what a president does—at least, not the sort of president I want to be remembered as. I don't want to be the next Coriolanus Snow, using my title to get what I want in the name of the few at the cost of the many. I want—no, I need to be a better leader than that. So when my first thought was how much I'd love to wring the neck of that corpse you found in that house, just to make myself feel better, I knew that I wasn't myself. And that I couldn't do it. I can't be the President right now, not when all I can feel, all I can process every second, every minute he's away from me is how scared I am. I feel like I'm going mad! I... I can't be both."

He swipes under his eyes before leaning his temple against the cool glass. "I want him back. I want him in my arms. But I'm not going to rob my nation of their sovereignty in his name. I can't do that, Katniss, I just can't."

Katniss fumes, but she knows he's doing what he can live with. And she doesn't doubt for a second the sincerity of his longing, his despair, because she feels it too. She's known Rye Mellark for less than a year, but she loves him with every fiber of her being. She understands in one sweeping, sobering moment that falling in love with the little boy was always going to happen, from the very first moment he'd turned in Peeta's arms and said hello to her.

The Mellark men have a funny way of sneaking up on people.

"It's sort of funny," Peeta murmurs, more to himself than to her. "I wanted him to be my baby forever. I wanted to keep him young and sweet and naive, but every day he's fought me, and gotten older and smarter and better than I ever imagined he'd be. And now, all I want is to see him all grown up—and that might never happen."

"You can't afford to think like that."

"So Haymitch tells me. It doesn't make it feel any less true."

"Peeta…"

She approaches him like she would a wounded animal, just in case her proximity frightens him away. (She hasn't admitted as much, but that's partially why she had to get away from him before. She'd never seen him so broken, so insular, like he is about to cave in on himself. She'd had to report to headquarters, of course, but she'd slipped away from him because she couldn't handle seeing him out of control. It frightens her almost as much as knowing Rye might be…)

Her arms slip around his waist, and his wrap tightly around her shoulders. They cling to one another, both too worn out to cry. Her lips graze his jaw as she mumbles to him, "I'm going to go find him. I promise… The next time I come back to you, he'll be in my arms."

He clutches her to him when she moves to pull away, his fingers encircling her wrist as she finally breaks his hold on her. His face contorts in an entirely new way that she can't identify.

"I can't let you do that, Katniss."

"What do you mean?" she asks warily. Doesn't he know this is her job? Her duty? "They're organizing a district-by-district search, and I don't give a damn what Jackson says, I'm going to—"

"No. You're not. I spoke with Jackson."

She snatches her hand away from him and glares at him. "About what? About me?"

"I told her that you're not to be sent to anywhere. That I need you here, where I know you're safe."

Her jaw drops. "You have no right…"

"I had full authority over the Secret Service up until I signed the letter removing myself from office. We spoke ten minutes before I put my pen to paper; it's done. You're not going anywhere."

"Why?" she hisses. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I can't lose you too!" he yells. He's trembling and his eyes are wide as he reaches for her. She continues to pull away, but he backs her up until her knees hit the footstool at the end of his bed. He kneels in front of her, finally able to take her hands in his own, and he holds them like he's petrified of what will happen if he lets go.

"I love you, Katniss. I've loved you all this time and I didn't know how to say it, but there it is. And if I lose him, I'll want to die and I might never really be happy again, but if I lost you on top of it—I'd have nothing. Nobody else I really care about. I realize how selfish I sound and how this probably doesn't seem genuine, but it's true. It's all true. I love you. And I think you might love me too. So I need you here, where I know you'll be safe, and not somewhere they can get you too. Just—I need you to stay here, Katniss. Alright?"

Her mouth falls open to speak, although she has no idea what she could possibly say to this. It's so big, and she can't really process it with how fast it's washed over her. She's terrible with words, but she knows she has to say something on account of the imploring look in his eyes that renders her speechless. Her voice is a low gurgle she doesn't recognize when a sharp rap on the door snaps them both out of it.

"Mr. President?" Thresh calls out. "Mr. Abernathy, Mr. Odair, and Mr. Watts are here. It's urgent, sir."

"I love you," Peeta whispers again, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as he gets to his feet and strides towards the door. She sits frozen on the bench, swimming in his words and her shock, until she hears the door click closed, trapping her there.

When she remembers how to use her legs, she goes to the window and presses her palms against the glass. Sure enough, four or maybe five hundred yards away is the tree that houses Rye's sanctuary. She's not sure how Peeta can tolerate looking at it; it makes her want to weep.

"There's been a development, sir," Thresh says when Peeta sits down in the wingback chair near the hearth. Haymitch studies the man's face, half-expecting to see a look of pure joy. Instead, he sees a stone-set jaw and a pair of downcast eyes. He doesn't want to hope for good news, Haymitch realizes, not after yesterday.

"A woman is being held for questioning in Eleven," Thom continues where Thresh trailed off.

"On what grounds?" Peeta asks.

"She checked into lodging in Eleven, and housekeeping found a few strange articles in her possessions, chief amongst them surgical scalpels she'd tried to clean in the bathroom sink and left out on a towel to dry. The maid didn't think too much of it, but when she made to move them to clean the vanity, the room's occupant walked in on her and accosted her. The maid reported it to the lodging manager and they were obliged to call a Peacekeeping unit. The occupant ran when she saw the Peacekeepers. It aroused enough suspicion that a search warrant has been issued, and the woman has been detained," Thresh details.

"What could that mean?" Peeta asks.

"We aren't sure yet. But the woman is known to have a connection to one of the agents who was murdered last night," Thom says.

This, Haymitch notes, piques Peeta's interest.

"How?" he asks.

"She and Agent Cato were known to have been briefly involved romantically. All the Peacekeeping units are reporting strange arrests directly to us, in case there's any correlation, and an agent who was friendly with Cato recognized the woman's face and name," Thom says.

"It could be a long shot, Mr. President, we realize. But the brutality of Agent Cato's death compared to Agent Marvel's much quicker demise could be a connection. And this woman has no medical training, so her having such high-quality surgical tools is very peculiar," Thresh concludes.

"Well, thank you. But I'm not going to put my eggs in one basket over Cato's ex-girlfriend's knife collection, not when it comes to my son. We need something more, and we need it soon."

"Of course, Mr. President," Thresh says.

"It's fine. Is there anything else?"

Thom looks sheepishly at Haymitch, who shoots him a look of "what the hell?"

Thom speaks tentatively. "Agent Jackson won't allow executive agents like Thresh and Johanna and me to take point on any district search measures. But sir, while your safety is still paramount, six agents are not necessary to guard you. That's especially true if, as you've stated, you'll be confined to the residence during your recusal from office. And my contacts in Twelve indicate that the search organization is…lacking."

"You'd like to go organize it?" Peeta says quietly.

"Yes sir, I would. Thresh has volunteered to stay on point with Agents Messalla and Mitchell. And speaking as a former resident of Twelve, sir, I'm certain that it's the wish of all its residents to not let you down in this matter," Thom replies.

Peeta bristles, and looks strongly like he wants to say no. After Gale, Haymitch has noticed that Peeta has been more than a little attentive to his guards' well-being. And he'd be lying if he didn't admit he's done the same thing, with Johanna.

"Mr. President, if I may," Haymitch says quickly, "I think Thom makes a valid point. And I'm sure your father-in-law would appreciate the help, if only for a day or two to get things organized so the local Peacekeeping units can carry on from there."

Peeta still looks wary, but finally rubs his hands over his face and nods. "Inform Effie that you need to get in contact with Mayor Undersee. I'm sure between the three of you the proper arrangements can be made."

"Of course, sir. Thank you," Thom says.

Haymitch clears his throat. To Thresh and Thom he says, "Will you gentlemen excuse us? We have more sensitive matters to discuss with the President."

The guards leave, and Haymitch summons Finnick and Beetee to gather closer. Peeta's still holding himself strangely, like he's afraid to let his guard down for even a moment.

"How is everything down in the Aula?" Peeta asks half-heartedly.

Haymitch shares a significant look with Finnick and Beetee before opening his mouth. "Coin is…getting comfortable already, sir."

"Comfortable?" Peeta snorts.

"She's having Effie schedule her private meetings with other key party players; from best we can glean, Lyme, Paylor, and Chaff aren't amongst them," Finnick summarizes.

"I did just toss her into the deep end. None of us may like the woman, but she is trying to do a job that isn't her own," Peeta says.

His men can barely believe the words are coming out of his mouth. They each think to themselves in turn that it's stress, grief, lack of sleep, the shock of his recusal from office, or maybe all of the above—because that's the only way to explain why Peeta Mellark would be defending Alma Coin.

For his part, Beetee thinks that while it's certainly not her job, it could have been, if not for the narrow margin of victory in the last election. He doesn't say it, because he doesn't think it'll help. Instead, he pulls a folded bit of paper out of his breast pocket and hands it to Peeta.

"The…speech you asked for when we spoke this morning in my office, sir. It's done."

Beetee had agonized over the correct words. Not being a father, he isn't entirely sure what words would accurately express one's joy at having their missing child returned. The speech worries him, as Peeta's eyes begin trailing over it, but a tiny, reluctant smile tugs at the corners of the President's mouth. It sets Beetee's nerves at ease.

"It's excellent, Beetee, thank you," Peeta says, refolding the page and handing it back. As quickly as the smile came, it disappears and his face is set in stone. "And, ah… The other?"

Beetee clears his throat. "I'm sorry sir, but... I won't be writing the second speech."

Peeta narrows his eyes. "And…why not?"

"Because I refuse to believe in a world where your son is not brought back to you safely."

The President's men watch as the younger man clearly bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and palpable emotion glints in his eyes. He has to open and close his mouth several times before any audible words come, and those that do are strangled and very quiet.

"I hope you're right, Beetee. Thank you."

Peeta gets to his feet and makes for the hallway. He turns when Finnick calls out to him, but his body is still prepped for flight.

"Mr. President, I just wanted to say—I respect your decision to step aside. I'd have done the same thing if I were in your shoes. And while I serve at the pleasure of the President of Panem, I swore that oath to you, not Alma Coin. If you were to give a conflicting order to that of one Coin were to give, I'd daresay that every person in this building would observe your command in a heartbeat rather than hers."

"It's a noble sentiment, Finnick," Peeta says. "But at the moment, it's also something of a coup d'etat. And that's exactly why I won't be giving any orders. At least, not until all of this is finished."

"Yes sir," the three men say in unison, slightly disheartened. "Thank you, Mr. President."

When Peeta steps back into the bedroom, Katniss rounds on him, her entire body shaking in righteous anger.

"I have a job to do and I can't do it if you're standing in my way. You can't just tell me that…whatever and then expect I'll submit to your every beck and call. You might be the leader of the nation, Peeta, but I'm a trained member of the Panem Secret Service and my job is always supposed to come first. Rye is my job! Bringing him home to you is my job! You can't stand in the way of—"

It shocks her into silence when his arms encircle her and crush her to his chest. His palms cradle her lower back and the nape of her neck, and his eyes shine with just a hint of madness before he seals his lips over hers. She tenses in his embrace before she sinks into it, and allows him to kiss her deeply enough that she loses the ability to breathe. There's nary an inch of space between their bodies, and when he moves to pick her up, she doesn't struggle. She loops her legs around his waist and permits herself to be carried and kissed, neverminding that her brain is going dizzy from lack of of air. There's only his hands, his mouth, his tongue, and the sinuous way his body moves against hers as he presses her against the regally carved bed post.

Their kiss breaks with a loud smack, and they both gasp. She looks into his eyes, dilated wide so they're more inky-black than azure-blue, but before she gets the chance to speak, his mouth falls open and his words come in waves.

"I didn't tell you I love you to manipulate you," he says. "I told you I love you because I love you. And I can't lose anyone else I love, not today, not tomorrow… Not ever."

He pivots her body so the bedpost no longer digs into her back; instead the back of her thighs hit the supple mattress and he dips down to press his mouth to hers again. He sighs gratefully when his tongue slips in between her lips and meets her own. For a fleeting second, she wants to push him away so they can speak rationally, so she can argue that he can't possibly love her after such a short amount of time, that no matter how he feels, it doesn't change the job she has to do. But the urgency of the swelling of his trousers against her belly and the heat in his kiss make her better judgment slip away in exchange for a promised moment where passion replaces grief.

She nips his bottom lip with her teeth and hooks her fingers into the loose knot of his tie. For a second their eyes flutter open, and her stare gives him the permission to press forward. Their hands are shaking and clumsy, like they've never undressed one another before, and there's a periodic rip of fabric or grunt of frustration when something just won't give way. He has to step back to rid her of her pants and step out of his own, but then he's hovering over her, naked and imposing and feral in the way his eyes drink in her nude form.

He doesn't say a word as he flips her onto her belly, her legs dangling off the side of the bed and her fingers clutching for purchase on the smooth duvet cover. His fingers wrap around her left thigh, propping her knee up on the mattress so she's spread for him, but there is no teasing, no testing touch of his fingers before she feels his swollen cock slide inside her. She wasn't quite ready for him, and she yelps softly into the coverlet at the unaccustomed pain. He stills behind her, his lips grazing lovingly along her spine, her shoulder blades, the curve of her shoulder into her neck, and he mumbles something that could be an apology. She lets her tensed body melt into the mattress and juts her hips back—the residual pain is shrouded in pleasure, and when she yelps again, it's in relief.

His arm loops under her waist, repositioning her center so he can slide in at a better angle, and the subtle change is enough for the tip of him to hit the spot that makes her toes curl. His thrusts are shallow enough at first that she barely realizes he's moving. Then his hand holding her thigh tightens its grasp and he slams forward hard enough to press her entire body deep into the mattress.

"I love you, Katniss," Peeta grunts, setting a pace of shallow...shallow...deep, the deepest punctuated by the hard consonants in his words. "I've loved you for decades… I've loved you when I didn't realize it… I've loved you when I thought I loved someone else… And I've loved you from the moment you stepped into my office and couldn't find your way out…" Only his talented oratory can make such simple declarations sound so sexy and intoxicating, and Katniss mewls in agreement with every solid thump of his cock against her inner walls. Her fingernails could be clawing holes in the coverlet for all she knows as she listens to his words and feels him fucking her hard for emphasis. When he runs out of ways to tell her how much he loves her, he whimpers in her ear and resets his pace, lifting her hips even higher and snapping into her with abandon. She cries out into the blankets, feeling his length hit every spot inside her that guarantees a hard, swift orgasm, and his balls slap against her clit in just the right way to make her putty in his hands. Behind her, he's given up making any noise at all, seemingly content to listen to her scream mutedly for him until every muscle in her core, her legs, her chest clenches, and lets go with a shuddering, aching finality.

"Oh, fuck," he whimpers, and snaps his hips even harder until he finally grunts and slumps on top of her. His superior weight wedges her deep into the bed, and she has to wiggle under him to convince him to pitch his weight away so she can draw a deep breath. Her vision is fuzzy when she takes in his shivering form, his skin stretched taut and red from exertion, and she crawls towards him to press herself against his chest.

The words are foreign to her. She hasn't said them to anyone in years, decades maybe, and certainly not with the voracity with which she feels them now. But it doesn't feel wrong or disingenuous at all when she wraps her arms around him, cradles his face between her hands, and nudges his nose with hers to coax his drooping eyelids open to meet her gaze.

"I love… I do love you, Peeta."

"I knew it... I knew you did," he gasps, a look of bliss spread wide across his face. He kisses her deeply and they huddle together as terror slowly seeps in, replacing the ecstasy of their pronouncement.

Finnick's press room is once again exploding with reporters' voices, and it seems that little can be done to quiet the excited throng. Finnick has to ask over and over again for questions to be repeated so he can actually hear them. When he finally reaches his wit's end and shouts at them all to wait their damn turns, the silence is, by comparison, eerie.

"Yes, Caesar?" he says, squaring his shoulders and getting himself together.

"There's still been no demands for ransom? Any bartering tools at all?" Caesar asks.

"No, nothing of the sort yet."

"Doesn't the Secret Service find that incredibly odd?" Caesar follows.

"I can't speak for the Secret Service, Caesar, but I'd bet if you asked them they'd tell you they don't comment on sensitive matters such as these, nor do they ever comment on procedure. Flavius?"

"Is there any concern at all that the boy is being tortured? Or moles—"

The hair on Finnick's neck stands on end and his fierce green eyes silence Flavius before he finishes the word. "For the sake of everyone watching these broadcasts, I'll kindly ask you not to speculate on such atrocious things. Let's all remember we're talking about a little boy, and that his distraught family here in the Capitol and in District Twelve may be tuned in. That's all for right now."

Finnick pointedly ignores the shouts of his name as he storms out of the briefing room and down the hall to his office. He nearly slams the door in Maura Cressida's face, so quiet is she that he hadn't even realized she'd followed him.

"This isn't a question, Finnick, hold on one second!" Maura cries out, and Finnick grabs the door by the handle before it swings shut all the way. "Have you… Have you seen what's going on outside?" the woman presses.

Finnick rubs his temples and shakes his head. "No, I haven't been outside since I got here."

Maura gnaws on the corner of her mouth and sighs calmly. "You should take a look out at the front fence when you get a chance. And… The President should really see it, too."

The vigor with which Peeta has made love to her seems to have worn him out. After slumping down on the mattress when he'd softened and slipped out of her, Katniss had practically had to drag him up towards the pillows and pull the duvet up around his shoulders. He's still fighting sleep, she can tell, but she pulls him against her breasts, smoothes his hair, and hums softly until she can feel his entire body let go and his breathing becomes shallow and even. She wiggles just far enough away that she can curl up next to him rather than hold him, and she watches as his face, such a bizarre mix of obsessed and agonized mere moments before, soften as sleep fully envelops him. It's so tempting to drift off as well, but try as she might, she knows sleep will never come for her. Not restful sleep, anyway. She slides towards the edge of the bed as deftly as she can, continuing to look over her shoulder as she gets to her feet and gathers the clothes he'd stripped from her and tossed haphazardly on the floor.

He stirs once or twice while she dresses, but he's still fast asleep when she leans over him and brushes her lips along his temple. She's sure he'll forgive her in time, but only as long as she's gone before he wakes up again. If she doesn't expect that her sleep would really be all that peaceful, she can hardly expect that his will be at all—she needs to be quick about it.

She doesn't run into anyone as she's leaving the residence, and the new guards pay her no mind. Maybe they already know how powerless she is, and if they don't, they will soon enough. Her feet carry her quickly down the stairs instead of the elevator, and through the labyrinth of hallways that lead to Jackson's office. She wraps on the door quickly, and strides through when the woman barks out a reply.

It is without pomp or circumstance that Katniss removes her gun and holster, Secret Service identification badge, her communicuff, and sets them in front of her supervisor. Jackson looks positively befuddled until Katniss finally says the words, "I quit", turns on her toe, and stalks out of the office.

Katniss gives no thought to the guards that might try to stop her, or her friends who might try to talk her out of her decision. She's out the secured facility as fast as she was out of Peeta's bedroom, and as soon as she's off the mansion property she finally breaks into a run as she heads for the train station. If Thom is taking a train to Twelve, she's certain she can catch up with him—but only if she hurries.

Delly Cartwright sits in a rocking chair by the fireplace with a cup of tea that must be lukewarm by now. She's staring at the flames and saying nothing, but Haymitch figures there's really nothing to be said.

It's odd for him to be sitting here in the residence instead of in his office, toiling away at something with a hard deadline. But Alma Coin has brought her own Chief of Staff, a wisp of a woman called Leeg, making Haymitch effectively useless. Not that he really wants to serve under Coin, anyway. He'd much rather try to make himself useful to Peeta and Delly.

"Is this why you never had a family, Haymitch?" Delly suddenly asks, snapping Haymitch to attention.

"There's a lot of reasons I never had a family," Haymitch says quietly, allowing her to fill in the details of his known past all on her own. "But a part of the life of a politician includes an element of danger where people you love are concerned. It can't be avoided, I'm afraid."

"Rye didn't choose this life. Peeta didn't give him a choice."

"And I understand you're upset about that, Delly," Haymitch says, trying to maintain some control over the conversation. "But he's beating himself up more than you possibly could. Surely you know that."

"I do. I do," she sighs. She takes a sip of her tea and returns to silence.

The next interruption comes just a minute later, when Peeta tears into the living area in his robe, his face a new shade of pale that Haymitch didn't believe was possible. He gets to his feet out of concern more than obligation. "What's wrong, sir?"

"Katniss? Did you see Katniss leave?" Peeta rasps.

"I didn't realize she was even here. When was this, sir?" Haymitch says.

"It was…it was…what time is it? Have I… I fell asleep and when I woke up, she was…" Peeta slumps onto the couch while his fingers tear through his disheveled curls. Haymitch wonders how the boy has any hair left for how much he seems to do that.

"It's nearly dark now, Mr. President. It's alright that you slept—you needed to." Haymitch decides that's the safest thing to say.

Peeta is still frantic. "Where's Johanna? She'll know, won't she? Don't they have a way of—"

"I can call her up."

Haymitch's attempts at keeping Peeta calm don't seem to do much, but as soon as the younger man makes eye contact with his sister, something in his air changes, and he sinks back against the cushions. He wraps his arms around himself and stays incredibly still, watching as Haymitch strides to the front door and asks one of the guards to summon Johanna up from headquarters. He returns to his chair between the two distraught siblings, but finds himself again at a loss of anything to say that might be soothing to either of them.

"Did you dream about him?" Delly says quietly, still staring at the flickering flames.

Peeta seems to know exactly what she means, but only nods in response.

As soon as Johanna comes through the door, Haymitch knows he's missed something huge by not being down in the Aula for the last several hours. Johanna looks as though she's been pacing, and Haymitch steels himself for news he'll find horrific—he can't imagine how Peeta and Delly might find it.

"There's no news yet, Mr. President," Johanna says as Peeta's eyes seek hers out hopefully. He slumps back against the couch, and grabs a pillow to clutch against his chest. "But there is—about Agent Everdeen?"

"Where is she, Johanna?" Peeta squeaks.

"We're… We're not sure, sir. A few hours ago she walked into Commander Jackson's office and resigned."

Peeta makes a noise reminiscent of a pathetic, dying creature, and clutches the pillow that much harder.

"What do you mean, 'she resigned'? You… can't just do that, can you?" Haymitch knows the question is ridiculous even as he asks it.

"She did. And Jackson wasn't about to stop her. She didn't say anything about where she was going, and without her communicuff, we can't track her. She isn't in her apartment. But I have a feeling she…"

"Check the train stations. See if she boarded a train for Five or Twelve," Peeta says, finally finding his commanding voice rather than his meek one.

"Of course, Mr. President. But surely you'd rather have us focus our efforts on—"

Peeta stands, and despite his informal dressing gown get-up, he has every ounce of his bravado and presidential air back. "I need you to tell me where my family is, Johanna. All of them. And I need answers as soon as possible."

He spins on his heel and stamps his way back to his bedroom. Haymitch rubs his jaw and looks at Johanna apologetically.

"Always get stuck giving him the bad news, don't you, Jo?"

"Well, at least now I know what it's like being you," she says with a sigh.

"Go away," the President shouts petulantly through his bedroom door, but Effie continues to tap politely at the door frame until Peeta yanks the door open. She remarks how haggard he looks, but she hardly expects anything different.

"I'm sorry to disturb, sir. Before you ask, no, there isn't news, but… Haymitch and Finnick would like you and Ms. Cartwright to come down to the front courtyard. Thresh has your coat ready," Effie says sweetly, trying to break through the man's surly demeanor.

"Why?" Peeta asks suspiciously.

"It's… It's better if you see, sir. Please, if it isn't too much to ask…"

"Doesn't the acting President need you, Effie?"

Effie bristles at the mention of Coin. "No, sir. She's brought her own assistant from the Parliament building and has advised me to find other things to do."

The President looks like he wants to say no, so Effie scoots forward an inch or two and clicks her tongue softly. "It'll do you a bit of good, sir."

She isn't sure if that's what does it, but the man shoves his feet into a pair of shoes and leaves his bedroom, her close at his heels. They ride the elevator down and to the grand foyer at the front of the cut building. As promised, Haymitch stands with Finnick and Beetee, a row of agents behind them, and the men whisper conspiratorially until the President strides up to them.

"Mr. President, Madam First Lady, there's something we all thought you ought to see out front. Before you ask or feel concerned at all, I've sequestered my entire press corps in the briefing room, and they've no idea you are out of the residence," Finnick says.

"And there is a crowd beyond the gate, but they've been pushed to the other side of the avenue and there are guards to keep them there. When you cross to the other side of the fence, you'll have as much privacy as we can allow you," Johanna picks up.

"I don't understand, why are we going outside the—" Delly begins, but trails off when Thresh pushes open the door separating them from the chilly, dark evening. Beyond the expanse of snow-covered grass and the ten-foot wrought iron fence, a different sort of light flickers. It's a far cry from the gleaming lights of the Capitol Peeta and Delly have become accustomed to since leaving District Twelve—it's softer, and appears to be twinkling. Peeta gently grabs his sister by the arm and pulls her close.

Effie moves to the doorway and waves her fingers to the pair and the men who stand behind them. "Come, come," she says, her usual perky trill replaced by something far more somber as she leads them down the path and through the gate that seems to open on its own.

When Peeta and Delly cross to the other side, Haymitch and Finnick can hear their audible intake of breath at the sight that lies before them. The flickering they'd seen from the grand foyer is, in fact, glimmering candlelight flickering through luminaries and tucked between bouquets of wildflowers. Stuffed animals, not entirely unlike Maysi the cat, are stacked along the fence, along with hand drawn cards and pictures signed For Rye, from… Looped between the fence posts, larger signs printed with phrases like District One shines for you, Rye, Let our lighthouses guide you home—District Four, and We'll search and find you, sweet boy—Love, from District Nine. Small tokens from each District are tucked in the furry paws of the stuffed animals—discarded microchips from Three, small swatches of child-esque, patterned flannel from Eight, and bittersweetly, small bunches of dried rye grain from Ten and Eleven. The fence line spans an entire city block, separating the front lawn of the mansion from the avenue, and trinkets like this cover every square inch of it.

Between Haymitch and Peeta, Delly begins to softly weep. Effie loops her arm into the President's free one, pulling a handkerchief from her jacket pocket to offer the man, who politely declines it. They walk along the fence-line slowly from end to end, reading every sign, marveling at every picture clipped from the news circulars showing a boyish looking President Mellark with a toddler Rye in his arms, shots of them lighting the Festival of Lights tree in Twelve that past year and waving jubilantly to the crowd, and Rye's school photograph, reluctantly released to the press to help in the nationwide search effort.

Every so often, Peeta or Delly gasp or murmur something about not knowing how many people love the little boy; Effie squeezes Peeta's arm as if to silently assure him that yes, they all do. They look over everything again as they walk back to the gate, and as they're about to step through it, Effie sees the President finally look up at the throngs of people behind the Secret Service barricade across the avenue. Many are holding candles, and their faces glow dimly in the faint light. Children Rye's age and younger sit on parents' shoulders and strain for a glimpse of the President and First Lady, but what strikes Effie the most is the silence—the crowd is completely quiet and still, as if waiting for their President to say something first.

Effie sees what she thinks is a hand raise up in the air to wave at the President, but next to her he stiffens and stands a little straighter. He nudges Delly, who looks out across the expansive crowd as well, as more hands rise in the air. Effie, Thresh, and Johanna don't recognize the gesture as Peeta, Delly, and Haymitch do. The three from District Twelve return the wave—not wave, Effie realizes, the three-fingered salute—back to the crowd in turn. The President holds his hand up the longest, scanning the crowd as though trying to make eye-contact with every single one of his people before turning towards the mansion, attempting in vain to make it back before his walls crumble around him.

The sun rises over District Twelve on the second day Rye Mellark is missing, and Thom is getting frustrated. He's checking off points on the map of the surrounding woods that the overnight search party cleared, and there is still a lot of ground to cover. Unfortunately, the day's volunteers are far fewer in numbers—the plummeting late winter temperatures mean higher than usual coal quotas, and the mines can't spare the same volume of workers. Despite their willingness, Thom can't allow anyone under the age of sixteen into the woods, and that leaves the few merchants who can afford to close their shops for a couple of hours to round out the squads. The disappointment throughout the District is palpable: Peeta and Rye Mellark are Twelve's pride and joy. Not a single citizen wants to let their leader down.

Thom's preparing his firearms to go out with that morning's group when a familiar voice clears her throat and says his name. Thom's own throat closes when he looks up and sees Katniss, bedraggled and sunken-eyed, standing behind him.

"Agent Everdeen, you have very specific instructions to…"

"Don't call me 'Agent,' Thom," Katniss says briskly. She pulls up her sleeve to show off her bare left wrist. "I'm not a Trib anymore. It took three high-speed trains to get here, so can we please skip the small talk, and you can tell me where you need me?"

Thom chews the inside of his cheek. He'd overheard President Mellark and Commander Jackson's conversation about sequestering Katniss in the Capitol, and the President had been, to put it mildly, insistent. Tribute or not, if the President were to find out that Thom put Katniss in charge of a search squad without phoning in her whereabouts to Headquarters, there would be hell to pay.

But then again, she's here. Willing. Very capable. Desperate to help. And he needs able, of-age bodies.

"We have a five-mile strip on the Eleven side of the boundary woods—including the two-mile circumference of the lake—that I want covered. But I already have a scheduled call-in to Thresh at noon, Katniss, and if he asks—"

"Fine. Just let me help in the meantime before Peeta drags me back home in handcuffs."

Wow, Thom thinks, startled by Katniss's casual use of the President's first name. They really are serious for one another.

"I'm putting you in charge of a group of ten." He hands her a radio, a set of red flags, and a flare gun. "Use this to check in every fifteen minutes, mark anything you see as suspicious with these so the Peacekeepers can take a look at them, and signal with this if you come across any wildlife that might be dangerous. Got it?"

"Anything else?" Katniss says flatly.

Thom drops his voice and approaches her cautiously. "It…it was a cold night last night, Katniss. Even if we get lucky out there, just…don't get your hopes up, alright?"

Katniss steels her jaw but Thom can see his words make her flinch. It's callous, and he knows it, but every second they spend not knowing where the boy is, the less and less likely it becomes that they'll find him—alive, or at all.

Thom calls for his squad to take a short break for water and to catch their breath. They've been hiking nearly a half-mile straight uphill, and with the rough, icy terrain working against them, even he has a stitch in his side. He slurps down some water and brings his radio to his lips.

"Agent Ever—Katniss, come in."

"Katniss here, over."

"Has your squad reached the lake yet?"

"We're still a few minutes away."

"When you do, follow the bankline and search to the west and north; my group will cover the south and east. Copy?"

"Roger that. Katniss out."

Thom calls for his group's attention and sets pace again. The ground is level, but the trees are denser here, and he calls out a warning for the younger volunteers to stay in pairs. He keeps his ears pricked for any cracking of branches or rustling of dried leaves he can't account for, which is why, five minutes later, the screech of a female party member startles him so much.

He bolts to her side, and even he is disgusted at what she's found. It's most definitely a body, but one large and female with a shock of blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders clad in an olive green windbreaker. The jacket wouldn't have been warm enough last night, but Thom can see from the husk of the nest next to her that exposure isn't what killed her.

Funny, he thinks. They were meant to have eradicated tracker jackers.

He hands his map and flag markers to a pair of seventeen-year-olds with instructions to take the shaking woman back to town and get her warmed up and calmed down, then send a few Peacekeepers back with the flags so they can investigate and collect the body. He listens for any tell-tale buzzing of the wasps that might still be around, and when he hears none, he crouches next to the corpse and tries to move her. He inadvertently breaks a couple of her fingers trying to get her bloated body to turn, but there's just enough specifics left of her swollen face for him to begin to place her. He thinks back to Thresh's report about the woman caught in Eleven; just a moment or two, he wonders if he could possibly be correct, or simply grasping at straws.

He tries to patch into Thresh on his communicuff, but the trees are too dense for anything but static to get through to the satellites, so he instructs his astonished volunteers to move along—he'll have more luck near the lake. The group has a dozen questions he can't actually answer, not without breaking protocol, but he hears the optimism in their voices that maybe this means something. After all, even Townies like the Mellark family are nowhere near that fair.

His radio crackles, and Katniss's voice comes through. He presses the call button, but has to ask her to repeat herself several times before he makes out enough of her words to realize why she's whispering.

"There's a small cabin about 500 yards to the north of my group, Thom. And there's smoke coming out of the chimney."

Thom wishes he hadn't given up his map, but he can't recall any sort of dwelling marked on it near the lake. That would have registered to him earlier.

"Katniss, send up a flare. We should be less than a mile from one another, but I want to back you up when you…"

"I'm searching it, Thom. Over."

"Katniss, no, stand down. You're unarmed."

"I'll be fine, Thom."

"Katniss! Stand down and send up a flare! That's an order!"

"If I signal, it might scare them away…"

"What are you talking about? Katniss, stand down!"

The noises are muffled, but it sounds like Katniss has pushed down on the call button and locked it, making his efforts to radio back to her unachievable. He can hear the crunching of leaves under her feet, and without a word to his party, he breaks into a run to make it to the lake. He darts along the shoreline, leaping over stumps and obvious hunting traps, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He just barely hears the squeak of door hinges and Katniss gasp, "Oh my g—" when the radio finally goes silent.

He can't be far away now, but he also can't possibly be close enough that, even at top speed, he can stop whatever might be happening to Katniss. He prays she's alive when he finds her, that he can get her back to the Capitol in one piece, because he can't let Peeta Mellark down. It's unthinkable.

He sees the cabin Katniss described looming in the not-so-far distance, and despite his tired lungs from running, he's just able to call out to her bewildered search party to stay back as he rushes the door of the cabin, brandishing his weapon as he kicks it in and squats down with the trigger primed. There's just one room, wide and open, and what he takes in after his cursory sweep is enough to make him drop the gun and suck in a deep, baffled breath.

Katniss is kneeling on the floor, rocking back and forth, with tears pouring out of her eyes. Her lips are buried in a mess of matted, dirty, blonde curls, and at first, Thom thinks the tiny body is limp and lifeless. When the creature she holds stirs and murmurs something that sounds like, "I w-want my Daddy…" Thom finds he's able to breathe again.

He steps to Katniss's side, who looks up at him with joy in her eyes despite the tears. Thom tilts Rye Mellark's face up to his own and smiles at the little boy, who looks dazed and confused.

"It's alright, Little Duck. I'm gonna call your Daddy right now," Thom says, his own voice thick with emotion.

Katniss continues to cling to the child, rocking him slowly while Thom raises his communicuff and dials in Thresh's call signal. He has to clear his throat a couple of times in order to get the words out, but finally he manages, "Thom to Thresh. We've found him. Alive. I repeat—Little Duck is secure."

He isn't listening. Not that Haymitch expects he would. He's rubbing his knuckles along his pursed lips and staring out the window, but not a single word Thresh is saying to him is registering. Haymitch supposes it's alright—he has plenty of time to talk to with them about Rye's new guard, new security measures, what he'll need to do to make sure that Rye has the mental and emotional support he'll need after such an ordeal as this, but Peeta doesn't have to hear it right now. Haymitch puts his hand on Thresh's shoulder, and the two men share a nod before Thresh gets up and leaves them alone. Haymitch takes the seat next to the President, but doesn't expect that anything he says will get through to Peeta, either.

"Your parents, brothers, and in-laws are with the kiddo already. The girl, of course. And the navigator says we're just a few minutes outside the Dis—"

"Why did they give him morphling?" Peeta says suddenly, drawing his eyes away from the window to look at Haymitch head on. "Why wouldn't they just use chloroform to keep him knocked out, or whatever other drugs Six pumps out by the gallon-full? Why something that would make him…happy?"

Haymitch rubs his jaw thoughtfully, but finally has to shrug his shoulders in defeat. "I'm not sure, sir. But at some point, we probably ought to discuss who the real target in all of this was."

Peeta looks out the window again. "They wanted to get to me. They knew they could get to me through him.

"I'll kill them, Haymitch," Peeta says after a beat. "I'll kill them when we find out who did this."

"Mr. President, you can't say things like—"

"I can say whatever I please. And I mean what I say."

The younger man gets to his feet and throws his jacket on. He leans over the couch in the corner and retrieves the little stuffed cat—Rye's stuffed cat—that Thresh had brought back to him after the investigating agents cleared it of any trace evidence. Peeta holds it tight to his chest as he stamps through the door to the entry hall, where Delly is pacing, waiting just as nervously for the craft to land. Neither sibling pays any mind to the warning for every occupant to take a seat and strap in for landing, and neither Haymitch nor any of their assembled guards says anything to push the subject. The landings are always soft, anyway.

They've touched down in the Meadow between the Seam and the Town, and as soon as the hatch is opened, Peeta and Delly loop arms and practically run between Thresh and Mitchell. Haymitch follows close enough that he can hear Thom greet the President at the base of the stairs, and attempt to inform him of all the circumstances that lead to finding the boy, and what preliminary medical findings they've gleaned so far.

"Other than the crudeness of the removal of his trackers, he shouldn't have any lasting physical damage. His captors kept him warm enough. I think he'll need comfort and sleep more than anything else," Thom says.

"My father has him now?" Peeta says tersely.

"Yes, sir, And Agen—Katniss is with him, too."

They're led to a small hut that Haymitch surmises they'd been using as a base of operations for the search effort. Delly drops back out of respect for her brother, who's hastening his steps to get to his child at long last. As Haymitch looks on, a sea of blonde-haired Mellarks, Cartwrights, and Undersees part enough to show the elder Mr. Mellark holding Rye, wrapped in a blanket and clearly fussy, in his arms.

Peeta's voice is pained and sharp when he cries out, "Rye!"

The boy wiggles free of his grandfather's embrace and breaks into a run, calling out, "Daddy! Daddy!" as he races towards his father. Peeta only has to take a few steps, then falls to his knees and holds out his arms before Rye rushes into them with enough force to knock Peeta backwards. He tucks his son under his chin, places his nose on the crown of the boy's head, draws in a deep breath, and then bursts into tears. His arms completely envelop the child, and he rocks to and fro, clearly unable to do anything but hold his child and weep happily.

In his haste to get to Rye, Peeta dropped the stuffie, and now Haymitch tosses it back and forth between his hands before pressing it into a sobbing Delly Cartwright's trembling arms. A minute later, a muffled, whiny voice complains, "Daddy, you're hugging too tight…", and Peeta releases his grip, wipes his eyes quickly, and presses his forehead against his son's to allow a few inches of space between them.

"I'm sorry, Duck… I just missed you, that's all," Peeta says thickly, and presses a long kiss to his boy's cheek.

"We can go home now, right?" Rye says pathetically, and Peeta nods.

"Yeah, Ry-Ry… We're going home right now."

Peeta rises to his feet with Rye propped on his hip. Peeta beckons Delly closer, and allows her to take the boy into her own arms and cling to him tightly. As excited as the boy appears to be to see his aunt, he seems even happier to see Maysi, and clutches it to his chest.

The crowd behind them parts, and as Peeta takes just a second to stop staring at his son, a weary-looking Katniss Everdeen steps towards him. In the blink of an eye, Katniss launches herself into the President's arms, and while it doesn't surprise Haymitch in the slightest, the President's assembled family gasp softly as the lovers' faces tilt together in a passionate, desperate kiss. Their mouths move in tandem and their embrace is solid to the point that they begin and end together. When they finally surface for a breath, Haymitch can clearly hear Katniss whisper, "I told you… I told you I'd find him."

Chapter Text

April

Peeta's just splashed a fistful of water on his face to rinse away the residual lather from his shave when he hears Rye scream. He doesn't even shut off the tap before he's through the door of the en suite and rounding his bed. He sinks onto the mattress, picks up the flailing, whimpering boy in his arms, and tucks him securely under his chin.

"Shhh… It's okay, Ry-Ry. You're safe. Open your eyes… You're safe here with me."

Rye hiccups pathetically before he begins to cry in earnest. Peeta feels utterly helpless. It's been a week since Rye's come home, tucked safely into Peeta's own large bed with him every night, because at least then the boy's nightmares are manageable. But this one was still plenty bad—and Peeta wishes nothing more than to be able to wipe the horrifying images from his child's brain once and for all.

"It's okay… You're okay," Peeta says again, kissing the crown of Rye's head and letting him go enough so their eyes can meet.

"W-Where's K-Katniss?" Rye stutters through his sobs.

Peeta's heart falls. "Ry-Ry… We talked about Katniss…"

Rye hiccups. "She c-can't be here until the S-Secret S-Service s-says so."

It's a dumb rule; the fallout of Rye's kidnapping coupled with Katniss's resignation from the Secret Service meant that Katniss' s free reign of the mansion and residence had been instantly and unceremoniously severed. Now she's waiting on her clearance to be re-authorized as a permitted guest of the President—only technically, Peeta isn't the acting President. Thom and Thresh have done their best to push her clearance through the system, but to say that the Services's resources are a little strained is something of an understatement. All their effort is being put into the investigation of the suspected kidnapper in custody, training and double-training the new agents on Rye's detail, as well as serving both the acting and inactive Presidents. It's been nearly a week, and her paperwork still hasn't come through. When she comes to visit, she has to sign in as a guest, be patted down and walk through a metal detector, and worst of all, another Secret Service agent has to be present until she leaves. Peeta finds it annoying and unnecessary, of course, but he can tell from the few times she's been in the residence since they brought Rye home that Katniss finds it absolutely mortifying.

"We just have to wait a couple more days, buddy… Then she can come and go whenever she pleases. She can stay with us all she wants, just like before."

"She could s-stay forever, r-right?" Rye hiccups.

Peeta knows he has to tread carefully here, if only because he and Katniss haven't had a spare moment to speak about what their next steps are as a couple. If Peeta has his way, of course, Katniss and all her belongings would be moved into the residence immediately, and he'd have a call in to the jeweler in Five to purchase her a District-appropriate wedding band. But he's only just told her he loves her, and in spite of her reciprocity, he's just not sure that's a place she's willing to go yet.

"We can talk to her about staying with us for good. But later, okay? Right now let's get you back to sleep."

"I can't sleep," Rye complains. "Every time I start to, I…"

"I know. But you need to try."

Peeta tucks Rye tightly under the covers. "I'm right here, Ry-Ry. You're safe."

"But Katniss..."

"She is too, buddy, I know it."

"How?" Rye demands.

Peeta gulps. Technically he has no way of substantiating that claim. "We could call her on the phone. Would that make you feel a little better? Hearing her voice?"

Rye nods emphatically.

"Okay," Peeta says. "We'll call her right now."

He reaches for the phone on his bedside table and punches in the code for an outside line. He hopes they won't be waking her, but as soon as she answers he knows that she must be as wide awake as the pair of them are.

Rye's whimpering abates when he hears her voice on the line; despite the phone pressed firmly against his son's ear, Peeta can hear Katniss singing on the other end, and the effect is dramatic. Within minutes, Rye is slumped against the pillows, looking sleepy again despite his best efforts. Peeta wrests the phone away from him and smiles into the receiver. "Thank you, " he says.

"I'll come by tomorrow and see you both. I miss you..." Katniss says, her voice sounding awfully far away.

"We miss you, too. Good night."

He wiggles under the covers next to his son and wraps his arms around him. Rye cuddles against his chest, clinging to him as he says, "You don't hafta work in the morning, right Daddy? You'll stay with me?"

Peeta grits his teeth. He had, in fact, planned to return to the Aula in the morning. "No, Rye. I don't have to work in the morning."

The promise placates the child and Peeta feels the tiny body soften and grow heavy in his arms. Despite any protestations, within just a few minutes Rye is breathing deeply and evenly.

Peeta, on the other hand, can't seem to shut off his own head enough to sleep even a wink. He braces for the eventual nightmare that will bring about fresh screams and tears; he's uncertain if it'll be Rye's or one of his own.

"I just need you to buy me one more day, Haymitch."

Haymitch gapes at Peeta and rubs a hand roughly along his jaw, clearly biting his tongue. Peeta sighs, and dumps the lump of kneaded bread dough into a bowl before wiping his hands on a towel and crossing his arms over his chest. "She hasn't run the country into the ground yet. It's the weekend coming up, and Parliament isn't in session until middle of next week. What harm is one more day going to do?" Peeta says.

"Shit, Peeta," Haymitch growls, clearly not caring at all that he's throwing all sense of decorum out the window. "It doesn't matter what Alma Coin can and can't do while she's keeping your chair warm. You know Paylor and Lyme and Chaff have worked like dogs to make sure nothing of any legislative importance has come within a hundred feet of the Aula. It's what it looks like on you. You gave up the throne, as it were. You put all your power into the hands of the only other person who had a fighting chance in the election and walked away! And it made sense when we didn't know where Rye was, but he's back. He's home safe, and the Secret Service is going to make damn certain that what happened that night will gonna happen again."

Peeta cuts him off with a glare. "He needs me. He hasn't slept more than three hours at a time. He wakes screaming so loud Delly can hear him down the hall. Whatever amount of morphling they shot him up with wasn't nearly enough to make his memories any less horrific. He needs his father. I'm asking for one more day, that's it."

"You wait any longer to reclaim your seat you can kiss your chances in the next year's formal election goodbye. The people need their leader right now. You need to show them what you're capable of. Make them remember why they liked you in the first place, and why they trusted you. I swear, Peeta, you're as thick as a stone sometimes."

"I don't give a damn, Haymitch!" Peeta hollers. "I don't even know if I want this job anymore!"

"After all the work you did to get here? After everything we planned, you're telling me this now?" Haymitch counters bitterly.

Peeta feels his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. "How's the view from the rafters, Haymitch? Pretty good? 'Cause it seems like you've been pulling my strings for the better part of two decades now, making me do exactly what it was that you never got to do. This wasn't my dream, and you know it—this was what I was willing to do to make my mentor proud of me. I'm done. I'm sick of trying to please you. I'm spending the day with my child. I'll be back to work on Monday."

In all his years of knowing the man, Peeta has never seen his mentor look more out of control, feral, even. He half expects to feel the full force of the older man's fist collide with his jaw, but Haymitch restrains himself. The air crackles with tension as the two men stare one another down for just a moment more before Haymitch storms away.

Katniss comes over a bit after breakfast, and the change in Rye's demeanor is instantaneous: he throws his arms around Katniss's waist and nestles close to her on the couch. Peeta isn't sure how long Rye will continue to be as quiet as he's been since they brought him home. He's used to his son babbling about anything and everything, running out of breath in his excitement to tell stories and share the events of his day. But then, there hasn't been much to share—at least, not anything Rye is willing to talk about.

After an hour of idle chatting and trying to coax Rye into playing a game, or maybe taking a walk in the gardens, Delly excuses herself from the living room to answer the phone, only to bustle back in a few minutes later.

"Peeta, they want to send Rye's new guards up to meet him. I told them it was alright, but I figured..." she says, and Peeta nods.

"That's fine. What do you say, Duck?"

Rye's face contorts in a scowl that looks alarmingly like one Peeta's seen cross Katniss's face, and burrows further into her side. "I don't want a new guard."

"You're not just getting one new guard, Ry-Ry," Delly says patiently. "There's two of them. And then, in just a couple of months, Annie will be coming back, too."

"I don't want Annie. I don't want anyone. Just Katniss."

The three adults share a nervous look between them, and Katniss pulls away just enough to be able to look Rye in the eyes.

"It's not… It doesn't work that way anymore, Rye. I can't be your guard anymore, remember?"

"I don't need one. If you're gonna come stay with me and Daddy and Auntie once the Secret Service says it's okay, why do I need to have one?"

"Katniss won't be going to school with you anymore, Duck," Peeta explains. "When she… if she stays with us, she'll be doing her own thing during the day when you're at school, and one of the new guards or Annie will go with you."

Peeta and Delly exchange a wary glance, both sensing an oncoming temper tantrum. The boy's eyebrows knit together, his cheeks burn rosy red, and he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I. Don't. Want a new guard!" he yells, and Katniss startles.

"Rye. You don't get a say in this," Peeta says sternly. "Katniss doesn't work for the Secret Service anymore. And we have to keep you safe."

"I don't get a say in anything!" Rye screams, jumping up out of his seat and stamping his foot. "The guards are dumb, and I hate all of them!"

Agent Messalla pokes his head into the room right as Rye careens out, running down the hall and slamming a door behind him. He and his sister share a frustrated sigh, and Katniss shrinks back a little, clearly shaken by the outburst.

"I'll go," Delly says, patting Peeta's shoulder and leaving him and Katniss in relative privacy. Peeta collapses on the couch next to Katniss and puts his head in his hands. He feels her slip her arms around his waist and press her forehead against his temple, and the tightness in his shoulders melts away a little.

"That wasn't even the worst one since he's been home," Peeta sighs. "I don't know if it's just because he can't sleep through the night and is just cranky all the time, or if he's just—I don't know. I'd give anything to know what's going on in his head."

"He just went through something terrifying. He's still confused and upset. You are too; I can see it."

"It'd be so, so much better if you were here with us," Peeta murmurs, and pulls her half onto his lap to hold her tight.

"I want to be. I didn't… I wasn't thinking of what would happen next when I marched into Jackson's office. All I was thinking was—"

Peeta cuts her off with a firm, unyielding kiss. They haven't really had the chance to discuss her resignation, her blatant disregard for Peeta's wishes to keep her in the Capitol, or even how she'd managed to get out to Twelve so quickly—it's part and parcel to how little they've seen one another. When they have gotten a rare moment like this to be together, Peeta hasn't wanted to talk.

He drags his knuckles up Katniss's torso and curls his hands gently around the back of her neck. His fingertips find her nape through the loose curtain of her hair, and the pressure he applies there deepens their embrace. Their lips mold, and tongues touch, and Peeta feels a frisson of excitement course through him when she sighs into his mouth. He tilts his head, aiming to see how much harder he can kiss her to make up for the last several days when all they've gotten is a quick peck here and there. She rewards his tenacity by sucking in his bottom lip and nicking it with her front teeth. His head swims, and all he can think of is her—kissing her, touching her...

Delly clears her throat loudly, and they spring apart, panting gently and blushing, a bit like teenagers having been caught by their parents. Surely they couldn't have been alone for more than a couple of minutes? Peeta crosses one of his legs over the other to disguise what just a moment alone with Katniss Everdeen can do to him, and nods at his sister.

"He's calmed down?"

"No, he's hiding in the bottom of my closet and won't come out. But the guards are here—or did you miss the knocking?" There's a slight lilt in Delly's voice, almost like she's amused.

"Do you want me to go and try to talk to Rye?" Katniss whispers after Delly steps into the foyer to answer the door. Peeta laces his fingers with hers and squeezes.

"He'll calm down when he's ready. Why don't you come meet these new guards, too?" Peeta asks.

Katniss shrinks back and shakes her head. "I'd really… rather not, just yet."

It takes Peeta a moment, but of course, it makes sense. Were their roles reversed, he might not want to meet his replacement either.

"I'll be quick, then," he says, kissing her forehead tenderly before rushing off after Delly. When he glances behind him, he spies Katniss looking longingly towards the direction Rye had stormed off. It wouldn't surprise him at all if she goes to him anyway as soon as Peeta's otherwise disposed.

The thought is actually incredibly comforting.

As agreed, first thing Monday morning Peeta dresses in his favorite grey suit and strides with purpose down to the Aula. He tries not to focus on the tear-dampened spot on his lapel where Rye's face had been pressed just a few moments before. It had taken dozens of hugs and kisses before the boy had let go of the vice grip he had around his father's neck. In the end, it was only the promise that Katniss would be coming by later on that calmed Rye down enough for Peeta to leave. It had never exactly been easy to leave his child for a day of running the country, but Peeta hasn't felt this level of guilt and anxiety since Rye was much, much younger.

Effie and Haymitch meet him in Finnick's office, and if Effie notices the chilly air between the two men, she doesn't comment on it. She's practically trembling with excitement over the document she holds in her hand, and leads the two men into the Aula without even so much as a cursory knock on the door.

Alma Coin gets up from behind the desk—his desk, Peeta reminds himself—and nods politely to the entrants.

"Mr. President," she says with as much respect as she is apparently able to muster.

"Madam President," Peeta replies.

"Shall we?" she asks, gesturing towards the nearly bare desktop. What has she done with all his pictures?

Effie practically slams the document down on the glass. "I'll act as witness," she says coldly to Coin's assistant. "Mr. President, upon the placement of your signature here, and Madam Coin's here, all powers of the office of the President of Panem will revert back to you. And at that time, Madam Coin will be welcome to resume her duties as Prime Minister."

"I didn't realize getting one's job back could be so simple," Coin smirks. Peeta wasn't expecting that sort of barb—it stings more than he could have prepared for.

He struts forward; with wide, looping letters, he officially reclaims his power. He can feel Haymitch's eyes boring into the back of his neck, but he's not prepared to turn around and face his mentor just yet.

Coin's signature is smaller than his, but she takes an alarmingly long time to scan the document, wield a pen, and cap it while the ink soaks in.

"May I have a word in private with you, Mr. President?" she asks, looking at the others in the room.

"Of course," Peeta replies. With murmured thank yous, everyone else leaves leave the Aula, and Haymitch closes the private door to his office with a resounding slam.

"I assume we're speaking candidly?" Peeta asks, circling around his desk to effectively boot her from the spot entirely. All of Rye's drawings have been removed from under the glass topper, and he'd honestly like Coin out as soon as possible so he can find where they've been squirreled away.

"If you'll permit," she says. "First of all, it is very good to see you back in action, sir."

Her tone almost sounds genuine. Peeta dons an insincere smile and nods.

"And I am incredibly relieved your son was returned to you so quickly and with so little injury. It's really quite the blessing."

"Yes, it is. Not that I don't appreciate your well-wishes, Madam Prime Minister but…"

Coin nods. "I'd simply like to remind you that, in spite of everything, I've no intention of permitting you to continue to run the country amok, as was your method prior to your personal tragedy. I love my country very dearly, sir, and I shan't allow you to ruin everything we've worked for."

The tips of Peeta's ears begin to burn. His brow furrows and he glares down his nose at the poised, self-assured woman, racking his brain for what to say in response.

"You're very young, Mr. President. And your idealism is enthralling and romantic. But I can assure you we will continue to be at odds with one another as long as I believe you to be acting recklessly where the sanctity and sovereignty of our nation is concerned," Coin says resolutely.

"Back to isolationism so quickly," Peeta sighs. "What do I need to do in order to convince you that rejecting this paradigm we've been so thoroughly ensconced in for so long is the only way—and I do mean the only way—for Panem to thrive? To actually stay sovereign?"

"Convince yourself of it," Coin says. "Convince me you're more than Haymitch Abernathy's charismatic, young mouthpiece. Convince me you actually know what you're doing."

"Get. Out." Peeta doesn't care how rude he's being—if he looks at her for too much longer, he's liable to do say something irrational.

"One last piece of advice," Coin says as she turns on her heel and heads towards the door, "I'd look up a phenomenon called Stockholm Syndrome when you get a spare moment. It might surprise you."

He glares at the back of her head until she's gone, and slumps into his chair. He opens up the top-most drawer of his desk to be immediately rewarded with the stack of Rye's drawings and framed photographs. It brings a modicum of calm to his shaking fingers to replace them one by one. He has to rub his hands together briskly to steady them enough to grab a pen and pad of paper to jot down the term. He's not sure why it sounds so familiar. Perhaps it's one of the pre-Panem terms he's heard Haymitch prattle off. Haymitch would likely be the best person to ask its meaning of whenever they speak civilly again.

Something about it bothers him, though he tries to push it from his mind. Alma Coin won't rattle his cage anymore today. Today he has a nation to run.

Peeta's eyes are so bleary when he walks into the residence that evening that he actually thinks he's just seeing things. It's only after Rye spots Peeta and takes a running leap into his arms does he realize that the man with the short-cropped, greying hair and thin-rimmed spectacles is really there. In his living room. Speaking with his son. Alone.

The man leaps to his feet and very curtly introduces himself as Marus Aurelius—Doctor Marus Aurelius. It takes several minutes, but when Peeta realizes the man isn't there to check on Rye's vitamin count or give him an inoculation, he begins to see red. The man is a shrink. As soon as Delly bustles out of the kitchen, pries Rye from his arms, and sends the boy back in the living room so she can "have a private talk with Daddy," Peeta begins to put things together… though it doesn't make him any less angry at his sister.

"We can explain everything," Delly says calmly, motioning between she and Katniss.

"It better be a damned good one. Why is there a stranger in my living room?" Peeta seethes.

"He isn't a stranger, not really. Katniss knows him—all the Secret Service agents do, he's their main doctor!" Delly says. "He has the same amount of clearance as any of the agents and…"

Delly continues, but Peeta doesn't listen. The term 'clearance' has begun to lose all meaning to him, and he's starting to think it's really just an abstract term to piss him off. They've had ten days to get Katniss the 'clearance' she needs to be a permitted guest in his home, and he's just not buying that it's really supposed to be taking this long. If she was good enough to protect his child two weeks ago, why is it that she can't be in his presence now without a guard in the next room?

"We just—I thought it'd be good for Rye to have someone to talk to..."

"No, Dell," Peeta intones. "That wasn't a call you could make without me. What the fuck?"

"He needs this, Peeta."

"He has me. He has us, and Katniss, and his new guards, and he's home and safe and—"

"He's home, Peeta," Delly interrupts, "but he doesn't feel safe! Cripes, I knew you could be thick-headed but surely you're not so thick-headed that you can't see how damaged he is?"

"Of course I see that he's still upset! He just went through hell!" Peeta snaps. "He isn't going to feel like that forever, though! And for the love of everything, Delly, why did you do this without talking to me about it first?"

"Because we were worried you wouldn't listen! We were worried you hadn't seen it!" Katniss bursts out.

Not since that abysmal day in his bedroom last week has she raised her voice to him. If he thought he was angry before, he's livid by now. Not at Katniss necessarily... at the feeling that everything is suddenly spiraling out of control.

"Just…sit down. We really can explain everything."

At eight, Rye is really too old to need his aunt's help to take a bath, but Delly can't help wanting to be near her nephew since he was brought back to them. Rye allows her to hover a bit more than he might otherwise—maybe because he craves the closeness of his aunt just as much. She reclines uncomfortably on the toilet seat while he splashes away, content to only peek at him now and again and otherwise skim a novel so he can have relative privacy.

"Ow!" Rye hisses.

"Ry-Ry? Are you okay?"

"I got soap in my eye," the boy whines.

Delly gets up and perches on the edge of the tub. "Is it okay if I help?"

The little boy nods, and Delly grabs the detachable shower hose, testing the temperature of the spray on the inside of her wrist, and tells Rye to tilt his head backwards.

"All the way back, Rye, so the water doesn't run—"

She nudges him under his chin just as he turns his head, and her knuckle bumps unintentionally against his throat. The change in Rye's demeanor is instantaneous—he draws his knees up to his chest, scrunches his head down, and brings his shoulders up to his ears.

"Ow!" he repeats, more emphatically this time.

"I'm sorry, buddy, what did I…?"

"I don't like my neck touched, okay?" he snaps, and buries his face between his knees.

"Oh." Delly sits for a moment, a little at loss for words. "Okay."

She helps him rinse the rest of the shampoo out of his hair as best she can without it getting into his eyes, but she can't help but notice how vividly scarlet his eyes are when she wraps a fluffy towel around his shoulders. She asks him if he'd like her to pick out some clothes from his bedroom closet—the one place in the residence the boy refuses to even look towards. He says, very indignantly, that his daddy already did, and pads into Peeta's bedroom to change.

As she watches him latch the door, she holds her hands in front of her, waist-high—approximately the level at which Rye comes up on her. She thinks about how she hugs him, and concludes she must press her palms to his shoulders instead of the back of his head or neck.

Maybe she's just never noticed this reaction to his neck being touched before.

She's gotten Rye to lay down on the couch with a blanket off Peeta's bed, his stuffie Maysi, and a low-volume children's program on the television, in hopes he might nap a little. Right around the time he drifts off, Thom comes in to tell her Katniss has been checked in at the main entrance and is on her way up. She asks him to wait in the hallway in case Rye wakes, and steps into the foyer to wait for Katniss.

When she steps off the elevator, Delly sees Katniss's face fall just a touch when it's not Rye who greets her. She recovers quickly, and offers her arm to Delly for a quick embrace.

"I need you to do something for me," Delly whispers in her ear.

"Er… Alright?"

Delly drops her voice further so there's no chance the two guards outside the residence's double doors can hear them. She steps back when she's finished vocalizing her request, and looks at Katniss imploringly.

"Of course, Delly." Katniss pats the other woman's arm and heads towards the living room with determination.

When they walk into the living room a moment later, Katniss kneels next to the couch and brushes a lock of hair back from Rye's eyes as he sleeps. The boy's eyes flutter open, and a smile splits his face when he sees her.

"I promised I'd come today, didn't I?" she says softly, and he sits up to put his arms around her shoulders. When she hugs him in return, she combs her fingers softly through his hair and brushes the pad of her thumb along the side of his neck, just under his ear.

The difference is night and day.

"No, stop!" he says, flinging back from her and curling in on himself.

Delly looks at Katniss significantly over the back of Rye's head.

"Rye…" Katniss asks delicately. "Does your neck hurt?"

The boy opens his mouth to speak…but instead he just begins to cry.

Peeta thinks back to the day he'd been reunited with Rye in Twelve, and how he'd let his eyes pour over every inch of his son, checking for any outward sign of damage. Some small cuts and scrapes were the worst of his injuries, other than the points on his right hip, the back of his left calf, and in the crook of his right arm, where his trackers had been removed. And Peeta remembers, very suddenly and vividly, a bright blue and purple bruise on the underside of his chin. It hadn't been very large, and was easy enough to ignore after he had his son back in his arms.

"His neck…" Peeta whimpers, his fingers subconsciously going for the knot in his tie to loosen the fabric, "…why didn't I notice it?"

"Because I don't think he wanted you to notice, Peeta," Delly says soothingly. "He wants… All Rye has ever wanted was for you to be as proud of him as he is of you. And he does that by being smart or sweet or strong for you."

He doesn't have to be anything but himself, Peeta thinks ruefully. He's perfect just how he is.

"You can't fault him for that," Katniss agrees.

His righteous anger abates into mortification. He's been by Rye's side all week and noticed nothing. Even though they both love Rye as they do, how could Delly and Katniss see something he couldn't? What sort of father does that make him?

"You… You should still have talked to me about this first, Dell," Peeta stammers. "He's my son, you can't just—"

His sister doesn't let him finish. Her voice is eerily calm as she says, "No, I think I can. I believe that you gave me that right when you asked me to be his primary caregiver. He might belong solely to you by blood, Peeta, but he belongs to me, too. I won't apologize for doing something when I saw something that scared me, not when that is what I believe in my heart was best for him. I gave up my life to help you live yours—you can forgive me overstepping an inch when it comes to him."

It's the first time since she slapped him that he hasn't felt a united front with his sister. Despite how calm her words are, her glare is cold, to the point he actually shivers when she storms past him out of the kitchen, leaving him and Katniss alone.

"Katniss," he chokes out, "am I doing everything all wrong?"

Either because she doesn't know what to say, or is too afraid to say anything, she goes to him and slips her arms around his waist. He buries his face in her hair for a long moment, getting lost in his swirling thoughts. He almost doesn't hear her speak.

"Whatever happened, and whatever happens next, I promise we'll get through it together."

He knows his smile doesn't reach his eyes, but her words do pacify him. "Right," he says. "Together."

Her palms fit lightly around his jaw and her fingertips graze the tips of his ears as she pushes onto her tiptoes and slants her mouth over his.

Delly returns a scant moment later, Rye tucked into her side. His sister seems to have a natural proclivity for interrupting them like this. When Katniss and Peeta pull away from one another, Peeta kneels down immediately to beckon Rye, who has his face half-hidden in Delly's side, towards him. Once he gathers the boy in his arms, he raises his eyebrows to Katniss, silently asking for a moment. Once alone, Peeta sets Rye on the counter and places his palms down on either side of the boy's legs.

"What's going on, buddy?" Peeta asks gently.

"Nothing," Rye mutters.

"It didn't look like nothing to me. C'mon, we tell each other everything. Don't you trust me anymore?"

"No, it's not that!" Rye objects. His bottom lip trembles and Peeta's heart breaks.

"Rye… Please tell me what's wrong. It scares me that you won't," Peeta begs.

Rye drops his head and speaks into his chest. Peeta just barely makes out the words, "They hurt my neck." His spine stiffens and he feels the irrational, irate part of his brain take over again. He squashes it down so he doesn't scare Rye, and presses their foreheads together.

"Is that what some of your nightmares are about?"

Rye's crying openly now. "Uh-huh."

The sight of his child looking so tiny and vulnerable kills Peeta. "You know they can't hurt you anymore, right? We got them—they won't ever hurt you again, Rye. I won't allow it."

"I k-know."

"And you and me… We're gonna be real honest with each other from here on out, okay? No matter what, I want you to remember that you can tell me what's wrong. I'd be a pretty bad daddy if you couldn't tell me things, wouldn't I?"

"You're n-not," Rye stammers. "You're the best d-daddy ever. I j-just…"

Peeta wraps his arm tightly around Rye and presses his lips to the crown of his head. "It's okay, Ry-Ry. We have lots of time to figure all this out, I promise."

As much as he wants to wake his son before he leaves for the Aula, Peeta just can't find it in him to disturb the sleeping child. It'd been another fitful night for Rye, and now that he's actually asleep, Peeta'd much prefer to just let him be.

As he slips out of the bedroom, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he heads for the kitchen. He's desperate for a cup of coffee instead of his usual tea, and is rewarded with the pungent scent of it as soon as he steps through the door. Delly presses a cup into his hand and smiles gently.

"You know, he could stay with me a night or two so you could actually sleep," she offers.

"I might just take you up on that," Peeta says.

"Aurelius will be up at eleven. Any chance you can be here around noon when they're finished so he can speak to you afterwards?"

Peeta rubs his face haggardly. "I'll try. I promise."

Delly shrugs. "I can bring Rye down at 3:30 if you can't. You know what Aurelius said..."

"Please do. It'll be good to get back to that."

His sister moves about the kitchen, slicing and buttering bread, adding milk to her coffee; Peeta sets his own cup down and steps towards her. "Hey, Dell?"

She turns and nods without saying anything. He pulls her into his arms and embraces her tightly. It takes her a moment to return the hug, and when she pulls away, she looks at him, confusion etched on her face.

"Thanks," he says.

"For what?"

"You know for what. For...everything. I guess I just realized that I, ah... I've never really thanked you for everything you've done for me. For us."

"No, you haven't. Not really," she says quietly.

"I'm sorry. But I do realize that I wouldn't be able to do this, any of it, without you. As much as I like to think I'm the one raising Rye, it's mostly been you. And I'm grateful."

She pats his cheek softly. "I'd do it no matter what, you know. I love him that much. And you, too."

He sips his coffee pensively, the liquid brew bringing him more and more to proper awareness. He absentmindedly runs the pad of his thumb over the knuckles of his left hand, and grins to himself.

"Do you think I'd be crazy to ask Katniss to marry me?" Peeta says out of nowhere. His sister freezes, turns, and snorts out a laugh.

"I think it's crazy you'd ask my opinion. You're going to do exactly what you're going to do regardless of my opinion, Peeta. We both know that."

"Well, if I do and she says yes... Things around here would change a little."

"I'd imagine they would."

"I just want you to know that no matter what happens and no matter what I decide... You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. And that includes staying or going."

She smiles tiredly at him. "I'll keep that in mind. But all my complaining to the contrary, I am happy here. I want to be with him for a little longer. If and when you and Katniss decide to take any further steps forward... Well, we'll reassess from there."

Peeta nods, kisses his sister's cheek, and places his empty cup in the dishwasher. "I've got to get to work. He's still asleep for now, but check in on him in a bit?"

"Of course. Have a good day, Peeta," Delly says kindly.

He's slipping into the hallway when the front door opens and Katniss strides through. For a moment, he thinks she's alone and her clearance has come through. Alas, when she gets close enough to throw her arms around his neck, he sees she has a shadow after all—one of Rye's new guards, a young, petite woman by the name of Rue. Peeta had been dubious of the young woman's capability at first until Thresh assured him that underestimating Rue would be a dangerous proposition.

He nods politely at the guard before taking Katniss in his arms, reveling in the brief moment he'll get with her before he has to leave. As he breathes in the scent of her, his breath hitches in his throat; he finds himself aching with need, but with no chance of being alone with her.

Unless…

"Rue, will you pardon us for just a moment?" Peeta says, tugging Katniss towards his bedroom, without allowing the woman to respond. As prescribed by protocol, Peeta leaves the double doors slightly ajar, but no such measure is required for his en suite. They cross the bedroom as quietly as they can, and as a barricade, Peeta presses Katniss firmly to to the door as soon as it latches behind them. She's wearing a wide-necked sweatshirt the color of autumn, leaving her neck blissfully exposed. Without hesitation, he pins her in place with his body and samples her exposed skin with a greedy mouth.

"Peeta," she groans, her head thumping against the wood behind her. "Rye will be awake any second, and you're going to…"

"I don't care. I know I can't have my way with you like I want, but you've got to give me this moment," he growls into her ear before latching onto the lobe. Her hips undulate against his, her soft center pressing firmly against the bulge in his trousers. He's sure he could come just from that. He wouldn't even care that he'd have to change suits.

He grasps her by the wrists and forces them roughly over her head. Her left leg loops around his waist, leaving her center more exposed for him to buck against, and he moans gratefully as he presses a feverish kiss to her lips. She responds to the vigorous rocking of his pelvis into hers by sucking his bottom lip in between her teeth, and they grunt in tandem as they writhe faster against one another.

"I can't go another night without you," he breathes into her mouth. "I'll go mad."

She sighs an affirmative response before tightening her leg around him.

"You'll have clearance by tonight," he says, holding her wrists with one hand and pulling away just enough to slip his hands between their bodies and into the soft fabric of her billowy pants. He finds her clit quickly and presses in on it, circling it tightly as she clamps down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out. He watches her for a delicious second before leaning back into her and murmuring right into her ear, "You'll be with me tonight, I'll make sure of it."

Her head jerks up and down as her eyes clench closed, and he seals his lips over hers as he feels her pulse begin to pound through the little bundle under his three digits. She comes with a shudder and a yelp against his tongue. What he wouldn't give to drive his cock inside her and join her, but instead, he steps away, pops his fingers into his mouth, and kisses her sweetly on her nose. His own release tonight will feel all the better after a day of her taste on his lips.

She pants against the door as he tugs off his jacket to fold over his groin, hiding his still-aroused state from anyone he might happen by on his way to the office. She clutches at the door handle to keep herself upright, and beckons him again with a curl of her fingers.

Before their mouths connect, she whispers, "I love you."

Tonight, he promises himself, willing his erection to stop twitching. Tonight you'll make it worth every second you've been apart.

"I love you, Katniss. I'll talk to the guards today. You'll stay with Rye?"

"Of course," she says with a smile.

"Good. Delly is going to bring him down at the usual time. Doct—" Peeta sobers as he thinks of the bespectacled man who now sees Rye every other day in an effort to help the boy heal. "Aurelius thinks we need to get him used to things he did before."

"Same time as always, Mr. President," Katniss says with a wink.

They open the bathroom door, and when he's satisfied Rye hasn't been disturbed, he plants one last, long kiss on Katniss's swollen mouth.

"I'll see you soon," he says, and slips away from her back into the hallway. A quick glance over his shoulder shows her perching carefully on the edge of the the bed, as if she's guarding Rye from any nightmare that could befall him in his sleepy state. He loves the sight of that.

Rue nods at him politely, standing at full attention as he passes. As he walks by one of the mirrors hanging in the hallway, he happens to glance into it. The reflection reveals Rue's eyes dart quickly inwards, as if she's straining to see what's beyond the double doors. Annoyance creeps into Peeta's previously blissful state of being, but he releases it in a huff when the elevator doors close behind him a minute later.

No more shadows. I'll make sure of it.

Peeta barely notices the clock ticking closer and closer to 3:30. He's worked straight through lunch, something only his growling stomach reminds him of. He's pondering asking Effie to block him out for an extra thirty minutes, so that he might sneak up to the residence and eat a proper meal, when Haymitch comes barging into the Aula. He has every right to, of course, and there's no reason for Peeta to suspect anything is amiss. In fact, were it not for Johanna hot on his trail, Peeta wouldn't have thought twice about it.

"Mr. President, you'll have to pardon the interruption," Haymitch says brusquely, "but I'm afraid that we've something to discuss with you that cannot wait."

Peeta looks closely at the pair—Johanna actually looks to be breathless—and is about to nod for Haymitch to continue when the 'Rye' buzzer trills behind him.

"Just let me get Rye and Katniss and Delly settled, and we'll speak in private," Peeta says. As Haymitch opens his mouth to object, one of the office's doors slides open and Rye rushes through it with Katniss, Delly, and Rue close behind. Peeta can tell at once that while this visit is to get Rye reaccustomed to the way their lives had been up to this point, it'll be weeks before Rye's even close to back to normal.

At least we're doing something about it now, though, he reminds himself. That's a good step.

He presses a kiss to the top of Rye's head, and then holds up his hands as if in question of something. "Hey kiddo… Where's my drawing, huh?"

"Oh… Uh, Dr. Marus didn't know about that and so we didn't…"

Rye seems genuinely upset for a second, and Peeta smoothes his hair behind his ears to reassure him. "I'm just teasing, buddy. But I wanna talk to you about your talk with Dr. Marus if that's okay. Can I just speak to Mr. Haymitch for a quick second? You go sit in my chair and keep it comfy for me."

Katniss and Delly settle on one of the couches with Rue positioned near the fireplace, looking up at the glass domed ceiling. Peeta squeezes both women's shoulders as he passes the sofa, and signals for Haymitch to follow him back towards the adjoining office. It doesn't escape Peeta's notice that Johanna is suddenly missing.

"What is it you wanted to—" Peeta begins, but Haymitch is quick to cut him off.

"You need to get the kiddo out of the office for a few minutes. I sent Johanna to grab Finnick to watch him," his mentor says quickly.

Peeta's stomach bottoms out. "He just got here and his guard is with him, what could possibly be wrong?"

"It's not about his safety. Just get him out of this office if you know what's good for him."

Finnick and Johanna push through the door the next second, and Peeta looks bewilderedly between the pair and Haymitch. Demands of an explanation are on his lips, but something about Haymitch's air doesn't seem to permit for such a thing. The eldest man nods at Finnick, and thinking on his toes, Peeta turns around, circles his desk, and spins his office chair once playfully before smiling softly at his son.

"So, I talked to Ms. Effie, and I'm going to come to the residence in just a minute or two and have something to eat with you all before my next meeting. But for just a second, you and Rue are going to go to Mr. Finnick's office with him so I can talk to your Auntie and Katniss alone. That okay?"

Rye surveys him dubiously. "You're really coming home? Not like at lunchtime?"

"Cross my heart. Go on with Mr. Finnick, I'll come get you in just a second."

His bluff is accepted, and Finnick holds out his hand to the boy to guide him out of the Aula. When the bronze-haired man looks over Rye's head and gives him a beguiling look, Peeta tries to place it. The only thing he can equate it with, though, is...pity?

Katniss and Delly are on their feet just as soon as Rye disappears and all three look to Haymitch for an explanation. It seems that all Haymitch can do is swallow hard, shake his head, and mutter, "Peeta, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, son."

Peeta doesn't get the chance to ask him what he's apologizing for when the door opens again, this time to what seems like a flood of agents Peeta barely recognizes. Effie is clicking behind them, bellowing to them about following protocol at all times where the President is concerned, but the agents all patently ignore her as they round the sofas towards him.

No. Not towards him, he realizes. Towards Katniss.

"Katniss Everdeen, please present your hands. You are being bound by law for suspicion of crimes against the President and Nation of Panem, and requested to submit without struggle," a man with a stone face barks as two others flank Katniss's sides. Delly gasps as she's roughly pushed aside. Peeta tries to wedge his way, but is forcibly held back.

"What the hell is the meaning of this? This woman is my—" Peeta shouts.

The agent holding his arm actually shakes him. "Stand down, Mr. President. This is for your safety, and the safety of your family."

Katniss's head whips over her shoulder, her silver eyes panicked and voice hoarse as she stammers, "Peeta? What's happening?"

"No, I demand answers! What crimes is she accused of? You won't remove her from my presence until I'm satisfied that—"

"She stands accused of conspiracy to commit kidnapping, torture, and the possible intent to murder. Sir, stand down. This woman is a threat to you."

Peeta freezes in place. Delly bursts into tears as agents pull her towards Peeta's side, and the men flanking Katniss begin to pull her towards the door. Her hair flies in her face as she tries to turn and face Peeta. "Peeta! Peeta, please don't believe them!" she cries.

"Katniss!" Peeta pushes against the guards holding him, but it's like trying to dislodge a brick wall. "Katniss, don't worry, I'll get everything—"

They're pulling her out the door now, and Peeta knows every one of his staffers will soon be witness to this spectacle. His voice breaks as the guards pull Katniss away, and is barely audible when he tries to call out to her to tell her that everything is going to be alright.

His words don't reach her, though. As the door begins to slide closed, he hears a strangled cry of "Katniss!" He'd know the voice of his son anywhere. His feet, which felt frozen in place, spring to action, and he manages to elbow the guard restraining him to slip from his grip. He sprints to the door, slamming his palm between the door and the jam, forcing it to open again so he can run out into the outer wing and watch as his son tears through the desks of confused assistants and aides. His tiny arms wrap around and cling to Katniss's legs.

"Katniss! What's happening? Where are you going?" Rye wails.

"Rye, let go," Katniss says in a clipped tone Peeta has never heard her use, not even when she was new in their lives and skittish around them both.

"Let her go!" Rye says, pushing uselessly at one of the arresting guards. "Katniss, you can't leave me!"

"Go find your father, Rye. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Peeta realizes in a sickening moment that her tone is rough because she's trying not to break down herself and is failing miserably. Her handcuffed hands cup Rye's jaw for just a moment before she nods to her captors and lets them pull her along. Suddenly, Rye is screaming and tearing at the agents' clothes, until a hulking form—it takes Peeta a moment to realize it's Haymitch—stalks past, scoops the boy up around the waist, and hauls him kicking and hollering to Peeta's outstretched, quaking arms.

The agent he'd elbowed and broken free from hauls him back into the Aula by his collar and secures the door behind him. As it closes, Peeta hears Haymitch growl, "Show's over. Back to work." The next second, Peeta is alone with Rye and a weeping Delly in the corner of the office, his son struggling like a wild animal caught in a hunter's snare. When Peeta puts him down and hold onto his shoulders to keep him still, Rye pushes against his chest in anger.

"Daddy! Daddy, what did they do?! Where are they taking Katniss?!"

Peeta tries to answer him, but his voice escapes him as a racking sob takes over his chest. He wills tears not to spill over his cheeks as he says to himself over and over again that this can't be real, that none of this can possibly be real...

"Daddy, why are you crying?! Where is she going? Daddy, answer me!" Rye shrieks.

Peeta opens and closes his mouth a dozen times or more, but still no words escape his throat. Before Rye can turn and slam his fists against the door that locks them in place, he crushes his son to his chest and together, they begin to howl.

Chapter Text

At first, the stilted, carefully chosen words coming from Thresh and Thom's mouths are merely baffling. As they continue to speak, however, Peeta feels his teeth setting on edge and his spine stiffening. His head turns from side to side of its own volition, because if he could stop it, he would. He'd retain his composure so that when he opens his mouth and says, "That isn't possible," it comes out with his usual bravado and confidence. Instead, the words sound like they're coming from the mouth of a petulant child.

"I'm sorry, sir. But we're afraid that it is," Thresh says. He hangs his head, a strange look for the composed guard.

What they're saying makes no sense. That, when questioned, the woman arrested in District Eleven not only admitted to being part of the plot to kidnap Rye, but also gave explicit details on how it was she was hired. She, the redhead found in the house on the outskirts of the Capitol, and the blonde found in Twelve's boundary woods were mercenaries for hire—and they'd been hired by a woman with specific ties to the President himself. They'd been given access codes and schematics detailing possible entries and hasty exits of the Presidential residence. They'd even been issued Secret Service-grade weaponry, with which they'd executed Agents Marvel and Cato before gagging Rye with chloroform, and injecting him repeatedly with morphling, straight to his jugular, to keep him placated and calm. All this horrifies Peeta enough. What makes his blood sluice like ice is Thresh's implication that this monster of a woman who'd done the hiring was Katniss. His Katniss. The woman who'd sworn to protect Rye at the very cost of her own life. The woman who Peeta has every intention of making Rye's mother.

"You all know Katniss," Peeta says, regaining a touch of his self-control. "She loves Rye. She'd die for him. I can assure you, this woman you have in custody is lying through her teeth."

Johanna speaks next. Why is it that Johanna always looks so downtrodden when she speaks to him? Why is she always the bearer of bad news? "She submitted to a lie-detector test, sir. And passed."

"That seems circumstantial at best," Haymitch says. "And polygraphs won't hold up in court."

"We received this information from the suspect immediately after Rye was found and brought home. We can assure you, sir, this has been thoroughly vetted. Agent Jackson believes they had enough solid evidence to arrest Ms. Everdeen and hold her for questioning," Johanna says. Is Peeta going mad, or is she wincing as she says it? He still might be going mad, because this, all of this, makes no sense.

"You… You all know her," Peeta says again. His voice is failing him. None of this seems real.

"Mr. President," Thom says, "when Katniss went into the hut near the lake where we found Rye, she went in unarmed. Sir—as an agent, doing something so reckless would amount to suicide. Unless… Unless she knew already what it was she was going to find."

It was my idea to leave Rye that night with only the outer guards to keep an eye on him, he thinks, clinging to his last vestiges of absolute knowledge. But it was Katniss who wanted out of the residence. Peeta's vision actually blurs. He can feel his jaw clenching so hard he's sure he'll break a tooth or two. It can't be real, he says over and over in his head. It can't be real. It's not real…

"We're sorry, sir. We truly are," Johanna says.

"What will…" Peeta's throat is so dry that he can barely form words. "What's happening to her?"

"She's being held indefinitely for questioning. She, ah, isn't—" Thresh begins, but significant looks from Thom and Johanna cut him off.

"She isn't what? Please, tell me…" Peeta begs the man.

"She's not cooperating."

"But if she did, she'd be able to clear all of this up and show you that she's innocent," Peeta says, aghast.

"This is what we assumed, too, sir. I'm sorry, we can't divulge anything further. You'll have to take the matter up with Plutarch Heavensbee."

So the man responsible for prosecuting Coriolanus Snow for his crimes against the nation will also be prosecuting Katniss. Peeta feels conflicted, because of course he would want the most illustrious prosecutor seeking justice for his son. But as long as he still holds on to hope that Katniss has been wrongly accused, he feels only bitterness.

Even worse is the crushing realization that this very hope is depleting by the moment. He loves Katniss—but Rye is his world. And if he was wrong about her, if they all were, even wise, methodical Gale Hawthorne, and Heavensbee can prove it…

"I need a moment, please," he says. The guards nod curtly and file out, murmuring farewells as they go. Peeta picks a spot on the carpet to stare at in order to ignore Haymitch, who hasn't left. He's about to snap at him that 'a moment' means alone when Haymitch gets to his feet.

"I am sorry, too, Mr. President," Haymitch says. "I wanted to warn you sooner, try to explain matters before they got as far as they did today, but—"

Peeta feels something biting and nasty on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back. "It wasn't your fault, Haymitch."

"I'll leave you. But I'm in my office the rest of the night if you need me."

"It won't be necessary. I'm going home soon. You should as well." It dawns on Peeta as he speaks that he's only got a few minutes to compartmentalize everything that's happened today before he has to deal with his still-hysterical child, and then press on with the business of running the nation. If his critics were less than enthused with the time he took to get back to work after Rye's return, he'd never live down taking more time after the arrest of his girlfriend for that very crime.

His Katniss. Who he wants to believe loves Rye, and would never, under any circumstance, do anything to harm him.

He clings to this as best he can as he begins shake. He attempts to gets out of his chair and leave the Aula, but he finds himself clutching the back of it until his knuckles go white and he can control himself.

It's not real, he tells himself. It can't possibly be real.

…Can it?

When at last he's alone in the Aula, Peeta tugs at his tie around his throat and pops open his top-most button. The freedom of taking off his tie at the end of the day has always been  his signal  to settle in for the evening and calm his nerves. He understands tonight, though, that his work is far from over. So much for being home to tuck Rye into bed. He pours two fingers of whiskey from the crystal decanter he keeps tucked away from Haymitch's eyes and takes a deep gulp before settling down to the last of his business for the night.

He picks up the heavy binder and puts it in his lap. His bottom drawer is the right level to open and prop his feet up on. Might as well be comfortable, he decides. He flips to the first page flagged for him, but his eyes are so irritated he's barely able to focus on the print. When his call button from Effie's desk trills, it's is a welcome distraction.

"Mr President? Agent  Hawthorne is  here to see you, if you can be disturbed."

I will gladly be disturbed, Peeta thinks. "Send him in, please."

Gale strides in with purpose and nods. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. President, but Johanna told me you and Mr. Abernathy were still in and I thought I'd take a chance."

"It's no trouble, Gale. Please, have a seat," Peeta says, walking around the desk and settling in to his wingback chair in the middle of the room. "Need something to drink?"

"No, sir, thank you. I actually came to discuss the posting of your son's detail."

"Something I'm actually interested in," Peeta jokes. "Have a candidate in mind then?"

"I do, sir. It's someone I attended the Academy with. She's not active duty Secret Service but she's second in command of the Peacekeeping force in District Five."

Peeta is impressed.  He remembers being wowed by the efficiency and diligence of the Peacekeepers there when he'd gone through on campaign visits. "If she isn't Secret Service, what would possess her to want to switch over? Running a District seems more lucrative than being a bodyguard. Hell of a lot safer, too."

"Katniss… has an acute sense of duty, sir. She always seems has something to prove to herself—whether she'll admit that's her driving force or not is debatable. But she's passionate and she's dedicated. Smart as a whip, too. People seem to be drawn to her, whether she likes it or not. I think your son would take to her well."

"How is she with children?"

Gale purses his lips. "She had a younger sibling, so she's been around them. She'll manage."

Peeta runs his fingers along his jaw and debates his next question. He's not entirely sure how to ask it without sounding vaguely sexist, but given the situation with Annie, he feels he needs to.

"Is she… How do I ask this delicately… Does she have a family? Obviously Annie's condition is only temporary and she'll be back on Rye's detail soon enough, but I'm slightly concerned—"

Gale chuckles. "I can just about guarantee you that won't be a problem with Katniss, sir. Her work is her life. And for what it's worth—if I had a child needing a protection detail, she'd be who I'd want looking out for him."

"Well, then that's good enough for me," Peeta says. "I'd like to meet her, if that'd be possible. Not that I'm an iota disappointed with our details as they were assigned to us, but in terms of bringing in new people, especially for Rye… Well, I'd like a little input, if that's not stepping over a line."

"Not at all, sir. You're the President. We work for you," Gale reminds him.

"Still having a bit of trouble getting used to that," Peeta says. "I shouldn't—I've been doing this politicking business for the better part of my adult life. But it's… It's never been like this."

"No, sir, I'd imagine not. But, ah, if I may?"

"People give me their opinions all day, Gale. Shoot."

"The country is looking at you, sir. They've wanted something different, something better for ages. I don't really think it's a coincidence at all that they looked to you for that. I can understand the situation is daunting—but what I remember about Twelve before you came up to represent us and what I know of it now is… Well, there's no comparison. I know my family appreciates everything you've done. And I believe the country feels the same."

Peeta's chest swells with pride. A compliment from the stoic Gale Hawthorne didn't seem like something he'd ever be likely to get. He'll have to savor it  for the  next time someone in Parliament calls him an idiot.

"I appreciate that, Gale. You don't have to say those things just because you're my guard though, you realize."

"I make it a habit not to say things I don't mean, Mr. President."

The glass almost slips from Peeta's hand, and it snaps him back to reality. He's not sure if he properly fell asleep or if he'd just zoned out, his mind so in need of thinking of anything but the last few terrible days.

He's glad he can remember Gale so fondly. He's glad he can remember his friend and guard, and the conversations they had before Gale gave his life in exchange for Peeta's. But there's something injurious to Gale's memory when he thinks that Gale never lived to see Katniss's supposed betrayal.

Peeta supposes if Gale had, he wouldn't want to believe it, either.

The residence is quiet when he gets home. He hopes that means that Rye is asleep for whatever short amount of time he will be before his bad dreams shock him awake. This might allow Peeta to get a little sleep too. He's turning the handle to his bedroom when Delly peeps out of her room down the hall and beckons him.

"Is he alright?" Peeta asks.

Delly closes her door behind her and nods. "He's asleep for now. I just—I wanted to speak with you before he wakes up again."

The siblings go to the kitchen and Delly puts a kettle on to boil. The whiskey Peeta'd imbibed earlier is sitting heavy in his stomach, and the idea of putting anything else in it isn't appealing in the slightest. Not even tea.

"I know you're going to say no to this. But on the off-chance that you say yes, I have to ask," Delly says. "I, ah… I'm going to Twelve. In the morning. I'm staying with Mother and Ezekiel for a few days to rest. And I'd like to take Rye with me."

Peeta narrows his eyes. "You're damn straight I'm going to tell you no."

"Would you consider it, please?" Delly begs. "You're back at work, and there are demands on you that weren't there before. Your approval rating is slipping because of Ka— For incredibly unfair reasons. You need to focus on the job at hand for a while and get your numbers back up, and coming home exhausted isn't helping Rye at all. I know you want to be there for him, but you're too tired right now, Peeta. Back home, Mother and Ezekiel and I—hell, even Ban and Thatch—we can give him the attention he needs."

"I'm not letting him out of my sight, Delly. I can't do that. I know I'm tired all the time, and I've been…unpleasant, but—"

"And drunk. You've come home that way every night the last week, since it happened. If I were doing that, would you want Rye around me?"

Peeta's lip curls. A glass or two of whiskey as he's winding down isn't enough to make him drunk… is it?

"I understand you're upset about Katniss. But the entire reason Haymitch never ran for higher office was because he knew no one would elect a souse. I'm not saying you're at that point yet, but I don't want you to get there. It's not fair to your son."

"I can't let you take him away, Delly. Doctor Aurelius is here. There's still a lot of work they need to do. And… I need Rye. The only thing that gets me through the day is the thought of getting to see him when I come home, even if he's sulking and throwing a temper tantrum and telling me he hates me for Katniss going away. I just lost one person I love; I can't let you take him away, too." Peeta hates how desperate his voice is, but it's true. The thought of coming back to the residence and finding it empty—no Delly, no Rye, no Katniss—is too much for him to bear.

"Then I think you need to sort out what you want more—reelection, or to be a father. Because I'm still going, even if I'm not taking him with me. And that means I'm not going to be here to pick up in your absence."

Delly's words pierce him hard. "He just lost Katniss, Dell."

"He's not losing me. He knows I'm going home, but he knows I'll be back. I'll speak with him every day, every hour if he'd like. But my being here isn't helping, I can see that much. The two of you are breaking and I can't put you back together. You need to do that on your own. And if that takes away from your duties as the President—I'm sorry, Peeta, then so be it."

"I don't even think I want it anymore, Dell," Peeta says. "If it weren't for Alma Coin being the next in line, I'd resign. But…"

"Then let's hope the party comes up with a candidate who can challenge her properly in the next election," Delly says. "But in the meantime, you need to figure out how to do your job and be home at night for your son. Because he needs you so desperately, Peeta."

She takes her cup of tea and heads for the kitchen door. "I'll keep him in my room tonight. I spoke with Annie today… She's coming back early to give him some familiarity during the day while you have to be at work. He's not taking so well to Rue."

"What if this all blows up in our faces, Dell?" Peeta asks softly. "What if I can't get him back? What if losing Katniss means he's lost as well?"

"I don't think you can afford to think like that, Peeta."

When he and his late wife had discovered Rye was on the way, Peeta had asked his father for advice on becoming a dad. With a hearty chuckle and a slap on the shoulder, Ezekiel Mellark had said, "There's no way to be prepared for everything, Peeta. You make it up as you go along." It's true, of course; and even if it wasn't, there would never be a way to be prepared for the drastic downswing in Rye's behavior after his aunt leaves.

Peeta knows Rye isn't to blame for his behavior. The trauma of being abducted is still too fresh for him. His entire world since Peeta's election seems to have been one upheaval after another—and Katniss's sudden disappearance from his life is merely the icing on the cake. Dr. Aurelius had sternly warned Peeta that tantrums, acting out, and mood swings would be expected. But to Peeta, Rye has always been sweet as cherries and perfect as the sun. Any adult who met his son complimented Peeta on Rye's wonderful disposition. Some even warned that not all children could be so good all their lives, and to brace for an incredible change one day. Peeta wonders now if 'a change' had been sugarcoating things.

After Delly leaves, Peeta notices little things that perhaps his busy schedule wouldn't have allowed him to notice before: Rye's distaste for uncooked tomatoes. His propensity to dawdle in the bathroom when time is of an issue. Fiddling and squirming about when he's meant to sit still. They're little things one could expect of any eight year old, but they'd never been something Peeta had given much thought to. The extra time he spends with Rye now has snapped Peeta to awareness that his son isn't perfect—and that's all before he sees just how damaged Rye really is.

It's a nothing comment at dinner that sets the boy off one night. Peeta notices Rye wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and asks him to use his napkin instead. His son's eyes turning to slits and the scowl marring his mouth shocks him.

"Why does it matter?" Rye snarls.

"It's impolite. And we have good table manners in our house," Peeta says.

"It's dumb," Rye mutters.

"No, it's not. Please stop being rude."

Rye's fork clatters to the plate and he sits back in his chair, his arms folded against his chest.

"Please don't do this right now, buddy. It's been a long day."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then you don't have to eat anymore tonight," Peeta says, rubbing his face with his hands. "Take your plate to the sink and you can go play in the living room or watch television."

Rye takes his plate as asked—but instead of placing it, he drops it with a loud smash. Peeta's teeth set on edge as he listens to the dish shattering. He turns slowly, expecting to see his son looking contrite or upset. Quite the opposite. When Rye steps back, his hands sit squarely on his hips and his jaw is set like steel. Peeta might remark on how similar his son looks to himself if he weren't so shocked.

"Rye, go into the living room, sit there, and wait for me," Peeta says firmly.

The boy spins on his heel and goes. Peeta scrubs his hands through his hair before getting up to survey the damage. The plate split more than shattered, which he supposes means the boy can clean it up safely with his supervision. His father always made him clean up his own messes when he was young, in an effort to instill culpability. Peeta wants that to be something Rye understands, too.

His steady walk towards the living room becomes an all-out run when he hears the first crash. He arrives in the room in time to see the coffee table upturned, and Rye behind it yank a lamp off the side table and aim it straight for the mantel.

"Rye, what are you—!?"

Crash!

Rye wheels around and glares at Peeta, challenging him to stop him. When Peeta stops short, Rye finds something else—a solid paperweight—and chucks it at The Oxbow. This tears a chunk out of the placid scene on canvas, snapping Peeta out of shock and into action. He points menacingly to the hallway and bellows a command.

"Your bedroom. Now."

"No," the boy spits.

"That wasn't a request, Rye. Go to your bedroom and think about how terribly you're acting."

"But Daddy..."

"March, Rye, before you make me really angry."

With a sob, Rye turns on his heel and bolts out of the room. Peeta gapes at the torn painting and buries his face in his hands. The words he said to his sister about worrying he'd lose Rye forever have never felt more true. This just isn't his child, and the thought is utterly crushing. In the past, when fatherhood has felt overwhelming, it'd been Madge's name on his lips, willing her back to life for help, for support. It only crushes him more that now, when it's Katniss's name he murmurs, he knows she's practically just as far away.

He's nearly swept up all the broken glass when the sobering realization of what sending Rye to "his room" means. He spins around and makes for the hallway. He practically breaks the door down in his haste, but the room is dark. Rye hasn't come in here, just like Peeta suspected he wouldn't.

He has to hunt for a minute, but he finally finds Rye curled up at the bottom of Delly's closet. His knees are under his chin and his cheeks are damp. He looks up for a moment, and as soon as he sees Peeta, he buries his face between his knees.

"Rye, we need to talk about this."

"No," the boy grumbles.

"I wasn't asking if you want to talk. I'm telling you we're going to."

"You can't make me!"

Rye attempts to shove the closet door closed again, but Peeta catches it easily and props it open with his foot. He squats down, attempting to get close to the boy, but Rye crawls deeper into the tiny space and turns his back. Peeta tries to keep his own temper in check, but he can feel it slipping by the second.

"I'm sorry I told you to go to your room. I wasn't thinking straight, and I understand why you didn't and came in here instead. It's okay to get angry sometimes. But this, this breaking things and screaming at me, isn't an okay way to act, Rye. Not ever, no matter how mad or tired or agitated you are."

Rye's back quakes, but he still doesn't turn around.

"I hate yelling at you," Peeta tries instead. "I don't ever want to be the sort of Daddy who yells at you. But you can understand how you were behaving wasn't appropriate, can't you?"

The boy's crying is still muffled; after a long minute, Peeta can see Rye's head bob up and down.

"Y-Yes, Daddy."

"Will you turn around and talk to me, please? I want to have a conversation with your face, not your hair."

Rye spins on his bottom and paws at his face with his hands, haphazardly wiping away his tears. Peeta pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, and in a sort of peace offering, dabs his son's cheeks with it. Rye's rigid posture softens a little; a moment later, a pair of small arms reach for him, and Peeta gladly pulls the boy onto his lap.

"I'm s-sorry, Daddy," Rye cries into Peeta's shirt.

"I know you are. But what made you think that was okay?" Peeta asks him. "You've never ever done something like that before."

"I d-dunno. I know it was b-bad," Rye says. "I'm s-sorry."

Peeta sighs. "This can't happen again, buddy. You could have really, really hurt yourself. Or me. Or if Auntie Delly was home, her maybe. And you really hurt my feelings, too."

"I just got s-so mad at you…" Rye stammers. "I dunno why I was, I just…was."

Even in the relative dark of the confined space, Peeta can see Rye's fingers press into his mouth. The sound of his small teeth chipping away at his fingernails is alarmingly loud in the silence between the pair.

"It's okay to be mad sometimes, buddy," Peeta says, stroking his son's back. "It's okay to have bad days and be angry, even at me. Sometimes I'll do things that'll make you mad, and you'll do things that'll make me mad. But stuff like what you just did out there? That can't happen again."

"I won't do it again," Rye says, "I promise."

"We also promised we'd talk, remember? I don't know if our family can work unless we talk. Can you think really hard about what might be making you so mad right now?"

"I miss Katniss," Rye wails. It's everything Peeta can do not to follow suit.

"Do you think I'm the one who made her go away?" Peeta asks, his mouth dry.

"N-no, b-but... You won't tell me why she went away."

That's true, Peeta realizes with crushing certainty. He hadn't wanted Rye to know exactly what Katniss was accused of because it terrified him that Rye might believe it. He's more terrified of that than he is that he might believe it himself.

"You're right. I'm sorry," Peeta says.

"And we're supposed to tell each other the truth," Rye presses.

Peeta feels a headache coming on, even though he knows his son is right. "It's really complicated, Rye. And I guess… I guess I thought it would upset you too much if I told you."

"Why did she tell me she was sorry? Why didn't she tell me those men were coming before they took her? Where did they take her?"

Peeta feels like his stomach is being twisted. "Rye, it's just so…"

"Daddy, please. I'm not dumb. I just wanna know why."

"Okay. You're right—you deserve to know why. But can we talk somewhere other than the bottom of your auntie's closet? It's a little too cramped in here for me."

Rye nods, and crawls out first with Peeta on his heels. He reaches for the boy's hand; in the better light Peeta can see just how stumpy and swollen Rye's fingernails are.

"C'mon—we're gonna fix up your fingers while we talk, okay?"

They fetch a first-aid kit and prop Rye up on the kitchen counter. The boy whimpers when Peeta presses an alcohol-soaked wipe to his first finger. It's a poor distraction and he knows it'll only upset Rye further, but as promised, he begins to explain as gently as he can. The look of horror that crosses Rye's face as his words sink in is untenable.

"But… But Katniss loves me… Doesn't she, Daddy?" Rye cries.

"I think she does, Rye," Peeta says, trying to hold back racking sobs of his own. "I think it was just a mistake, but the Peacekeepers have to take everything very seriously, and make absolutely certain."

"Can't you just tell them they're wrong? You're the President, isn't that your job?"

"I wish it were that easy, buddy. I really wish it were."

There's a bandage on each of the boy's fingertips and fresh tears on his cheeks. It breaks Peeta's heart, and he gathers Rye up again and holds him tight. "I'm sorry about all this, Ry-Ry. I really am. I wish it weren't so."

"You miss her, right Daddy?" The question is too bold for Rye's tremulous voice, but Peeta nods his head anyway. He's not sure if it's appropriate to say he misses Katniss so much he can barely breathe, especially given the gravity of their talk.

"I really, really do. I miss her terribly."

"And you don't think she'd do that? To me?"

"I don't want to. If I could undo all this and make it not so, I promise I would for you."

Rye wiggles out of his embrace and holds his father's cheeks in his hands. In the manner of a boy so much older than he really is, his son sets his jaw and speaks firmly. "I think you can make it not so," Rye says. "You can do anything, Daddy, I know it."

Peeta has no idea how to respond, except to crush Rye to his chest again. If anything, all he knows is how useless he really is.

"I don't want to make you promises I can't carry through. That isn't okay either."

"I know. But you'll try, Daddy, won't you?"

"I'll try. I promise I'll try."

Later, long after the lights in the residence are out and Rye's snoring softly next to him, Peeta lays awake, searching his mind for any number of plausibilities that could bring Katniss back to them. He's so preoccupied by it, he barely notices Rye's not tossing and turning and waking from terrible nightmares every few hours until later…when Peeta's finally figured what he's going to do.

He's thirteen pages into a commerce report when Johanna Mason knocks on the door of the Aula.

"Mr. President? Ms. Trinket messaged me that you needed to speak with me?"

Peeta gets to his feet and nods the guard inside. "Yes, Johanna, thank you. Here, please take a seat."

She sits across from him, her back ramrod straight, and clasps her hands in her lap. And here he thought that what he wanted to discuss with her was making him nervous.

"I need to ask you a favor, Johanna. Not even really a favor, I suppose, it's… It's something that's been bothering me for several weeks. And I honestly haven't had the slightest idea what to do about it," Peeta says, crossing and uncrossing his legs. He finally takes a tight grip on his right leg to steady himself.

"Anything I can do, Mr. President."

"It's about… It's the trackers. The ones that were cut out of Rye." He swallows thickly, the image still so disturbing.

"What about them, sir?"

"We—Rye and Delly and I—we all have them. Had them. When Gale explained the protocol to us after my inauguration, I opted to have Rye under anesthesia, in case it was painful. And Haymitch suggested that Delly and I be as well. I suppose there was some concern that if we knew about where they were implanted in our bodies, they'd be easy to expose. At any rate, I agreed to it as well—but on the condition that Haymitch be informed as to where they were implanted."

Peeta watches as the woman's eyes go wide. "Sir, I'm sorry, but are you implying…"

"No, no. I trust Haymitch with my life. And with my son's life. Despite what the press may imply in their articles, I'm not a poor judge of character. Haymitch told me later that while he had access to the medical records of our tracker placements, he didn't feel right looking at it. I believe him implicitly."

"Then I'm again at a loss, sir."

"Johanna, I know Katniss isn't guilty of this. I know it as certainly as I know which of my son's eyes is green and which is blue. I know every scar on him because I've helped bandage up most of them, and I've kissed every single one of them 'better'. They didn't mark him up. It was like they knew exactly where to cut. Whoever hired them must have told them where they were. And as I understand it, so few people know where to find such information or have access to it, that surely if Katniss didn't, she couldn't be guilty. I might be desperate and grabbing at straws because I am a fool in love, as the circulars are so fond of saying, but isn't it possible this might be something that was overlooked?"

"I'm honestly not sure, Mr. President. But—if at all possible, I'll look into the matter. I'm afraid that's all I can promise you."

"That means the world to me, Johanna," Peeta says, sinking back in his chair in relief. "Thank you."

Johanna nods curtly and stands up. She smoothes her suit jacket as she's leaving the office, but turns at the last moment.

"You might be grasping at straws, sir. But I for one hope you're correct. I hope Katniss didn't do this. She's not the person I thought she was if she did. And I'm not a poor judge of character, either."

Peeta nods at her. "I hope I'm right, too, Johanna."

Dr. Aurelius is sitting with Rye in the living room when Peeta returns to the residence. Usually Rye races into his arms, but tonight he sits at the coffee table long past when the doctor stands and greets Peeta. The two men speak for just a few minutes, and Aurelius leaves, promising to make an appointment through Effie for later in the week. When the doctor is gone, Peeta plops down next to the boy and nudges him with his shoulder.

"How'd today go, buddy?"

"Okay."

"Just okay?"

Rye raises his hand to his mouth, but there are bandages still in place over his stubby nails. Peeta grips his son's hand to distract him.

"Do you think I can sleep in my own room tonight, Daddy?"

Peeta feels physically taken aback. "Why would you need to ask me? It's your room, you know that."

"I know, but..."

"Is it your idea, or the doctor's? 'Cause Doctor A... he's gonna make suggestions for you that you don't need to follow right away. That's his job, to challenge you a little."

"I like my room," Rye says. "I miss it."

"Then you should definitely sleep in it again."

"But you said you sleep better when I stay with you."

Peeta's heart feels fit to burst. "I'll sleep okay so long as I know you're nearby, buddy. That's all that matters to me."

Rye's smile is reluctant but genuine. He takes Peeta's offered hand to head for the kitchen for dinner, but sticks his lip out in a pout when Peeta pauses to answer the ringing telephone.

"Two minutes, I promise. Please? Go fix me a nice big plate of whatever Ms. Sae cooked us, okay?"

Rye plods off and Peeta presses the receiver to his ear.

Johanna's voice is terse. "I know you're out of the Aula for the night, Mr. President, but—sir, it's imperative we speak as soon as we can."

"What is it, Johanna?"

"I believe you were right, sir. I believe you were exactly right."

Peeta had never thought of the Parliament building as cold. It's large and drafty, sure, and as a junior representative just a few short years ago, it was an incredibly daunting place. But he's sure it's Alma Coin that makes the place feel so frigid. Still, he enters the building with decisiveness, confident that this moment is indeed the defining moment of his presidency.

Coin's assistant seems positively put out at the task of getting up from her desk and escorting Peeta into the Prime Minister's executive office. As they'd previously, but reluctantly, agreed, Thresh and Thom stand in the wings to allow Peeta to enter the office alone. He hears the door close behind him and stares down the woman across the office with as much vitriol as he feels.

"Mr President. What an honor," Coin says. She's all-business, but there's almost a smirk in her voice.

"I'm sure," Peeta replies. "Especially since I'm here to fire you."

This actually gets Coin's attention. "I'm sorry?"

"This can't possibly surprise you, can it?"

"We both know that Prime Ministers can only be removed by death, election of another power party, or treason."

"Yes. They can."

Coin bristles. "Then I have no idea why it is you've come."

Peeta shakes his head. "And here I thought we'd agreed not to lie to one another."

Coin raises her eyebrows. "How's that?"

"Did you really think—did you truly think you wouldn't be caught eventually, Alma?"

"I'll thank you to use my title, sir. I believe I've earned it."

"You won't have it once I leave this office, madam. Conspirators and usurpers aren't extended the same courtesy as someone who's actually earned what they've received."

Coin crosses her arms over her chest. "Enlighten me, then. What crime are you accusing me of?"

"You hired the women who abducted my son. I should have suspected it, but I didn't believe you'd ever stoop so low."

Coin raises her eyebrows. "That's laughable. And insidious of you to even suggest."

"Not when I have proof. Not when the Secret Service has proof. Proof you were very careful and clever to conceal, but proof all the same. Funny thing about the Secret Service: they may protect you, but they work for me. And while they can certainly be misguided from time to time—just like a politicians, wouldn't you agree?—they're also a bit like a dog with a bone. They'll only let it go when they're satisfied."

"Could you be a little less cryptic?" she asks.

"The trackers," Peeta says, already feeling triumphant. "You couldn't have possibly believed they'd never look into the trackers, could you?"

"What about them?"

"It bothered me that I didn't know where they were implanted at first. But only at first—I put them out of my mind because I had more pressing matters to attend to. I didn't even think about them until the Secret Service activated them after Rye's disappearance. All I could remember about them was that the anesthetic they gave us made Delly and I both ill, and that I'd asked Haymitch to look over the medical chart so he knew where they were placed. He refused, because he didn't want to know anymore than I did. I just assumed it would be a matter of medical privacy and that would be it. But my guard—my late guard, Agent Hawthorne—made sure the information was made available for one person, and one person only."

"You can't possibly be insinuating he gave that information to me."

"No. He gave it to Prime Minister Boggs. And when Boggs died, it fell to you. Just like his position did."

Peeta sees the moment that Coin finally looks intimidated by him, and tries his best to cherish it through the rage he feels. He barely manages.

"You were very careful to conceal your own acquisition of the information. I'll applaud you for that. But you couldn't have possibly believed you'd really get away with it forever. I think you're a smarter woman than that, Alma, as despicable as I find you."

Coin has no retort. She brushes her knuckles along her lips and her eyes flit downwards.

"I asked to come and speak with you before the Peacekeepers come in and arrest you, for two reasons: first, because I rather selfishly wanted the pleasure of firing you. But more importantly, I wanted to give you the opportunity to explain yourself. To tell me why you hate me so much that you'd go after my child just to break me. I'm really quite curious."

"I don't hate you, sir," Coin says measuredly. "Not you personally."

"Then explain why. Why hurt him?"

"I believe I'll need an attorney before I say anything else," she says.

Peeta sees red, but he can't say he didn't expect this. He clenches and unclenches his fist and shakes his head. "Was it you who ordered the hit on Boggs and I at the State of Panem? Or was that just at me, and Boggs got in the way?"

"I'm not saying another word without an attorney, sir."

"Then I'll just say that you were wrong about one thing, and leave you to your date with the Peacekeepers."

"And what's that?" she asks.

"I'm clearly as much a politician as I am a father. Because if I were truly one more than the other, I'd have no issue with someone shooting you through the heart."

Coin's eyes stare him down coldly and he feels a chill run along his spine.

"Goodbye, Madam Coin. I believe the next time I see you will be in a courtroom."

Peeta turns on his heel and strides out of the office, triggering Thresh to radio the group of Peacekeepers standing by to arrest the former Prime Minister. He choses not to look back and watch.

He does what he promised Haymitch he wouldn't and goes straight to the press room as soon as he returns to the mansion. Beetee is in the wings while Finnick commands the throng, and Peeta strides up to Beetee with purpose.

"Get his attention, please."

"Mr. President? We agreed this morning with Mr. Abernathy that—"

"I know what I said to Haymitch this morning. But I'm a big boy, Beetee, I can handle these guys. Please, get his attention and get him to introduce me."

"Yes, sir."

In a silent lingo that Peeta can't understand, Beetee catches Finnick's eye, and nods at Peeta. Finnick looks confused for only a second before he clears his throat and gestures back towards the wings.

"Ladies and gentlemen, here now the President of Panem, Peeta Mellark."

Finnick steps aside so that Peeta can replace him at the podium. There's a whirring sound of cameras training on his face. He half expects pandemonium, but instead the press seemed stunned into silence. Instead they wait, obediently, for him to speak first.

Peeta curls his fingers around the edges of the podium and sets his jaw and his shoulders; if there were ever a moment to be supremely presidential, this sure as hell is it.

"Good afternoon," he says, his voice unwavering. "I believe I owe you all an explanation of what happened today.

"Prime Minister Alma Coin has been arrested for conspiracy and will not resume her post. A special headcount of Parliamentary members will be held as soon as possible in order to determine her successor. Once the charges have been filed and accepted, they shall be made public knowledge. Finnick will have more for you as soon as it is available.

"But that isn't all that's happened today, although I suspect it will be everyone's lead story. For one moment, we're going to address issues that are swept away because they aren't sensational, but are what, I suspect, the citizens of every District care about more than a political scandal. For a moment, let's talk about the thousands of women in every District who have little to no access to the sophisticated healthcare the Capitol enjoys. The mother of my child died from something so preventable it never should have happened. Let's talk about the people who commit crimes and get away with them as well as the ones who are wrongly accused and never live normally again. The woman I love was wrongfully accused of an odious crime that might never be fully wiped from public memory, nor will it ever truly be wiped from mine, though I'll continue to love her as fiercely as I ever have. Let's talk about keeping our children, our futures safe from those who would harm them. You all know I have a personal stake in that. Let's talk about the weather, and how we still need more rain. Let's talk about how we are a people who nearly died out once, who fought one another tooth and nail for every resource left before desperation forced us to decide that there could be a fair way to live and work harmoniously. While Alma Coin will undoubtedly be the center of your news cycle in the coming weeks and months, let us remember there is always, always more going on. Let us remember that there is so much work left to do, so much more that needs to be changed. I cannot change everything. But damn it all if I'm not going to try.

"We have serious problems to solve. And we need serious people who can solve them. Whatever your personal opinions of me are, I promise you: I am serious about Panem. I am as serious about your family as I am about mine. And however long my term runs, as President, I will remain serious about our problems. I will do my best to find answers we can all live with and thrive from, not just those that are easy. To do that, I need your trust. I need your support. I do not require your blind faith—no politician can rightly demand that—but I do need you to work with me so that I can continue to work with, and for, you. We have serious problems to solve; now if you'll excuse me, my staff and I need to get back to work on solving them."

Every member of the press begins to holler questions, but Peeta ignores them all. He pauses in front of Beetee, Haymitch, and Finnick and says, "We have about an hour before Katniss's release is fully processed. I intend to be there as soon as it happens, but for now we have business to attend to."

As Peeta turns on his heel and heads back for the Aula, Haymitch laughs tersely. "Well shit," he says.

"We couldn't stop him, Haymitch. You know how he can be when he sets his mind to something," Beetee defends.

"Of course I do. Don't worry, fellas: Dad's not mad."

Finnick chews the corner of his mouth and smirks. "It's, ah... It's like he's back."

"You think he ever really left, Odair?" Haymitch asks.

"You were the one who said he was thinking of quitting."

"Oh, I remember. But I also know the kid. He'll get frustrated. He'll question everything. But properly quitting? That is not something in Peeta Mellark's repertoire."

The three men follow Peeta back to the Aula, a renewed sense of purpose in each of their steps.

Chapter Text

Peeta gazes out the window of the speeding car and raps his knuckles against the glass.

"Do you, ah... think there was any way for her to have seen the press conference?" he asks Thresh.

"I highly doubt it, Mr. President."

"I don't want her to think I said any of that without meaning it. Or for approval ratings, or to show up the journalists who've been slagging me."

"I'm sure that isn't what she'll think at all, sir."

"Did you believe it, Thresh? Believe she did it?"

Thresh rubs his jaw. "I believe in Gale, sir. I don't to believe that he'd ever have brought in someone capable of something so heinous."

Peeta nods his head. It's a safe answer.

"It was an untenable situation, sir. You knew that as well as we did. We had to look at the evidence and think objectively, not with the minds of people who know her and like her."

"I can understand that. I just hope she can as well."

Thresh's communicuff beeps and he swipes his fingertip along the screen. "She's waiting in a private area in the detention center for us to arrive. I assume you'll wish to speak with her alone?"

"Yes, please."

"We'll secure a private exit for you. Ms. Everdeen won't need to face any press until she's ready. We figure we owe her that, at the very least."

Peeta nods, appreciative, then calls out to the driver, "Castor, can you go any faster?"

She looks so small.

He'd watched Katniss Everdeen for weeks and weeks before he'd ever been so bold as to speak to her formally. He'd watched her with Rye as they walked the grounds, as he ran ahead and played and she'd kept her eyes always on him. He'd seen how she was always in control of as much around her as possible. Even when she was around Peeta and clearly nervous, she'd stood straight and held her slight frame with confidence and poise. That made her a bigger personality than she was, and an intimidating guard for his son. Peeta appreciated that about her.

But through the two-way mirror in the detention center, Katniss sits at the stainless steel table, staring down at her feet and looking unbelievably small. From the outside this place doesn't look all that bad—sterile, to be sure, and secure—but not like other prisons he's seen. Peeta knows that she was kept in solitary confinement during her incarceration. He can only imagine what something like that would do to a person. These weeks have felt like an eternity to him. How much longer must they have felt for her?

He'd love to burst through the door and envelop her in his arms—kiss her fiercely and promise to her here and now that he's never going to let her go again. And yet, his feet feel rooted in place. He looks around again to make sure that the recording equipment they showed him is all off. He needs to be alone with her. Thresh is right—they owe her that much.

So why can he still not go to her?

Move, Mellark. Move your ass, he thinks to himself.

He takes his time, as though he's afraid he'll set off a trap someone has set for him as soon as steps into the next room. He wills her to look up at him, to acknowledge his presence, but her gaze seems set.

"Katniss," he says. "Katniss, it's me."

She doesn't respond.

"They told you you've been released? It was all a horrible mistake, Katniss."

She opens her mouth as if it speak, but nothing passes her lips. Her lips are badly chapped, and her teeth tug on the broken skin as she remains mute.

"Katniss, please," he begs. He pulls a chair around the table, ignoring the sharp squeal of metal on linoleum. He looks longingly at her hands, but can't find it in himself to touch her until she allows it. Angry purple marks encircle her wrists, making Peeta's stomach churn. "Please, say something. I'm so sorry about all of this. There was nothing I could do, not right away. Please believe me that if I could have, I'd have done anything to—"

"Did you believe it?" Her voice is like ice and chills him to his core.

It's a question he's not sure he can answer truthfully, because for a few horrible days, he did believe it. As much as he didn't want to, he believed it. But if he says that, he may never get her back. This might be the last time he ever sees her.

"I didn't know what to believe. It all felt wrong. Nothing about you has ever felt wrong until this. It didn't make sense. All I know is that I love you."

She doesn't respond, and that's even worse than her castigating him. He tries to catch her gaze, but her eyes are far too focused on their spot on the floor.

"I don't have to be here anymore?" she asks.

"No. The guards have the exits blocked. There's no press. We'll leave here in total privacy."

"And go where?"

"I'd like to take you to the mansion, if you'll allow it. If you don't want to be there, we can take you to your apartment instead. It's entirely up to you."

"I don't want to be here anymore," she says, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "I hate the smell of this place." There's another pause, then her voice gets just the tiniest bit more optimistic. "Is he there? R-Rye? Is he okay?"

"He's at school—well, sort of. He's seeing tutors now, but he'll be home in a couple of hours. Oh, Katniss, he's missed you so much. We both have. Let me take you to the mansion, please? We'll start there, alright?"

She reaches out, and her thumb brushes against the back of his hand. His heart wrenches and he draws her hands into his own. Were they always this small?

"I don't want to be here anymore," she says again, finally raising her eyes to meet his. They're hollow, sunken. She's still beautiful, but her grief and her confusion is palpable. He can't think of anything to say to her to make her look less sad, try as he might.

"I'll take you home. It's all over, Katniss. I promise."

She stands when he coaxes her, but even her gait seems numb and complacent. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders and wraps it around her, camouflaging the drab, grey detention center garb she still wears. He expects her to shrug the jacket away—it gives him some hope that she doesn't.

It's a short ride to the mansion, and with Thresh riding up front with Castor, it's eerily silent in the rear of the limousine. Peeta keeps looking at Katniss, hoping she'll say something that gives a hint of her coming back to herself, but to no avail. It's feels like a long time before they're in the circular driveway and Thresh holds the door open. Peeta scans his surroundings for any press that may have made their way out of the briefing room before he offers Katniss his hand.

Ms. Sae has left a kettle of water on the stove and he sets it to boil once Katniss is settled in the living room. After weeks of a guard watching them together, the emptiness of the residence seems particularly conspicuous. He makes them each a cup of tea, and returns to the living room to find her studying the torn patch of The Oxbow, her face curious.

"Rye has very good aim," Peeta says, trying to be casual.

She pulls his jacket further around her shoulders and holds her tea tightly. Peeta notices again how thin she's gotten. It would seem cruel and unusual for a prisoner to be denied food, and so he concludes that she simply didn't eat much. He supposes he might not have had much of an appetite either, all things considered.

"Are you alright?" he asks, despite how stupid the question is.

She finally looks at him—really looks at him—and her expression softens. "I thought that maybe you'd come to see me."

"They wouldn't permit it. They didn't tell you that?"

"I figured as much after a while. But I also thought—"

"Just say it. If we can't be honest with one another, there's no hope for us, is there?"

"I figured you believed I tried to hurt him."

Peeta sighs. "After they took you away, Rye just… I didn't even see my son in him anymore. He was destroyed. And as much as I hated the thought that you'd had anything to do with what happened to him, I had to focus on helping him get better. He's still not all the way better, and maybe he never will be. I had to focus on him. But just because I did doesn't mean I forgot you. I never stopped loving you. I couldn't. Rye is my life, Katniss, he's my whole life—but you're my heart."

The smile is a flicker against her lips; if he'd blinked, he'd never have seen it. It's enough to coax him to move closer and put his arms around her. Her body is rigid at first, and it seems like a useless endeavor. Then, something extraordinary happens: she melts against him and begins to cry.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I'm so sorry for all of this," Peeta says as she sniffles into his collar and the jacket around her shoulders falls to the floor. The material of her issued-clothing is scratchy under his palms as he cradles her against him. His lips graze her hairline, which only seems to make her cry harder. "Please forgive me. I'm so sorry."

She pulls away enough to look up at him. She breathes tremulously for a moment before saying, "I can't smell like that place anymore."

He cups her face in his hands and smiles at her. "I think I know how to fix that."

There is nothing erotic about the way they step into the shower stall in his en suite. The water is as hot as they can stand it, and it sluices down their bodies like it's summer rain. Peeta's palms are locked together at the small of Katniss's back, her fingers laced in his hair. For the longest time, as the water trickles over them, they stay perfectly still. The silence is comfortable, although Peeta still longs for her forgiveness. But what a luxury it is, having her close.

"Can you still smell it on my skin?" she asks.

He breathes her in. He can't, but he suspects maybe she can. He reaches for the panel on the side wall and presses a button that lathers the water with his favorite soap (citrus and sandalwood), and begins to make small circles along her back and arms with his fingertips.

"You'll never have to smell it again," he promises.

"Burn that awful get-up so no one has to look at it."

It's just enough levity to get him to smile. "Consider it done."

He spins her gently, and works the frothy water through the roots of her hair. It's shorter now, falling only to her shoulders. He massages the nape of her neck and cups his hands to work the soap into the skin of the front of her body. He'd linger over her breasts and between her thighs any other time, but it feels too much like an invasion, not like reestablishing trust ought to be. He's methodical and gentle and entirely chaste.

Clear water rinses the suds away, and he spins her and pulls her back against his chest. Her head dips back and his fingers comb through her tresses. She opens her mouth under the spray, drenching her chapped lips. He watches her throat spasm as she swallows mouthful after mouthful. He cups her face and stares into her eyes. Already there's a bit more life in them—a tiny bit more Katniss. He clings to that.

"I missed you. I missed you every second," he says.

"I missed you, too."

She burrows against his chest with his chin rests on the crown of her head.

"We have to be able to trust each other," she says.

"I do trust you. I'm sorry for any moment that I didn't. I'll never doubt you again."

"Then I forgive you. Rye always has to come first."

"Thank you."

"What do we do now?"

He takes her elbow in her hand and brings her forearm to his face. He dips his head and presses his nose against her skin, then pecks softly with his lips before letting the arm drop. "You don't smell like that place anymore. What would you like to do?"

Her face contorts for a flash, then she purses her lips. She raises on to her tiptoes, their heads coming level. She scrapes her teeth along her chapped bottom lip, and his tongue darts instinctively along his own.

He could very nearly collapse with the relief he feels as he leans forward and kisses her for the first time all over again. It's brief, a couple of seconds at the most, but it doesn't need to be any longer than that. The have the rest for everything else.

"You love me?" she asks when their lips part.

"Always."

On sunny, warm days, Annie lets Rye play in his treehouse for hours. It's a safe place for him, Dr. Aurelius thinks, and it's helpful for him to have places of his own that make him feel secure. Katniss can't seem to stop fidgeting with the ends of her hair and chewing on her fingernails. Peeta gently kisses the knuckles of the hand entwined with his own, trying to be as reassuring as possible. Still, Katniss seems nervous.

If Annie is surprised to see Katniss, she doesn't show it. The women exchange pleasant, silent nods, but Katniss's eyes search the grounds for Rye. As if on cue, he swings deftly out of his treehouse and drops to the ground like a monkey. Peeta's heart thumps nervously; he'd wanted a moment alone with Rye before the boy saw Katniss.

"Annie, can we go inside a second? I have something in the house that I want—" Rye begins, but when his eyes find Katniss's across the courtyard, he stops and stares. Then, inexplicably, Peeta sees his son whirl around and clamber up the tree like his life depends on it. The slam of the trap door into the tree house is so loud, birds stir from neighboring trees and take flight.

Katniss gasps. Hoping, praying there's a moment to salvage, Peeta squeezes Katniss's hand to be reassuring. "He was probably just surprised, that's all."

Katniss tries to nod, but her eyes, wide and panicked and too much like how they looked back at the detention center, give her away. "I thought you'd told him."

"I didn't have time before I came for you. I was going to talk to him before he saw you... I'm sure he's just surprised and maybe a little confused is all. I'll go and talk to him."

"Maybe I just should go…"

He kisses her soundly, trying to communicate without words how important it is for her to stay. "I should have warned him. This was my fault. Let me patch it up, alright? It'll be okay."

She nods her head and presses her fingernails back between her teeth as Peeta makes his way to the treehouse.

There is almost no nail left to bite, but Rye tries it anyway. He's trying to stop, honest, but so long as they don't get down too short that they hurt and turn red, his daddy doesn't say much about them. He finds a little sliver of his left thumb that's grown back and tugs it with his teeth. There's a little stab of discomfort, then he looks for another nail to chew.

The trap door bounces like it's being opened from the outside. Must be Daddy, he thinks.

"If you want to come in, you have to knock," he says.

Three quick raps come, then the door opens and Daddy pulls himself up into the treehouse. He's too tall to fit comfortably, and Rye figures that should be enough to tell him he's not supposed to be in here.

He knows he's supposed to talk to his dad about the sorts of things that are swirling around in his head. Dr. Aurelius tells him that talking will help. Dr. Aurelius has been right about a lot of things, so he's probably right about this. And he's been trying to be better about talking, really he has, but sometimes there are so many ideas in his head and he can't quite decide on what words to use to get them out. So what's he supposed to do?

"I'll bet it was a surprise seeing Katniss here, wasn't it?" his daddy says.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry to startle you like that. It didn't go quite to plan, bub."

Rye finds another corner of a nail to tug on with his teeth, only this time, he actually squeals in pain when it rips away from the nailbed.

His dad does that thing where he clicks his tongue in his mouth. He slides across the treehouse and takes Rye's hand and studies his nails. "You know what my favorite picture of you when you were younger is?"

Rye makes a face. It seems kinda weird, but he thinks hard about all the pictures of himself that Daddy keeps. "No…"

"I think it's from when you were, oh, two, maybe three. You were sitting on Grandpa 'Zekiel's counter while he and Grandma were making cookies. He was trying to bribe you to take your thumb out of your mouth for a cookie instead. But you were so stubborn, you ate the cookie, and then popped your thumb right back in. In the picture you have frosting all over your face and your thumb in your mouth. Do you remember that?"

"No," Rye says.

"I suppose you wouldn't. You were pretty little. But I think it was only a year after that you stopped sucking your thumb all together."

Rye huffs. Sometimes his dad just doesn't make any sense at all.

"Sucking your thumb and biting your nails isn't all that different, you know. It is, a little. There's probably some psychological term Doctor A would use, but I'm not as smart as he is."

His dad lets his hand go; he tucks it in his pocket to keep it out of view. "You're just as smart as Doctor A is, Daddy."

"Maybe in a different sort of way. You think if you talked to Doctor A, you'd be able to tell him why you ran away from Katniss just now?"

"No. I don't know… Daddy, I just don't know, okay?"

"If you don't want to see her yet, or at all, that's okay…"

"No!" Rye says, and reaches out to tug on his father's shirtsleeve. "No, don't send her away again!"

"I didn't send her away in the first place, buddy. You know that. And I brought her home. She's back with us now."

"For how long? What if she doesn't want to stay? What if she wants to go away again and never come back, ever?"

Rye tucks his chin into his chest, because he's pretty sure he's about to start crying and he doesn't want his daddy to see.

"I think you should ask her yourself, buddy. I think you should talk to her. If you're mad at her, or if you missed her, or anything else—I know she wants to talk to you."

Rye clenches his teeth. It keeps some of his tears back, but he's still pretty sure his dad knows he's crying, because he's hugging him. His thoughts are so big sometimes, but having his dad really does help so much, even if he still can't explain all the thoughts going on inside his head. Doctor A says that will get better with time. Rye really hopes he's right.

"Rye? You know what?" his dad whispers after a second, "Katniss bites her nails sometimes, too."

Rye's eyes find his father's. "She does?"

Katniss can't get over how short her hair is.

She's never been the sort of person to care about that sort of thing, but right now, it's the only thing she can focus on that doesn't make her want to scream. She doesn't want to admit to Peeta how it happened (that the snarls that formed after weeks of not bathing at all were too difficult to comb out, so the woman who'd helped her get cleaned up and ready for release just took a pair of scissors to it) so she's grateful he didn't ask. In the shower, he'd slid his fingers through it from root to end just like any other time they'd bathed together. So much else has changed, but that little caress was the same. She holds onto that like a lifeline.

She sits alone in the courtyard, tracking the covert-duty Tribs, whose jobs are to patrol the gardens unseen, with her eyes. She still knows they're there. Are they wondering what she's doing here?

They wouldn't be the only ones, she thinks. If she'd ever stopped to wonder what all-out rejection would feel like, she's sure it wouldn't compare to how it feels when it actually happens. She hates this; she hates all of it. In another lifetime, it'd be so easy to walk away: from the Capitol, from anyone named Mellark. If she were to try now, she knows she'd never make it a mile. Nowhere without Peeta and Rye could be home. No love could feel so right, so good. She'd walk over coals for them—has walked over coals for them, in her own way. Giving them up isn't an option.

Annie tries to start a conversation once or twice, but must sense that Katniss isn't in the mood for chit-chat. Katniss wonders if she ought to be, particularly after weeks of no one to talk to but thin air. The only people she wants to talk to are out of sight—and it's possible one of them won't ever want to speak with her again.

She pushes the thought from her mind when she sees them out of the corner of her eye. Peeta walks Rye towards her with his hands on the boy's shoulders, like it's taken a lot of convincing to rouse him from his hiding place. The boy's eyes are downcast. Even yards away, Katniss can see the smudges under his eyes as plainly as she can see how his shoulders are stooped. Her heart aches. That isn't how he's meant to look at all.

If she could shoot Alma Coin through the heart, she would—no questions asked.

"H-Hi, Katniss." Rye's voice is low, tentative.

"Hi," she replies. She doesn't mean for it to sound so timid.

"Do you want to talk to her alone, Rye?" Peeta offers. In response, Rye finds and grasps his father's hand, holding it tight enough anyone could see he's afraid of letting go.

"I'll bet I startled you a little, huh?" Katniss says after a long beat. "Your daddy did the same thing, sort of, when he came to get me."

Rye nods, then speaks clearly. "You were in jail. They said so on the news."

Katniss swallows hard. "I was. I didn't want to be, but I was."

"They said… I heard a couple of times, when I'd click through all the news channels, that you were a bad person. I don't think you're a bad person, Katniss."

"I'm not a bad person. I promise."

"Why did you say you were sorry?" Rye asks, his voice firmer, his tone pointed. "You told me you were sorry the day they took you away. If you didn't do anything to hurt me, why did you say that?"

"Because I decided after I got to know you, that if I were ever going to leave you for any reason, I'd sit down and explain why to you. When Annie went on leave and turned your guard over to me, I watched her sit down and explain. I wanted to do that. And everything happened so fast, and it was so scary and confusing, that I knew I couldn't. And that seemed pretty unfair to do to you."

Rye purses his lips, like he's considering her words. "You were scared?" he asks.

"So, so scared," Katniss says.

"I got scared, too. Daddy and I both did. I get scared a lot at night."

"Your daddy told me once you used to have a lot of nightmares. Do you get nightmares a lot now?"

The boy nods. "Yeah. I get a lot of the ones I used to get. And now… now sometimes I have new ones about losing you."

Next to him, Peeta makes a sound Katniss has never heard before. It's something like pain, which is what Katniss feels at the declaration.

"Oh, Rye… I'm so sorry," Katniss tells him.

"You can't go away again," Rye says. "If you do, I think I'd really start to hate you. And I don't wanna hate you."

Peeta pivots around the boy and sinks onto the bench next to Katniss. He pulls the boy into his lap, and with his free hand, laces his and Katniss's fingers together. "Rye, sometimes things happen we can't prevent. Sometimes things go wrong, go bad, you know? We've lived through a lot of those times recently."

"She can't go away again, Daddy." Rye's mind is clearly made up.

"I understand. I don't want that, either. So, maybe what we ought to do is make Katniss a member of our family. For real. And then, if for any reason, she has to leave us for a little while, you know that she'll always be back. She'll always be with us. And then we can all help take care of each other. We can all help each other get better."

Katniss's throat goes dry. She looks just over the boy's hairline and locks eyes with Peeta; his blue irises seem to be lined with the sort of mistiness that comes when someone is about to cry. Peeta's tongue wets his lips and he whispers, only to her, only so that she can see it, Marry me. It's not a question because it doesn't need to be.

She knows, of course, that even without the kidnapping, her arrest and exoneration, and Rye begging her not to leave, that this would have happened anyway. That those words would always have left Peeta Mellark's mouth, destined for her ears. She half-laughs, half-sobs.

"I'd like that," Rye says after a beat. Katniss watches as his lips pick up in a smile, one that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one his father wears.

"I'd like that a lot, too," she says.

Katniss has to wonder if that's what Rye was waiting for; the second the words leave her mouth, he dives into her arms, hugging her around her neck like she's his everything and he'll never let her go. She breathes him in as she starts to cry, breathes in Peeta as he wraps his arms around them both.

The scent of the detention center is gone from her nostrils for good. Now, it's only them.

June

Don't chew your nails, Katniss, she reminds herself when she presses her fingernails in between her teeth. With the help of Dr. Aurelius, she's just about broken the habit, and so has Rye. With the help of Dr. Aurelius and each other, they're beginning to heal.

Having a family is hard. She always supposed her work as a Peacekeeper would be the hardest thing she ever did. Looking back on it now, it seems like years and years of paperwork is pure dullness in sharp contrast with what it is to love a man with a child, and love that child as well. She's still getting used to this idea of being a…

"Mom!" Rye says, careening into the room. He's much sunnier now, almost like he was before the nightmare that was his kidnapping. Dr. Aurelius has warned them he'll never really be the same, that that would be too much to expect, but that the more time goes by, the less it'll affect him. His dark days will be fewer, farther between. It's better now, even it's far from perfect. "Dad's coming up from the Aula! Haymitch just called and told me."

Katniss takes a breath to calm her nerves. "You don't think he told him, do you?"

"Haymitch? No, I trust him."

"Okay. Go meet him by the door? I just need to finish getting ready."

With a grin, the boy is off, and the door clicks closed behind him. Katniss runs her comb through her hair and surveys herself in the standing mirror.

There's a long white dress with draping sleeves and pearl accents in a dress shop around the corner. It's been pinned and fitted to her body every which-way, and Katniss has to agree with everyone from Delly to Effie Trinket to the women who owns the shop that it looks lovely on her (even if it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds). But that dress is reserved for a day next week, when the entire mansion is going to be turned over and upheaved in preparation for the President's wedding. Tonight calls for something a little more modest, a bit more demure. She saw this burnt-orange dress in a different shop window and knew right away that Peeta would love it on her. It fits like a dream and weighs practically nothing. Katniss swivels her hips, letting the cool fabric flit about on her thighs before she turns to leave the room.

She freezes when she hears the doorknob start to turn, but Rye's voice in the hallway stops the door from opening.

"No, Dad! My room, we gotta go to my room!" the boy shouts.

"I can't change out of my suit before this big surprise?" Peeta asks.

"No! Come on."

Rye must jerk his hand away and march him down the hall for how their voices suddenly recede. Katniss looks herself over one more time before she slips first into the hallway, then the kitchen. Ms. Sae has wrapped the loaf of bread Katniss and Rye had asked for her help in preparing in a large tea towel. Katniss lets the yeasty-scent fill her nostrils for a moment, then tucks it under her arm. She manages to reach the living room just before she hears the boy and his father in the hallway again.

"Dad, you didn't even look," Rye says with a huff.

"Rye, I've seen your bed made before. Not like it's all that common, so it's great you made it today, but can I please go and change before supper?"

Their voices disappear, likely into the master bedroom, and Katniss kneels down in front of the hearth. She strikes a long match and holds it under the kindling she'd set up earlier. The fire takes a second to catch, another to spread an inch. She has to resist the urge to chew her nails as she waits to see which comes first: the fire to bloom or Peeta and Rye come in.

Rye races in and flings his arms around her neck, watching the flames grow with her. "He said he wants to take a shower, we got a minute!" he says triumphantly.

"Good job," she says with a smile and kisses his cheek. "How… How do I look?"

Rye stands back and looks her up and down. He beams. "You look really pretty, Mom."

(He's been calling her that for weeks, and yet Katniss still can't get enough of hearing it.)

They pull over a couple of large cushions and sit by the hearth to wait. Rye challenges her to a thumb war and she lets him win. Katniss wonders what's taking Peeta when she sees him out of the corner of her eye. He's squinting to adjust to the darkness of the living room, the only light being the roaring fire. Katniss turns and beams at him.

"What's going on, you two?" Peeta asks. His eyes flit from the fire to the loaf of bread sitting on the marble tiles in front of it.

"It's the real surprise, Dad," Rye says, beaming.

"Katniss?"

She gets up and goes to him. Their fingers knot together and she stands on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "My mother told me about something they do in Twelve that we don't in Five. And I thought, maybe…"

A gigantic smile spreads across his face.

"Happy birthday, Peeta," she says before she kisses him.

After, they sit on the couch, Rye nestled and dozing between them. Peeta's fingers are in Katniss's hair, massaging the base of her skull. The fire's dying down, but Katniss still watches it with a smile on her face. Already, she feels more married to Peeta than she ever thought she would. She shifts so Rye's legs in her lap and moves closer to Peeta's side.

He drops a kiss on the top of her head and rakes his fingers through Rye's curls. "Haymitch reminded me before I left that the deadline to file re-election paperwork is the 30th."

"You should probably get it done this week before Parliament ends session," Katniss replies. "Get it out of the way before that 'little thing' we've got going on next week."

"I, ah… I haven't decided if I'm running again."

She picks her head up off his shoulder and turns to look at him. "What? Peeta…"

"It's five years, Katniss. If I'm re-elected, it's five more years here."

"So?"

"So are you ready for that commitment?"

"I wouldn't be marrying you if I wasn't. I understand your work."

He rubs his hand across his jaw and looks down at Rye's curled-up form. "It's his entire childhood in this place. If I let someone else in the party run, we could go back to Twelve, or Five if you'd prefer, and just start over. Start fresh."

Rye grumbles something incoherent and turns in their embrace. Katniss strokes his side idly; she's spent the last several months getting used to the idea of not only being a politician's wife, but the First Lady as well. There is something tempting about shirking that responsibility and living a quiet life with these two, of starting their family in private. However, something else niggles her.

"You have a lot of work to do. You said so yourself."

"There's work to be done. I don't have to be the one to do it."

"But it's your job, Dad," Rye murmurs. His eyes open and stare at his father. "It's your job."

"I didn't mean to wake you, buddy," Peeta says.

"S'ok. But why would you quit your job? It's important."

"It is important," Katniss says. "And we're with you. You know that, don't you?"

It's so rare to see Peeta without words that it strikes Katniss as sort of funny. It's not a laughing matter—Coriolanus Snow's trial is far from over, and the full investigation into Alma Coin's crimes seems to have only just begun. Brinna Paylor is getting her legs under her as the new Prime Minister, District Eleven remains in partial drought, and more faraway neighbors in the world are reaching out to Panem, looking for forge alliances and grow together. There is so much work to be done, and Katniss can't imagine anyone else doing it other than Peeta. Who even knows if this much would have happened without him in the first place?

"We're with you, Dad," Rye says, his words punctuated by a yawn.

Peeta smiles tightly first at his son, then at Katniss. He brushes Rye's hair back and shifts so the boy is gathered in his arms. "Time for bed for you, kiddo."

"I'm not sleepy," Rye says with another yawn, but makes no attempt to wrest himself from Peeta's grasp.

Peeta leans him down so Katniss can lean forward and catch Rye's temple with her mouth. "Night, sleepy-head," she says to him.

"'Night, Mom," Rye replies, and nestles against his father's chest as he's carried out of the room.

She pulls her knees up under her chin, smoothes her skirt, and watches the embers of the fire die out. She knows why Peeta is reluctant, and of course, if he decides not to run again, she'll support him. But Katniss has a very difficult time believing that he won't.

When he sneaks back into the living room, he leans over the back of the couch and presses his lips under her ear. They're hot and soft against her neck, and something primal blooms in her gut.

"Well then, Madam First Lady," he whispers, "did you have any other plans for the rest of my birthday?"

Katniss grins. "Now that he's tucked into bed, don't you think we ought to be as well?"

Peeta circles around the couch and lifts her, bridal-style, into his arms. "Excellent point. I'll lead the way, shall I?"

Chapter Text

October

The print scanner beeps, and prints out the message that Peeta's handprint has been accepted and thanks him for his vote. He lets out the breath he's been holding and exits the little booth to thunderous applause.

"Who'd you vote for, Mr. President?" a reporter calls out to him.

Peeta smiles in the man's direction. "Just some guy on the ballot," he replies with a wink.

Rye's bouncing on his toes near Annie, and beams at his father when Peeta approaches and holds out his hand. Together, the Mellark men turn and wave to the reporters. Peeta squeezes his son's palm; a moment later, Thresh, Thom, and Annie lead them out of Twelve's Justice Building to their car.

Haymitch waits inside, ready to prattle off scheduling items in a shockingly Effie-like manner. Peeta holds up his hand to stop him before he even begins.

"It's election day, Haymitch. Surely all this can wait until I know if it's my problem tomorrow or not, right?"

Haymitch purses his lips. "Beetee has your speeches ready. I'll look them over, if you'd like."

Peeta glances over at Rye, who looks imploringly back. "I'll trust your judgement. I'm taking the day off to be with my family."

Minutes later, they all board the Presidential Hovercraft with one final wave to the District Twelve well-wishers before the door seals behind them.

Peeta nudges Rye's side. "Where's your homework?" he asks.

Rye groans. "Why do you get the day off and I don't?"

"Because I'm the President and you're nine. I believe that means I outrank you."

"I'll be ten next month!"

"One year doesn't make me outrank you any less."

"Fiiine. Can I at least watch take-off first?"

"You may, but then Annie's going to watch you work. Get as much of your math and history done before we get back to the Capitol."

"What are we gonna do after we get back?"

"I've got some ideas. It'll be fun, I promise. Go on, Duck."

He might be older and vastly more mature now, but Rye's smile is still eager and cherubic as he settles into a seat, Annie at his side, and presses his nose to the window. Peeta strides down the narrow corridor towards his office (his for now, he supposes) and secures the door behind him.

He gazes over to the double seat in the corner. She's right where he'd left her: curled up, eyes closed, a blanket covering her from neck to toes as she dozes. He smiles, and not wanting to wake her, strides over and sinks silently into the chair behind his desk. The hovercraft operator announces over the loud speaker they're ready for take-off, and Peeta takes the quiet moment to let some of the stress he's felt non-stop over the last few months unwind from his shoulders. He leans his head back and lets his eyes drift closed. He wakes with a start untold minutes later when he feels the back of Katniss's hand brush along his cheek.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she says contritely. "I didn't realize you'd actually fallen asleep."

"I didn't realize I did, either" he says, and gives his eyes a quick rub. He'd completely missed the craft launching into the air, sweeping over his District, and flying into the clouds. She wobbles a bit on her feet when they hit a patch of turbulence, so he pulls her into his lap and smoothes his palm along her hip.

"So who'd you vote for? Did you write-in Delly like I told you to?" she asks with a grin.

"You're hilarious," he murmurs. "How are you feeling? Better?" He can see she's still a little pale, feel that her skin's a little clammy, but she's not shaky anymore like she was when the craft took off from the Capitol launchpad earlier that morning.

"Mmm… it's been an hour since the last wave, I think? I'm probably in the clear for a bit. I brushed my teeth."

"Oh yeah?" he says. He places his thumb on her chin to tilt her face down and brushes his lips over hers. "Ah. So you did." He kisses her again fervently, and revels in the feel of her petite form pressed against his chest. Moments like this during an election are few and far between, so it feels every moment of the ages it has been.

The craft dips and sways as it continues to gain altitude, and all the while, Katniss insinuates herself against him further. Peeta runs his knuckles along the exposed skin of her arms and her bare legs under the billowy skirt of her candlelight-colored dress as they kiss, completely absorbed in one another. The craft levels out and the ride becomes practically motionless. Only then does she pull away so she's still perched on his knee, and stretches her back and neck. She still looks a little tired, but her gaze drinks him in as though she's never seen him before. He loves it when she looks at him like that, especially when her cheeks are a little flushed and her mouth looks so thoroughly plump.

"Where's Rye?" she asks.

"Doing his homework with Annie. I told him we'd all do something fun when we get home, if you're feeling up to it."

"I'm feeling up to doing something fun now," she says. Her eyes darken, her lips pull up at the corners in a smirk, and she shifts in a very significant way in his lap.

"What do yo— Oh." He's been so tired and they've both been so distracted that love-making has been rare. But the look on her face is so brazen, so intoxicating—even if he felt he was about to fall asleep standing up, the thought of denying her would never occur to him right now. "You're really feeling up to it?"

"Very, very up to it." She shifts in his lap again, her thigh rubbing sinuously over his tented trousers. "And from the feel of things, so are you. Did you lock the door?"

"Don't I always?"

He's lost in her kiss again the second her mouth tilts down and slants over his.

After a year, the slow novelty of undressing one another, of nudging apart buttons and ties and clasps has mostly waned; still, Peeta grins at her when she slides backwards to start nudging his pants down his hips inch by inch. She stands to let her dress, buttons undone all the way down her navel, pool at her feet, then sweeps everything aside with the side of her foot. The lace bra she wears is far too lovely to remove, but she's absconded with her panties at some juncture.

"Madam First Lady—what would the nation think if they knew you weren't wearing your underwear?"

She winks and drops delicately to her knees. "They'd suppose I've been too ill to make love to my husband in ages and, I'm sure, forgive me."

He purses his mouth when she leans forward, thinking she's coming for his lips, but her mouth attaches instead to his pulse point under his left ear. She charts an agonizingly slow course over his neck, his chest, and his belly before she nudges his knees apart with her hands. He cups her chin in his hands, shaking his head to say there's no need—but her mouth is already diving down around him. His eyes roll back in his head, and he slumps back in the plush, leather chair to watch her work.

"Katniss…" he pants as her mouth becomes a little vacuum and her head bobs. Her hair is loose and tickles his belly as she sets a languid, indulgent pace, and he gathers it up in his hand. Her silver eyes seem to glint up at him, his shaft disappearing deeper and deeper into her mouth every time she plunges her mouth down around him, humming and sucking all the tender while. It seems like only a few precious seconds of this before he feels his hips twitch, his toes begin to curl—if he doesn't get inside her, and soon, he'll completely lose control. He tugs her curls, and she lets him fall from her mouth with a gentle pop before she crawls up his body to sit astride him.

"Minx," he says with a smirk as he sinks his hips lower into the seat and grasps her by hers.

"Surely you didn't think that would change simply because—ah!" she keens as he trails his fingers softly between her thighs and parts her delicate folds. He grins up at her, wildly pleased she's already so wet for him, and finds her clit with his thumb.

"No, certainly not," he says in answer to her unfinished question, and watches intently as her face begins to contort in pleasure. He feels his fingers coat with her arousal, rivulets of lust coursing from her as she begins to squirm and murmur his name.

"Shhh," he says impishly, "we don't want to be interrupted."

She tosses her head from side to side as he leans forward and captures a turgid nipple through its lace coverlet, and he feels her fingers slide into his hair. The nub against his thumb begins to pound, and her hips grind down insistently against his hand. She tugs his hair sharply, and just as their mouths collide, a luscious scream bubbles up from her throat and gets lost against his tongue.

She quivers against him for only a moment or two, panting a shallow recovery in between desperate kisses. He reaches between them, holding himself at the base while she sinks, sinks—then he's sheathed inside her and they moan together in ecstasy. Her thighs clench as she begins to ride him, her hips snap up and down eagerly as she braces her palms against his stomach. Her eyes fall hooded and jaw goes slack, and Peeta thinks that he could watch her like this forever if she'd allow it, until he feels her walls flutter around him in that way that makes him forget everything. He draws a deep breath, releases it with a blissful moan, and draws her face down to kiss her breathless. She wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him as he juts his hips up, thrusting ever deeper inside her. He guides her with his hands, coaxing her up and dropping her down until she shudders against him in another tidal wave of muted, guttural cries.

She slumps bonelessly against him when he gets to his feet, picking her up and propping her against the smooth wood of the desk in front of them. He lays her back delicately, his fingertips ghosting along her rib cage to release her breasts from the lacy cups before he tweaks her nipples. He draws one of her legs up and kisses the inside of her ankle before plunging back inside her and losing himself there, his eyes falling closed in his growing delirium. He listens to her mewling his name, her struggle for breath as he snaps his hips. He wrenches his eyes open to see her gaze drinking him in, and that's all it takes to completely undo him—her quicksilver eyes and the swollen, well-kissed bow of her mouth murmuring, "Peeta."

He falls forward onto his forearms and presses his brow between her breasts to catch his breath. Her fingers rake through his hair and her chest rumbles softly as she hums something sweet and soothing. He begins to draw himself up, intent to take her and her lips with him—then he pauses as he glances down at the nearly undetectable swell of her stomach. His fingers trail down her sides again, and when he presses his palm to the tiny bump, she covers it with her own.

"You're alright?" he says, still a little bit in disbelief over what they managed to make despite the exhausting hours of the campaign.

"Never better. Especially after that. Should I expect you'll be fussing over me a bit less now this first stage is nearly through?"

"I'm going to fuss over you every second I can, love," he says with a smile. "And just wait until we tell Rye and get him going."

"This one really ought to be a girl, then," she says with a laugh. "I'm not sure I can handle another clucking Mellark man in my life."

The hovercraft gives an almost imperceptible shudder around them as an announcement trills over the PA that they'll be arriving in District Five shortly. Peeta helps Katniss draw up to sitting and kisses her firmly one more time before they begin to gather their clothes. Katniss ducks into the lavatory to touch up her makeup, and once Peeta's redressed, he falls heavily onto the double seat she'd been asleep on when he entered and waits for her there. She steps out fluffing her hair with her fingers and grins at him.

"You know, I think you just convinced me of something," she says.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

She takes the seat next to him and kisses him softly as she fastens in for landing. "To vote for you, of course."

"I only now convinced you?" he asks, incredulous.

"Mhmm. You can thank those talented fingers of yours for being the final factor."

He kisses her giggles away as the craft touches down, then wipes away some stray lipstick with the pad of his thumb. She's still pale under the dusting of bronzer on her cheeks, but there's a glow to her, a softness that makes his heart swell.

"Vote for me or not," he says, opening the office door so they can step out together, "the rest of the day belongs to us."

As she joins her guard to make her way to the Justice Building, he wonders to himself if this is the last day for another five long years that will be only theirs, or if it's only the first of many once he's been voted-out.

He'd be lying to himself if he weren't equally scared of both possibilities.

He decides, either way, to make the day count.

After Katniss's vote in Five is recorded, the hovercraft speeds them to the Capitol. Peeta sends a message through Haymitch to Effie, Finnick, and Beetee that he and his family aren't to be interrupted until polling ceases in all Districts. He changes out of his pressed suit, loads Rye's arms down with blankets and pillows, and slips his arm in with Katniss's to make their way into the mansion gardens.

The idea for their oasis had been Katniss and Rye's together: when Rye had first met Katniss's mother before the wedding last year, the woman had brought a book, an Everdeen family memento, to give her daughter as a wedding present. Katniss had poured over it lovingly, explaining to Peeta and Rye it had belonged to her late-father. In it contained rough sketches of plants and flowers alongside handwritten notations about what each specimen could be used for medicinally. It'd been expanded to include other flora ideal for eating, as well as plants known to be toxic and dangerous. When Katniss had handed it to Rye to look over, the boy's eyes had actually lit up. After that, he'd declared himself an amateur herbalist, prompting the mansion landscapers to have a stern talking-to with Katniss about Rye's new proclivity to dig about in their well-manicured gardens. He needed a place of his own to experiment, and thus, a climate-controlled greenhouse was built just for the First Family. The glass is bullet proof, of course, and guards patrol the perimeter, just as they do the doors of the residence; but with just enough light and fresh air blowing in through the slats, it's just enough like being outside to keep Peeta's beloved, restless duo from getting too stir-crazy cooped up inside the residence.

Reclining back on a blanket, Peeta watches Katniss's lithe fingers trim back her primrose bushes as Rye tromps excitedly after her. His eyelids are heavy, and it's hard not to fall asleep where he leans. But he doesn't want to miss a minute with them today.

"Did you know if we pressed out the oils from the leaves and the buds from that bush, we could make up a skin oil? It's supposed to be really good for burns and itching," Rye says sagely to Katniss.

"Oh yeah? Did that come out of the plant book, too?"

"Yup! Except I had to look in another book to make sure this is the same flower 'cause the picture—not that your dad's pictures aren't good, Mom—but it didn't really look the same."

Katniss plucks one of the few remaining buds on the plant—not even the humid greenhouse can entirely shake away the chill the plant must feel from the season—and rolls the tiny thing between her fingers. "Okay… So let's draw a new picture of it."

"R-Really? I didn't think you'd want me to mess up any of the pages…"

"It wouldn't be messing anything up. It's our book now, Rye," Katniss says, though Peeta can tell from her tone and the far-off look on her face that she's a little wistful. She shakes it away as quickly as it appeared, and presses the flower into Rye's hand. "We should make it exactly what we want it to be."

"I don't think I can draw good enough to make it look right, Mom…"

"Maybe not yet. But your teachers always tell you you're getting better with practice."

Peeta lets his heart feel the full rush of pride before calling out to them. "You know, I'm not too shabby at that drawing thing myself."

Rye's face brightens. "Do you wanna help us, Dad?"

"Grab me some pencils, Duck," Peeta says. "I'd love to help."

As his son settles next to him, the well-worn leather book in his lap and a few pencils in his hand, Peeta looks up to see his wife gazing adoringly at them for just a moment before she switches on the water-drip system and comes over to join them. It takes Peeta a second to remember not to grip a drawing pencil as tightly as he does the ballpoint pens he wields at work. He's rusty—there isn't a lot of time for drawing these days—but with Katniss and Rye's help and a few practice scraps, his sketches make their way into the plant book.

A guard brings them lunch sent over from Ms. Sae a while later, and surreptitiously attempts to hand Peeta a note he knows must be from Haymitch. He checks his watch and surmises it must be getting on towards end of polling in the eastern most Districts; he can only assume the note must be early exit data. He slips it back to the guard with a terse shake of his head. The three munch on apples and pears with rich cheeses and hearty, grain-filled bread before Rye announces he has to check on a new batch of seedlings he's got growing at the back of the house. He's still in sight, so instead of claiming Katniss's mouth in a way that would make his son grouse about his parents being "super gross together", Peeta pulls Katniss against his chest and combs his fingers through her hair. Eventually, he finds himself making knots, and rakes through to smooth them out.

"Nervous?" Katniss asks.

"No. Well. Maybe a little. Except I still don't know entirely what I'm more nervous for."

"Look on the bright side—no one on the ballot favors HAARP. You've still got your trip to the Asiatic before turnover in January, if it comes to that. You aren't done tomorrow even if you're not reelected today, Peeta."

"I know. But…is it terribly selfish of me to want more days like today? Days for just us?"

"Not terribly. We'd like it, too. We'll make time for them best we can, no matter what happens." She loops her fingers around his wrist and presses his palm to her belly. It'll be weeks still until there's even the smallest flutter of detectable movement, but it makes Peeta take a contented, relaxed breath to know there's still something.

"Should we tell him today?" Peeta whispers.

"You said you wanted to wait until—"

"That's only a week away."

"If you want to," she says and smiles brightly. "You know him best."

"I'm not sure that's entirely true, love."

"Rye?" Katniss calls out, not breaking her gaze with Peeta until she gives him a playful wink. "Come back over here a second—we want to talk with you about something."

The sun grows faint on the horizon by the time Haymitch interrupts the family's afternoon.

"All polling has concluded except for Districts One, Two, Three, and of course the Capitol. The numbers are starting to get quite significant, Mr. President."

Peeta sighs. "Guess I can't pretend it's not happening anymore, then."

"It's gonna be alright, Dad, you'll see. I have a good feeling," Rye says with a grin.

"We're all gathered in the East Ballroom, whenever you'd like to join us."

"We'll go to the residence and change and be there soon," Peeta says, and walks Haymitch to the greenhouse door while Katniss and Rye pack up their picnic. In the doorway, Peeta clears his throat, signaling to his mentor to wait.

"I just wanted to—" Peeta lowers his voice significantly. "I just wanted to say, Haymitch, that I know I've put you through a lot this year. These last couple of years, since Katniss came into our lives and Rye…"

"Mr. President, please. There's no need to explain anything."

"Except I don't think I ever apologized to you for some of the things I said a year ago when things were at their darkest…did I?"

Haymitch's lips press together in a thin, tight line. "It wasn't necessary to. And it was a year ago, after all."

"Listen a second, old man, will you? I know I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. I mean that in the best possible way. I wouldn't have been able to do everything I have without you pushing me to be better. I've never told you that I'm grateful, and if this is the end of the line, then I wanted you to know it."

Haymitch coughs, and Peeta knows it's simply defense against emotion.

"I asked you to push me, Haymitch—thank you for doing it, even when I pushed back."

"I always believed you'd do extraordinary things, Peeta," Haymitch says quietly. "I'm appreciative you allowed me to stand behind you."

Peeta offers Haymitch his hand. "I wouldn't have had it any other way, my friend."

"Nor I."

Haymitch disappears into the darkening gardens towards the mansion, Johanna at his side, and Peeta turns back to his family. Rye has his arm around Katniss's waist, and looks happily between his father and his mother's stomach a few times before they join hands and leave their little oasis behind.

The numbers are overwhelming. It's no surprise that Peeta loses Thirteen by as wide a margin as he wins Twelve, but losing Eleven is a shock to everyone. It sets the margin for victory back considerably. Peeta nurses a stiff glass of whiskey and clings tightly to Katniss's hand.

It wouldn't be the end of the world to lose. If today proved anything, it's that he's utterly content to be a family man. He wouldn't even mind helping his father out in the bakery some mornings, just to keep active and busy. But Ten and Nine both go to other candidates as well, and Peeta is reminded again how much he does want this job—how much he still wants to do for his country so that it's the sort of place his and Katniss's children can be safe and thrive.

Rye whizzes past him, playing tag with Noah Odair, and Peeta's hand creeps protectively over Katniss's stomach.

"There's a lot still in play," Katniss reminds him.

"If I lose Eight, it's all over—I can't come back from that."

"You aren't going to lose Eight. Brinna did too much polling there on your behalf for that to happen."

The numbers for Seven come in sooner, and the room's cumulative breath releases—Peeta's won there, at least. From across the room at Haymitch's side, Johanna Mason gives him a wink and a nod. Peeta returns it gratefully. But just as soon as it does, the news agent stationed outside of Eight's Justice Building appears on screen, and the entire room falls silent...then a rush of cheers erupts when Peeta's pictures appears on-screen with a banner pronouncing him winner of the District.

Finnick is the one to step up on a stool and quiet the throng down, to soberly remind them all that there are still six Districts and the Capitol in play. None are a foregone conclusion. And ever the superstitious one, Finnick warns gravely what will happen if he personally sees anyone popping any celebratory champagne one second before Peeta is announced reelected.

Peeta clings tighter to his wife, knowing full-well that it's going to be a long night.

There's a crowd of Mellark for Panem supporters assembled outside the mansion. They've been there all night, one that was blessed with mild weather for as long as it dragged on for the gathered throng. Two Districts were called back to verify counts, and though he'd sent both Katniss and Rye to bed while the tallies ran later and later into the early hours of the morning, Peeta's barely been able to close his own eyes, even to blink.

He sits forward over his crossed legs in his wingback chair in the Aula, Haymitch to his left, Finnick and Beetee to his right. He'd asked Effie to go to the residence and get his family, but he wanted a moment with his men before facing the crowd and giving the speech Beetee had handed him when the final totals came in.

"I just wanted to tell the three of you thank you. Again. I'll never be able to say thank you enough."

Finnick nods. Beetee smiles and says, "It's been our pleasure, Mr. President."

"It continues to be our pleasure," Haymitch says.

Peeta glances over Beetee's words once more and then gets to his feet, his men following suit. "Well… Guess it's time."

"Yes sir, Mr. President." His men follow him out the Aula door.

He meets a sleepy-eyed Katniss and bushy-tailed Rye near the balcony double doors. They've both changed out of whatever they slept in, and their freshly pressed clothes look dandy in comparison to what Peeta's own rumpled suit. Without having to ask, Katniss steps forward and straightens his tie. He catches her around the waist, not caring what complaints their son might have, and kisses her full on the mouth.

"Come with me out there, will you?"

"For the audience?" Katniss asks, her eyebrow raised.

"No. For me."

"Of course I will."

She laces her fingers through his and gives them a reassuring squeeze. Before they can signal to the guards at the doors to open them, Rye tugs on Peeta's sleeve to get him to stop.

"Dad, you almost forgot something," Rye says, and Peeta catches a golden trinket glint in his son's hands. Ages as it's been since he's worn the pin, it feels right to wear it today. He stoops down, and Rye pins it to his lapel.

"Thanks, Duck."

"To protect you," Rye says, just as sweetly as ever.

"For good luck," Peeta returns, and offers his hand to his son.

Finnick lets himself past the family onto the balcony, and the crowd erupts into a deafening roar.

And then, without another word, the family steps forward together to face their future.

The End