#and Peeta baking fresh goods from scratch

[softchouli]

#This was supposed to be just a silly post with the dichotomy of their first scenes in cf #but then I caught myself thinking about those nine months that Katniss spent in the woods #without worrying if she would be able to get something useful to bring home #and Peeta baking fresh goods from scratch #for him and for the ones he cares so much about #those activities are now products of self-indulgence #stale and scarce no longer have tangible space in their lives #and that's probably how both spent the next fifteen years they had at home #and so on and on and on #*crying bc of everlark* #the hunger games #everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #catching fire #mockingjay #thg

[solar-halos]

december prompt #2: baking

i’m back in my writing era so i wanted to take advantage of that by writing ships i don’t usually write for so here’s some everlark :o). again i got carried away so the everlark fluff (and a slight sprinkling of angst!) will commence under the cut

fluff, angst, maybe a bit of canon divergence since i haven’t read cf for a while and couldn’t rlly remember the pacing lol

You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know.

Katniss knows. But what does Haymitch know?

Nothing. Haymitch knows nothing about how Peeta’s left nostril whistles in the middle of a good nap or how he always gets a haircut right as his curls start to drape over the nape of his neck.

Katniss glares at Buttercup. Freeloader.

Just like her. She still hunts, yes, but most of the food on the table and the new ribbons in Prim’s hair comes from her victory money. And then there’s Peeta, with his soft smiles and even softer laughter that she hasn’t heard a peep out of since they came back home.

Katniss doesn’t know if it’s the post-hangover drowsiness, but suddenly she’s longing for him—for his comfort, for his warmth—so madly that it hurts.

She glares at Buttercup some more.

Buttercup.

She could work with that.

Katniss has no idea how to bake, but it’s worth a try if it numbs the discomfort of her too-big heart in her too-small ribcage. Maybe she’ll ask her mother about that.

There’s no shame in buying pre-made icing. She knows that Peeta made that from scratch—he told Effie all about it on the train all those months ago, back when Katniss thought it was just another part of his grand scheme—but her thoughts are still too scattered for her to leap over that hurdle.

She dumps all of the ingredients onto the table. Buttercup meows unhappily at her. She doesn’t dignify that with a response.

How does Peeta do this?

Katniss doesn’t know. And she knows he won’t teach her, with the Career Plan he’s making her and Haymitch follow, so she’s on her own.

Well, that’s nothing new. She could handle that. Could handle cracking eggs into a bowl, fishing out the shells. Could handle measuring out the ingredients, swiping off the excess with her finger. Could handle putting a tray of slightly congealed batter into the oven.

So it’s not as pretty as Peeta’s creations. Sue her. She’ll hide all her mistakes with the icing later.

She sits criss-cross applesauce on the floor, staring at the oven to ensure nothing gets too toasty.

Katniss is good at being patient. She’s hidden in the thorny bushes and behind itchy tree bark for hours waiting for game to pass by. But this is an entirely new challenge—the color wasn’t even changing—and it leaves her wondering if the oven is even on at all.

It is. It’s emitting a low, comforting sort of heat that makes her eyelids heavy. She makes a valiant effort to fight off her exhaustion, but she doesn’t win.

That’s fine by her. She thinks she’s done with winning for a while. Buttercup is sitting all soft and warm and not even repulsive at her feet, making her extra drowsy.

It was a rotten idea. As rotten as the color of Buttercup’s fur, because even though she’s a hunter and a victor, it’s not even the smell of burning cupcake batter that jolts her awake. It’s the sound of Peeta’s voice, so concerned and booming and uniquely him.

“Katniss?” She hears him—his footsteps, that is—before she actually sees him. His face lights up in relief when he sees her, as if he thought he’d have to investigate every other room in the house before he found her sitting on the floor. He rushes toward her. “Katniss!”

Before she knows it, she’s bundled up in his arms and being hauled away from the scene of the crime.

“But Peeta—” She cuts herself off. She was not telling him that those cupcakes were supposed to be for him. He’d probably think she was insulting him.

Also, her heart might really be too big for her chest. She can feel it beating against her skin as Peeta carefully sets her outside, the fresh, cold air replacing the burning in her nostrils.

She blinks, but all she’s met with is the memory of the mini-fire raging inside the oven. She’ll have to remember to warn her mom about that the next time she gets experimental in the kitchen.

You idiot, she thinks to herself, once the sleepiness and the shock wears off. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. People die from carbon monoxide poisoning all the time—Katniss should know—and she just took a nap in front of flammable ingredients stuffed inside a scorching hot box.

Idiot.

Her eyes burn and her throat tickles, but it’s not from the fire. She sits on the porch, reaching up to tug away the hair plastered on her cheek from her drool before the winter chill can make it stick.

She doesn’t know how long she sits out there, but she does know that Peeta had enough time to fish out whatever abomination she carelessly left in the oven. They’re burnt to the crisp. And so is the pan.

“Oops,” Peeta says simply.

Katniss stares at him, dumfounded. “Oops?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. Katniss leans back to study him properly. Relaxed posture, pink cheeks, un-scowling lips. This is exactly who she wanted to comfort her when the Quell was announced, but she has no idea why he’s making an appearance now. “I’ve been baking before I could even talk, and I still made the same mistake after we came back home. I was just so thankful that I could even sleep, so that’s what I did. Everything else sort of went away.”

After a moment, Katniss nods. That’s exactly how it felt, and she’s so thankful that he understands her—that he doesn’t think she’s making a mockery out of his craft—that she smiles at him.

“What do we do with that now?”

We. He doesn’t even question it.

“Let’s toss it, then see if we can rescue the pan.”

Usually, she wouldn’t be very keen on throwing food away, but the stuff in the pan looked more like ash than actual cupcake batter.

“So,” Peeta says, once they’re elbow deep in warm water and dish suds, “can I ask what you were making?”

Great. Now Katniss’ cheeks are on fire. She stalls some time by draining the grayish water.

“I was trying to make cupcakes,” she explains, voice coming out more steady and nonchalant than she feels. “I obviously need more practice.”

Laughter. Soft and gentle and Peeta.

“I’m sure we can make some room on the meal plan for a few cupcakes,” he tells her, but the mention of the Career Plan doesn’t even make her heart droop. It can’t—if there’s going to be cupcakes on the meal plan, he’s practically getting a one-way ticket into Katniss’ kitchen. Or maybe she’ll be in his kitchen. She has no idea if her oven is ever going to recover from this.

One thing at a time. They take turns scrubbing the pan until they see silver. They even have some time to tackle the oven.

“Peeta?” Katniss asks him, struck with the strangest urge to wipe the soot from his cheek. “Can we keep this between us? Prim’s never going to let me hear the end of this.”

“You got it. My lips are sealed.”

As if to prove it, he mimes zipping them shut. She laughs, her heart finally feeling more at ease, and then has to hack out a stray piece of ash that infiltrated her mouth.

She doesn’t mind. With Peeta’s broad shoulders occasionally bumping against hers, his body heat spilling over her like honey, it somehow tastes a bit sweet.

She keeps that to herself. It’s a strange thought to have—especially now—but this is probably the closest thing she’s ever had to an actual date. And, even though it had a really rocky start, she wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. Charred tray and defective oven and all.

She keeps that to herself, too.

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #it feels so strange not writing annie pov lmao #anyway hope this was kinda cute :o #tis the season

[kriscme]

One Life to Live

Hi, so now we come to the end.  The final two chapters.  Thanks to everyone who’s been following this story.  It can be read on AO3 too.  My name is Kris22 there.  As always, thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” available on AO3 and Fanfiction.  And thanks to Loueze for her encouragement and support.  Chapter 37 By the time the television crew was due to arrive, Peeta and I were as convincingly in love as two people could possibly be.  Of course, it was helped a great deal by the fact that we actually were.  Even so, we were hardly looking forward to our private lives becoming public again and cameras following us around as we went about our daily routine.  We worried about how intrusive it might be. Cressida had promised it would be tasteful, but the Capitol idea of tasteful can be very different from the districts.  I was afraid that it might be like that show I once saw on television about a houseful of people under constant surveillance.  They couldn’t even shower in privacy.  Would it be like that for Peeta and me?  Would they follow us into the bedroom?  Expect us to perform?  Our one consolation was that we’d be left alone once filming had ended and we vowed to ourselves that we’d do nothing newsworthy for the rest of our lives.   The day came. The house had been cleaned and tidied.  Everything was where it was supposed to be to reflect a couple who lived together as romantic partners.  Buttercup was bathed and freshly groomed.  I had the scratches to prove it.  Peeta, always considerate, had baked an assortment of breads for the crew, although I told him he shouldn’t bother.  At 7 am everything was in readiness.  10 am came and went.   And then 11 am.   At 2 pm we were still waiting.   At 4 pm we wondered if we’d got our dates wrong.   It was 6 pm when Haymitch finally got around to telling us.  They weren’t coming.  At all.   The video Remus took had violated victor media protection.  I had been filmed without my consent, wasn’t engaged in illegal activity and hadn’t voided my own protection by taking on a public role or seeking publicity.  Plutarch knew this but gambled that in our ignorance, we could be coerced into co-operating.  And once filming had started, our media protection was automatically revoked, since we had clearly consented to it.   It took only one phone call from Haymitch to President Paylor to have it sorted.   I suppose it’s of some consolation that Plutarch was severely reprimanded and threatened with dismissal.  And that he was also out of pocket for the purchase of the video and pre-production costs. As for Haymitch, I couldn’t decide whether to thank him or kill him.  He had certainly saved us from our lives being turned into a media circus for a second time but he’d let us have the worry of it for a whole week.  Peeta calmed me down and reminded me that it had brought us together.  Haymitch’s defense was that he was sick to death of our crap and wanted an end to it. He thought that a week of living together would get us sort out our differences and he was proven right.   I argued that it would have happened anyway, although I had to concede probably not as quickly.  With that in mind, I decided to let him live.   The year rolls around.  Peeta doesn’t move back into his house. It was never discussed; it was simply taken for granted.  We keep busy.  Peeta still works at the bakery as a specialist cake decorator.  He’s a partner now.  The sign above the new premises reads “Carter and Mellark Bakery and Patisserie.”  I teach at the school and on weekends I hunt. Marcus wrote to ask if I was interested in culling pest species such as wild dog and feral pig.  I jumped at it.  It seems you can be a hunter and a conservationist.   Haymitch works at the council and raises geese, which he does a pretty good job of considering he’s inebriated most of the time. We attend two weddings and one toasting.   Arthur and Lace don’t wait long before they tie the knot, or to be more accurate, thread the needle. Predictably, it was the source of much hilarity for Max, who was also invited.  At least he refrained from making jokes until after the ceremony.  I enjoyed catching up with Sateen and her husband Roy. They have a little boy.  They called him Felt.   Poor kid.   The second wedding was Octavia and Thom’s. Octavia made a beautiful bride with her rich auburn hair and fresh complexion.  Venia’s fear that their past as prep team to the Games would jeopardize their position in 12 proved needless.  Everyone knew who they were.  They’d seen them on television.  Flavius’s bright orange hair and Venia’s facial tattoos made them easily recognizable. But people had moved on.  They were tired of holding onto resentments – especially for three harmless beauty therapists whose former “victim” still willingly availed herself of their services.   The toasting was ours.  One day, we just did it.  There was no planning, no prior understanding that we’d have one.  It was the middle of winter.  We were snowed in and confined to the house.  Peeta got a roaring fire going and we picnicked in front of it using odds and ends from the pantry.  We had some stale bread to use up and toasted it by the fire.  He’d hold the toasting fork with a piece of bread to the flames and offer it to me when it was done.  The significance of it entered our heads at the very same moment. It was just a look followed by a kiss. Nothing needed to be said.  One day we might make it official, but for us we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.   Johanna won the election for District 7 mayor. She’s kept very busy but we talk on the telephone regularly.  She’s coming to visit 12 for a few days next month.   Doubtless she’ll be as disruptive as ever.  But sometimes we can use a little stirring up.  That’s what Johanna says anyway.  She takes full credit for getting Peeta and me back together and I can’t say she’s entirely wrong.   And we had a visit from my mother!  I had her possessions shipped to her home in District 4 and it seemed to have jolted something inside her, because soon after she was making plans to travel here.   It was a short visit.  She was nervous about coming here, of the memories it could evoke.  But aside from the Village, there’s nothing left of the old Twelve.  The debris from the bombs has long since been cleared away, new buildings have replaced the old, and the grass grows long and thick over the meadow.   We had a long talk about her reasons for not joining me in Twelve after I’d been released from the Capitol.  She feared being pulled down into a depression along with me.   I understood.  When you’re in the grip of it, you can see no way out.  My mother, having recovered once, was deathly afraid that she wouldn’t recover a second time.  And since misery feeds on misery, she would likely have only made mine worse.   Peeta is somewhere in the house repairing the painting of the primrose he did for me.  I don’t visit Prim in her room anymore except for that one time I when I wanted to tell her about my toasting with Peeta.   She wasn’t there.  She hasn’t been for a long time.  It was then I realized that Prim doesn’t reside in any particular place.  She’s with me every time I think of her.  I took down the primrose painting from the top of the dresser.  It belongs somewhere where I will see it every day.   I had an idea for a book, similar to my family’s plant book.   It’s to preserve the happy memories of the people we’ve lost.   Lady licking Prim’s cheek, what Cinna could do with a length of silk.  In my best handwriting, I carefully record all the details it would be a crime to forget and accompany it with a photo if we have one, or a sketch or painting by Peeta. There are photos of Finnick strewn across the dining table as I try to make my mind up on which one to use - a publicity shot that shows off Finnick’s sea-green eyes or a photo taken of himself and Annie at their wedding.   “Katniss, I was looking for some kind of adhesive tape to fix the painting and I found this letter in one of the drawers in the study.  It was addressed to me, so I opened it.” I look up, wondering what Peeta’s talking about.  He holds the painting in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other.  He leans the painting up against a wall and then pulls out one of the dining room chairs to sit across from me.  He lays the letter down in front of him.  I immediately recognize the handwriting on it as my own.  It’s the first letter I wrote to him after the mayor’s party before I thought better of it and wrote a second.  But not before putting it in an envelope and stuffing it in a drawer.  I’d forgotten all about it.   I try to snatch the letter away but he swiftly puts it out of my reach.  “Dear Peeta,” he reads. “I’m writing to you because – ““You don’t have to read it.  I know what’s in it,” I say.  “Give it back.”  I make another grab for it but he’s too fast. “. . . because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.” He stops reading and hands me the letter.  I take it from him, refold it, and slip it beneath the memory book, hoping against hope, that this will prevent any more mention of it. “Did you really want to break off all contact with me?” he asks, frowning.  “I didn’t think it ever got that bad.  When?  Why?” I sigh. Why didn’t I throw the damn letter out? “It was after the mayor’s party.  I was very upset when I wrote it.  And then I had second thoughts and wrote you another. That’s the one I slipped under your door.  I’d forgotten about this one.” He gives his head a shake. “I don’t understand. Nothing happened that night.  Not between us, anyway.  Did someone say something?  Was it Max?”  His lips thin in anger.  “That – “ “No,” I say quickly.  “It was nothing Max did.” I let out a breath, and plough forward. “It was something you did.  You and Lace.  It was when you sneaked off to have sex.” There’s a moment of stunned silence.  “What?” “You know what I mean.  I saw it all.  Well, not all, but I did see the two of disappear through those swinging double doors only the staff used.   And when you came back, Lace’s hair was all mussed. And if you didn’t have sex exactly, it was something close.  That was really tacky, Peeta.  Civilized people have more decorum than to do that.  Civilized people wait until they get home.  Civilized people – “ “Katniss, we didn’t sneak off for sex. Cass invited me to see the kitchens once the dessert course was over.  That’s where we went.”   Oh.  I guess that’s a reasonable explanation.  But that dream had been so vivid.  “Then why was Lace’s hair messed up?” “Was it?  I don’t know.  I don’t remember anything different about her.  We went to see the kitchen, Cass showed us around, and then we came out. Nothing else happened.”   “But it was sticking out,” I insist.  I know what I saw.   The scene plays again in my head.  I was at the bar with Haymitch and Max, sampling shots of whisky and getting drunker and more agitated by the minute.  Agonizing over what they could be doing.  Kissing, fondling each other, maybe even fucking. “And then you didn’t even look to see if I was still there when you came back,” I add in a small pitiful voice.  It sounds so pathetic, saying it aloud.  It’s a trivial reason for cutting someone out of your life. Just because they didn’t look for you when they came into a room.   But after everything, that’s what tipped it over for me.  What finally made me give up hope and decide to end it. He reaches across the table to take one of my hands.  “Katniss, look at me.” I turn my face away, and he gives my hand a tug.  I reluctantly meet his gaze.  His eyes look earnestly into mine.  “I can’t explain the hair, okay?  But I can tell you what I do remember about that night.” He pauses, as if waiting for my approval before he proceeds.  I shrug.   “Go ahead.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds.  “You, looking so beautiful in your Cinna dress.  And me, assailed by memories of other entrances and other gowns.  Being dragged around by Lace from one boring conversation to another, unable to resist looking around to see what you were doing.  And Max, who didn’t leave your side for a minute unless it was to get you another drink. I was jealous of him without knowing why but attributed it to a fear of losing your friendship.” He pauses and adds, “At the time, you didn’t seem very happy with me.”I feel a twinge of remorse.  He’s right.  I was often moody and distant with him.  The tape viewings weren’t going as I wanted and I’d recently learned of a pattern book he was making for Lace, similar to my family’s plant book.  “You seemed to be having such a good time together, at dinner and on the dance floor. So, when we came back into the ballroom, I just didn’t want to be reminded of it.  I kept my head down and headed for the nearest group of people.  And then I did my best not to think about you.  I’m sorry.   I hurt you and used Lace to hide from my feelings.  But that’s the truth, awful as it is.”   But not nearly as awful as what I’d convinced myself of.   I don’t know what to say.  I feel so foolish.  So much anger and pain for something that existed only in my imagination.   And I’d also assumed that Peeta’s willingness to help me with the Marcus thing was due, in some part, to either empathy or guilt for having being in a similar situation himself. “No, I’m the awful one for jumping to conclusions.  I thought the worst.  You’d never be so crass as to do something like that.  I owe you an apology.  I should never – “ “You don’t owe me anything,” he says, interrupting me before I can go further.   “In fact, the opposite is true.  You wouldn’t have thought it if I hadn’t given you reason to.” He reaches across for the memory book and flips through the pages we’ve done so far.  My father. Peeta’s father.  Boggs.  It stops on Rue.  Peeta has drawn her poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight.  There’s a reason why I asked him to portray her like this.  It’s how I want to remember her.  You can’t change the past, but you can bring the best of it into the future.   “Let’s make a deal.  Only good memories for us from now on.  Like this book you’re working on.”   He walks over to where I’m sitting to pull me out of my chair.  “Now come show me where you want this painting hung.”  I take him into the living room.  It’s the room we use most and where I’ll see it every day.   As I decide where to place it exactly, Peeta comes to stand at my back to hug me from behind.  I lean back against his broad chest and luxuriate in the strong arms that encircle me.   My dandelion in the spring.  The lullaby that Prim liked as a baby comes to mind.   Here it’s safe, here it’s warmHere the daisies guard you from every harmHere your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them trueHere is the place where I love you. “I was thinking over the mantle?  Or maybe on the far wall . . .”    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 38 Lace’s story: what happened on the night of the mayor’s party.   It wasn’t fair!  This was supposed to have been her night.   She had been looking forward to it for weeks ever since Peeta casually mentioned it on one of their date nights.  The mayor’s inauguration party was to be the biggest social event in District 12 in living memory.  All the important and influential people in the district would be there.  For ambitious Lace, it was invaluable in terms of creating contacts and securing the kind of clientele that could afford to buy her evening wear, a design niche she wanted to develop.   Besides, she dearly loved a party and she hadn’t been to one in ages.  The last one had been the district party where she had met Peeta for the first time.   He didn’t remember it though.   That was fortunate since she had come to District 12 for a new life and a new identity and didn’t want her past in District 8 compromising it in any way.   Since she was to be her best advertisement, she put a great deal of thought and effort into her gown.  She hadn’t much money saved but she splurged the lot on pale yellow satin and then spent many hours making it up.   The final touch was a trip to the salon to have her hair colored and styled.  It was an extravagance, keeping up the hair color.  But she loved it and it formed something of a disguise as it was subtly different from the typical ash brown of the natives of her home district.   As she entered the ballroom, Lace felt she was at the beginning of an exciting new phase.  After a slow start, her business had gained momentum and she was making a steady income.   A few family members had also made the move to 12 which added to her sense of security.  But best of all, was the man on whose arm she clung.  How did she get so lucky?  Peeta Mellark!  Her teenage crush.  The romantic heartthrob whose posters had adorned her bedroom wall.  The boy she had married in her dreams every night.  What a fortuitus twist of fate it had been that day when he came into her shop to have a coat made.  A flirtation had led to a date at a restaurant and then another, until she could now, without exaggeration, call him her boyfriend! True, he wasn’t quite what she had expected.  He seemed a bit aimless, and he liked activities she had outgrown, like hanging out at the ice-cream parlor and the swimming pool, but he was Peeta Mellark!   And he really was so sweet and considerate with his little romantic gestures and compliments to her beauty.  He told her she was a wonder.  And the more she kissed and flattered and stroked, the more wonderful she became.  It was a mutual admiration society that she was more than happy to live in.  The one blot on her happiness was Katniss Everdeen.  Lace had mixed feelings about meeting her. Katniss was intimidating.  Her reputation as romantic heroine, fearless symbol of the Rebellion, skillful warrior and (privately thought by most of the populace) savior from another Snow, preceded her.  But most intimidating of all was her relationship with Peeta.  He talked about her all the time. Not in a romantic sense, it was true, but it was clear she occupied a great deal of his thoughts.  The Games had been mandatory viewing and Lace, like everyone in Panem, had watched Peeta gaze at Katniss with love in his eyes.  But Peeta had an explanation for that.  It had been an illusion.  He thought he had been in love with her, but it turned out that he was in love with his idea of her, rather than who she really is.  But now he thought of her as very good friend with whom he shared an unbreakable bond.  As for Katniss, well, she had never loved him.  It had all been an act on her part. That should have been reassuring.  And it was.  Sort of.  But Peeta had lost many of his memories and what was left was distorted, so how could he be certain? But what gave her most pause wasn’t Peeta.  It was Katniss.  It was clear at the first meeting that Katniss didn’t like her.  Katniss wasn’t rude, but she was cool, even giving her the once over when they were first introduced.  And when Lace and Peeta discussed a housewarming gift from the two of them for Lace’s brother, a shadow passed over Katniss’s face.  It was subtle but unmistakable.  Katniss wasn’t as disinterested in Peeta as Peeta made out. That’s why Lace gatecrashed the tape viewings.  If there was anything going on, she wanted to know about it.  She didn’t trust Katniss one inch.  Unfortunately, the second of the tapes triggered the memory of a traumatic incident for Lace and she reacted hysterically.  Peeta asked her not to attend anymore and she had no choice but to do as he said.   However, despite Peeta watching video tape of hugs and kisses and romantic slow dancing at Capitol parties, nothing changed between herself and Peeta.  If Peeta had ever loved Katniss, it appeared that he no longer did.   Even Leevy’s revelations in the salon that day didn’t worry her for long.  So what if the star-crossed lovers had been real?  It still aligned with Peeta’s version.  What had happened in the Games and during the tours was before Peeta had realized his true feelings for Katniss.  And she’d already guessed that Katniss was in love with him.   The party was everything Lace had dreamed of. So elegant. The women in evening gowns, the men in dinner suits.  Waiters with silver trays laden with flutes of sparkling champagne. The tables resplendent with starched white tablecloths and napkins and gleaming cutlery.  She turned to Peeta to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” she said. “You really are the best boyfriend.”  He brushed her lips with his and gave her a fond smile.  “Only because I have the best girlfriend,” he replied.   She beamed and squeezed his arm.  She could hardly recall a happier moment.   And then Katniss Everdeen arrived.  Lace’s practiced eye immediately recognized her gown as haute couture.  Cinna, probably.  Deep blue, the bodice studded thickly with diamonds – were they real? – with a strapless sweetheart neckline and more diamonds scattered on the skirt.  It dazzled and Katniss dazzled with it.  Luxuriant dark hair cascading down her back in loose curls.  Smooth olive skin, fine features and those surprising eyes.  Silvery gray, the colour of storm clouds.  She had a man for each arm.  The school teacher Max Matson, who all the girls agreed was very good looking if you could get past his personality, and – it couldn’t be – Arthur!  Lace’s friend who adored her since they were children together.  She knew he was coming tonight but not with her!  She felt the arm beneath her fingers stiffen and her glance swiftly turned to his face.  Peeta appeared stunned, his mouth gaping slightly.  There was admiration, certainly, but also something darker and more sinister.  Recognition. A memory, perhaps several, had resurfaced.   Lace’s happiness dimmed as if a cloud had passed across the sun.  But she rallied, pulling Peeta quickly along to greet the new mayor and his wife who were momentarily on their own.  Lace was in her element.  She was a natural networker.  She loved to interact with people and was always searching for opportunities.  Peeta seemed a little distracted though. Looking around, not quite keeping up with the conversation.   She followed his gaze, and it led directly to Katniss Everdeen, who, no surprise, was looking directly at him.  They both looked quickly away, but that was of no comfort.  It was clear that they were on each other’s mind. Meanwhile, she was pleased to observe, Arthur had detached himself from Katniss and was busy working the room too.  Now there was a man with get-up-and-go.  He didn’t let his natural reserve get in the way of achieving his ambitions.  Lace waved him over and he changed direction to come to her side.  Soon they were talking business, a fascinating subject for them both. She didn’t notice how restless Peeta was during the exchange. Dinner was announced and everyone made their way to their allocated seats.  Unfortunately, theirs was a dull table and not even Lace’s pearly laugh could liven it up. A burst of laughter from nearby grabbed her attention.  Arthur and Haymitch seemed to be at the center of it.  It caught Peeta’s attention too.  He seemed envious, it appeared to Lace.  But whether it was over the entertaining company or because Katniss was seated there too, she couldn’t tell. After the food had been served, people resumed their mingling, moving from table to table. Peeta wanted to talk to Katniss.  Ordinarily, Lace wouldn’t feel particularly threatened by this.  Over the preceding weeks, Peeta had confided to her that Katniss seemed uninterested in spending time with him unless it was watching the tapes.  And even then, she often seemed angry with him. Lace immediately guessed the situation. Katniss had grown frustrated with Peeta. He hadn’t responded as she’d hoped and she was distancing herself as a form of self-protection.  As long as this status quo was maintained, Lace felt safe. But after tonight, she wasn’t sure of anything.   Lace demurred.  Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea.  Katniss appeared occupied and hadn’t he told her that she didn’t seem keen on his company lately?  It was best to leave her alone.  But Peeta said that they should, that it would look odd if they didn’t.  So, when Max headed off in the direction of the bar, leaving Katniss on her own, Lace reluctantly let Peeta lead her to where Katniss sat.   It was an awkward conversation.  Lace embarrassed herself with her ignorance on what it meant to be a victor at the district parties and having to face the families of the dead tributes.  Worse, she let it slip that she had been to a district party.  Her story was that she’d been a factory worker in 8. Factory workers weren’t allowed to attend district parties.  Fortunately, Peeta didn’t pick up on it, but Katniss appeared to sense that something was amiss.   There was an awkward pause.  Peeta broke the silence.  “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he said to Lace, pretending to be annoyed.  She had intended to stay at Peeta’s side, but perhaps it would be better to leave before she dug herself a deeper hole. “Okay, okay,” she said, in mock surrender.  “I know when I’m not wanted.  I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway.  Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” There, that would show Katniss who’s really in charge and hopefully plant a seed that Peeta wasn’t exactly happy in her company either.  She stroked his hand and kissed his cheek, enjoying her Svengali-like effect, knowing that his eyes would follow her as she walked away. She went to the ladies’ room as she said she would and did the usual things women do there.  She wanted to get the timing right and was gratified to see Peeta waiting for her at their table when she returned.   The dancing started up soon after and Lace pulled Peeta to his feet.  She loved to dance.  Peeta didn’t. His prosthetic leg made it a chore rather than a pleasure and he had faint memories of dancing at Capitol parties. But he wanted to be a good boyfriend, so up he got, and shuffled dutifully around the dancefloor with her. But then Katniss and Max came into view. Max had Katniss pulled tightly against him and he swung her around in a series of fancy turns, almost lifting her off her feet.  They were making fools of themselves, thought Lace.  That’s no way to behave at a formal event. So undignified!  So tasteless!  She turned to Peeta, expecting him to be as unimpressed as she, but his face was hard, giving away nothing.  Suddenly, he put his head close to hers and whispered words in her ear.   She nodded and followed him through the double swinging doors the staff used to bring food from the kitchen.  It had been pre-arranged.  Peeta had told her about it.  Cass from the bakery was to show Peeta around the kitchens. He had never seen a commercial kitchen before.   While he marveled at the long row of ovens, the walk-in freezer, the huge storage room, Lace could barely stifle her yawns.  So boring, and it was fricking cold in there after the warmth of the ballroom. But she stuck a smile on her face and did her best to appear interested but she was hardly in the mood to hear about the merits of blast chillers when her heart was breaking.  Somehow, she had to widen the gulf between Katniss and Peeta. She had to ensure that any fledgling signs of a possible reunion between them was snuffed out before it could begin. And then she had an idea. Just as they were about to re-enter the ballroom, Lace ruffled her carefully styled hair and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth to wipe away some of the lipstick, smearing it a little. Let Katniss believe that she and Peeta had snuck away for some canoodling in a dark corner.  Isn’t that what Peeta and Katniss did as star-crossed lovers?  Sneaking off to be alone when they were at fancy events? It was in a fan magazine she’d read, anyway.  With a bit of luck, Katniss’s mind would go straight there.   She scanned the room and saw Katniss by the bar with Max and Haymitch.  The hour was growing late and the crowd had thinned but there was a group of merry young people standing around nearby.  She started to lead Peeta in their direction, but he seemed to have the same idea and led her.  And when his arm went around her waist and he pressed a fond kiss to the crown of her head, relief flooded through her.  Everything was as it should be.  She turned in his arms slightly to look over his shoulder and managed to catch a glimpse of Katniss’s stricken but resolute face, just before her hasty exit with a startled Max close behind her.   Satisfied, she leaned her head against Peeta’s shoulder and he squeezed her waist.  She had worried over nothing.  It was inevitable that as Peeta regained his memories they’d be focused on Katniss. They were, after all, the memories that Snow had meddled with.  It didn’t mean that Peeta was wrong when he said his feelings for her had been an illusion. The real proof of who he loved was in who he chose to be with.  And that was her, Lace Bomul from District 8.