The Strongest Weapon

by griffindork93

Summary:

Katniss has never been great with words. Or love really. But that day on the train, on the way back to 12, she doesn't let Peeta walk away. She won't let the Capitol define her. If she chooses Peeta, it's because she wants to be with him and not because President Snow expects it of her.

Notes:

Every time I read a Hungers Games fanfiction in which Katniss realizes she loves Peeta, this scene pops in my head, demanding to be written. I want to write a story where they work for a relationship and where we really get to see Katniss exploring her emotions for the baker.

This series belongs to Suzanne Collins.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The train begins moving and we’re plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly, wash the makeup from my face and put my hair into its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta’s arm around my shoulders feels alien.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can’t quite frame it in my mind. I never gave as much thought to Gale as I have now that the Games are over. Putting on an act of a pair of lovers head over heels for each has changed how I look at both Gale and Peeta.

Falling in love was never on my list of things to do. Surviving was more important. There was no time for a relationship when I had to guarantee there was enough food in the house to feed Prim. All of that changed since I was reaped. Now I have no choice but to continue to play the girl that had fallen hard for the boy that was hopelessly in love with her.

But what do I truly feel for Peeta? I had sworn off of love after watching how it destroyed my mother. Loving someone else only hurt you.

However, that wasn’t the case with me and Peeta. His love saved me. Saved us. He got both of us out of the Games. The gamemakers would have never made that rule change if Peeta hadn’t announced his love for all of Panem to see during his interview.

Thinking of Peeta’s love in turn caused me to think of my feelings for Gale, which caused the churning in my stomach to intensify. During the train ride I had taken the time to think back on several interactions with Gale, and I had come to the stunning realization that my best friend must have had feelings for me.

It made it that much harder for me to choose between them. I knew Gale better. I was closer to him. We shared the same pain, pain that Peeta couldn’t possibly understand. But Gale was family. I never looked at him as more than a brother. And Peeta. I owed Peeta my life and that of my mother’s and sister’s. I’ve been indebted to him since that day he burnt the bread.

How could I possibly go on with this act when he believed it was true? How could I manipulate his feelings so cruelly? So my family could live? Peeta deserved better than to love a girl that wouldn’t love him back.

He must have seen my turmoil on my face. “What’s wrong?” Peeta asks.

“Nothing,” I answer. I don’t have the words to say how I feel yet. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I’m fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. I can’t look at him until I know what I’m going to say. Who I’m going to choose.

“What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me.

“It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out.

“What? What are you talking about?” he says.

“It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say.

“Coaching you? But not me,” Peeta says.

“He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say.

“I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess . . . back in the arena . . . that was just some strategy you two worked out.”

Peeta’s accusation make me angry. A strategy Haymitch and I worked out! “Selling the star-crossed lovers was yours and Haymitch’s idea. I wasn’t even aware of that plan.”

“But you went along with it. You knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.”

“Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

“Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says.

“I don’t know,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming.

“We’ll, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I watched him turn away from me, his shoulders stiff. He couldn’t walk away from me. From us. Not now. All I could think about was how I couldn’t survive without him. In the end, that was what my choice would have come down to. Gale or Peeta. Which one could I survive without?

Unbidden, words sprang from my mouth. “Wait, Peeta. Please.”

He stopped, maybe from the surprise of me saying please. I was well known around District Twelve for many things, but manners were not one of them. Or maybe he hadn’t expected me to call out for him. I know I hadn’t intended to, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“That’s not what I meant to say. It’s not like that. I mean . . .” I try to explain, stumbling helplessly over the words. Angrily, I throw the wildflowers Peeta gifted to me to the ground. “I’m just supposed to wield the bow. This is your job.”

He turned around to look at me, baffled. “My job?” he repeated. “To what? Lie and rip my own heart out? To mislead you so I could live?”

“That’s not what I meant at all, Peeta. Just give me a chance. You’re much better with words than I am,” I pleaded. Even to myself, I couldn’t explain why the pain etched across his face when he turned back towards me felt like Clove was brandishing a knife to my neck once more.

Peeta’s blue eyes soften. He crosses the short distance between in what seems like ages to me, and reaches for my left hand. Gently, he intertwines his fingers with mine and raises our joined hands. “Look at me. Just tell me how you feel.”

Just like with our chariot entrance, Peeta is making the first move. This whole time, he’s been taking the lead and I’ve been bumbling about trying to make it believable.

I swallow. My mouth feels as dry as it had in the first hours of the Games when I was desperately searching for water, but I owed him at least that. Peeta had saved my life and my family’s lives twice now.

“I never wanted to fall in love,” I start. “Loving my father destroy my mother. She couldn’t take care of herself let alone Prim and I. If you hadn’t given me that bread, we wouldn’t have survived the winter.” Peeta’s eyes darkened with sorrow at my admittance. Thankfully, he didn’t interrupt though. “Your confession. Haymitch’s strategy. Caught me completely unaware. Haymitch said you had made me look desirable, that he could sell the star-crossed lovers.”

I bite my lower lip. Peeta brushes the pad of his thumb across my knuckles, silently encouraging me. “When he said that, I thought it was your angle. An act on your part as well. That way the Capitol would keep us both alive until the very end and get their entertainment by pitting us against each other.”

His other hand comez up to cover our still clasped hands. His grip tightensalmost painfully, but I say nothing. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you, Katniss. I love you. I would never hurt you.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t learn that until I found you, almost dead, because of Cato. And when I learned it was real, I couldn’t help but hate you for it.”

He reels back like I had punched him. “Why?”

“Because,” I burst out, “It was unfair of you to unexpectedly declare your love for me. Especially right before the Games. Did you really expect me to fall for you in the arena? When I had to fight to get out, and doing so would mean you would have to die? There is never more than one victor. Twenty-four of us go in and only one comes out. What if they hadn’t made that rule change? What if they hadn’t given in when I pulled out the berries?”

My voice cracks. I didn’t need him to answer the question. We both knew the answer. Peeta had already asked me to kill him. Without that monumental change to the unwritten rules, any love that might have been would have been killed along with him. Peeta’s soft hands cup my face and he rests his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not fair of me to expect you to return my feelings.”

My eyes burn. Tears of frustration, of anger, of pain, of regret, finally start to fall. Here we stood, beside the train tracks in the middle of District Eight, and he was apologizing to me when I had just broken his heart.

“Please,” I say, for the second time. “Let me continue.”

“Alright.”

“I don’t love you, Peeta,” I ignore the way he flinches, “but that’s not to say that I can’t.” His smile is brilliant. “I do care for you, Peeta. I have feelings for you. I don’t know what they are, but I want to find out. I want to give us a try. Is that okay? Will you give me a chance?”

I stare at him anxiously. His answer is automatic. “Always. I’m sorry for not giving you a chance the first time. I didn’t mean to force you to love me. I’ll take whatever you can give me, Katniss, so long as it’s what you truly feel.”

We walk hand in hand back to the train. The wildflowers that he had thoughtfully picked for me remain in the dirt. I leave behind all thoughts of Gale along with the flowers that reminded me of him. “Where does this leave us when we get back to District Twelve?” he asks.

“We play the lovers for the camera to keep Snow appeased. And our private life stays private. If we’re going to give this a shot, it’s going to have to be real. Just you and me. No cameras. You didn’t want the Capitol to change you. I don’t want them to define me. Anything that happens between us is because we want it.”

“Okay,” he says simply.

We board the train. Peeta apologizes to a critical Effie for the time it took us to get on. Haymitch studies us as we make a break for down the hall to our rooms. He has a bottle of alcohol in his hands, but his eyes are clear, wondering what has changed in the two tributes he mentored.

I am in no mood to clue him in. I drag Peeta down the train. We reach my door first and stand awkwardly outside it.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says.

I tighten my grip on his hand before he can let go and pull him towards me. Our lips meet and move against each other, and this time, it feels different. Because this is the first kiss we’ve shared that is just for us.

“There’s no cameras here,” I whisper against his mouth.

He smiles again. It suits him. Peeta’s whole face lights up when he smiles and it’s so congenial it makes you want to smile as well. “I love you. Good night.”

For the first night since the Games have ended, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

It does not stay there.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

I'm back in the woods beyond District Twelve's fence. The familiar sounds of animals scurrying about fill my ears and I drink in the sight of the lush green, natural forest. I recognized the distinctive gaits of squirrels and rabbits. Birds chirped loudly overhead. In the distance I could even hear the musical voice of a mockingjay.

I wanted to take off my boots, curl my toes into the soft green grass, and twirl until I couldn't see straight. I had done it. Me. A Seam girl from District Twelve had won the Hunger Games. I made it back home to Prim; just like I promised her.

There was no longer any need for me to hunt. As a Victor, I'm set for life. A house large enough to fit me, Prim, and my mother with room to spare. One that won't get cold in the winter, forcing sweet Prim out of her bed and into mine so she doesn't freeze at night. There's more food than we can eat, even when we're actually getting three square meals a day.

And the money. Now that I have everything I've ever needed and all the things I desperately tried to provide for Prim, what was I supposed to spend it on?

Perhaps I could use it to help the Hawthornes. They were practically family. If not for Gale, I would have never managed to feed my family.

When dad passed away in the mining accident, the same one as Gale's father, I was only a fledgling hunter. I could string and shoot the bow, but my aim was a far cry from what it was today. Gale showed me how to make snares and how to move silently. It was more about making your footsteps match the sounds the forest was making and not about moving without making any noise whatsoever. In return, I shared my father's knowledge of edible plants.

With all the fanfare about District Twelve having two Victors, the district has been closely monitored. Although, the increased camera coverage and security was probably a result of me pissing Snow off. And with Gale working six days out of the week in the mine . . . well, Gales's situation wasn't a pretty picture. His siblings, Rory, Vick, and Posy, must be starving. The least I could do was hunt for him, since he was too prideful to simply accept food or money from me.

Unconscious and unbidden, I find myself standing at the edge of the lake where my father taught me to swim.

I crouch; dipping a hand into the crystal clear water, searching for the plant in knew was there. The leaves above the water's surface were arrowhead shaped, something I appreciated now that I was a hunter. The katniss plant suited me very well. Soon, the stems would be long enough for the white flowers to bloom.

My fingers wrap around the base and I yank, pulling the roots free from the sediment. I clean the dirt off before eating it. They weren't particularly tasty, but like my father had said, as long as I could find myself, I would never starve.

A loud splash echoed in the clearing. My head jerked up so fast I heard the vertebrae in my neck crack. For a minute, all I could do was stare in disbelief at the scene in front of me. Then in horror when blinking didn't make it go away.

"This can't be real," I mutter. "It can't be."

Peeta was being dragged through the water by one of the Game's Mutts. The beast tore its teeth from the baker's legs, eliciting a painful scream, and turned its snarling jaw dripping blood at me.

It was a monstrous animal. Easily chest high on four legs. Its blonder fur was matted and brown in places. Dried blood, I realized. Peeta was not the creature's first victim.

Malice shone in its blue eyes. It raised its head, sniffing the air. Without looking way, I reached a hand behind me, feeling for the bow I had set down. The Mutt turned away from me in favor of trying to tear Peeta's leg off.

"Peeta, no!"

The arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself deep in the side of the beast's flank. The second arrow, which had been nocked as soon as I released the first, quickly followed, finding home in the thing's left eye.

I scrambled to my feet, barely managing to get the large longbow over my shoulder in my haste to reach Peeta. I knelt beside him, gently brushing wet curls away from his face. "You're going to be just fine, Peeta. I'll get us back to Victor's Village and my mother will fix this."

Peeta raised a shaking hand to the side of my face. He wiped up tears I didn't know I was crying.

"Please don't cry, love. Smile for me. You don't know how beautiful you are when you smile."

I managed a weak smile for him. "There. See?" I cast about frantically, looking for something to wrap his mangled leg in. Inadvertently, my eyes landed on the monster.

"Cato?" I breathed. There was no doubting it. The Mutt had Cato's eyes. My heart was beating uncontrollably. Cato wasn't one of the Mutt's he had been killed by them. Torn apart until I put an arrow in him. How had this happened? And how did he get to District Twelve?

Peeta moaned, snapping me out of my thoughts. I didn't have time to question why Mutt Cato was at the lake. I had to get Peeta medical attention.

With no small amount of effort, I heaved Peeta's heavy frame upright. With his arm held around my shoulder and me taking all the weight off his left side, we managed to get out of the water.

I was completely surprised when Peeta shoved me away from him. I went sprawling, slamming my head against the hard ground with enough force to see stars. A dark brown blur shot between us, knocking him over. Another Mutt was crouched over Peeta, who looked unconscious. I didn't hesitate to launch another arrow.

The second Mutt leapt away from Peeta, whirling to face me since I was the bigger threat. And my arrow, intended for the foul monster, pierced Peeta's chest.

Before I could feel horrified for what I had done, the Mutt threw itself at me, jaws aimed to tear out my throat.

I struggled fruitlessly. While not as huge as the Cato Mutt, this one was still stronger than me. I craned my neck away, ignoring how the thing was slobbering all over me. I needed to kill it. Peeta would die without me.

With one mighty shove, the Mutt was removed. I rolled to the side, avoiding its lunge, and come up on hands and knees with a rock in hand, which I hurled. The stone hit its target; the Mutt's nose, causing it to yelp and recoil in pain and shock.

I dug a hand into the inside pocket of my hunting jacket, retrieving the knife I kept there. Although I couldn't remember when I started that habit.

The beast came at me again. This time, I twisted sideways. The blade flinted in the sun as it flashed down, thrust with as much force as I could muster into the Mutt's neck. The carcass hit the ground with an impossibly loud thud. T took one look, expecting to see the face of Clove, Cat's district partner, and regretted it.

It was not her face I saw. It was Gale's.

I sank to my knees, dry heaving. I had just murdered my best friend. My only friend, if I was honest. I was friendly with Madge, who was the Mayor's daughter, but I wouldn't label us as friends.

But Gale, he was my rock. After our father's died and Prim was all I had left, he showed me how to feed my family. And I had just killed him.

Pushing down the revulsion I felt for myself, I crawled to Peeta's side. I grabbed his hand but he didn't react. I lifted it, pressing two fingers to his wrist.

Nothing. There was no pulse.

I threw myself on top of him, wailing. "Peeta, please wake up. This isn't funny. You can't be dead, Peeta. Peeta!"

---

I woke screaming his name. I pressed a hand over my heart in a pointless attempt to slow its frantic beating. I blinked when the door to my room slide open and the hallway's light flooded in, dimly realizing that I was still on the train.

"Katniss? Are you alright?" Peeta's figure was illuminated in the door frame. Not that I needed light to know who it was. Even if Peeta wasn't the only one concerned enough to check on me in the aftermath of the Games, I recognized him by voice alone. Peeta's voice was always full of complex emotions when he talked to me. Love was always there, no matter how much he tried to hide it. His voice was soft and gentle and sweet and full of concern for me. If it had been Haymitch or god forbid Effie, I would have expected to be mocked drunkenly or shrilly reprimanded for my bad sleeping manners.

"I . . . I'm fine."

"Right," he sighed. "If you're sure." I didn't say anything and he turned to go.

Crushing disappointment gripped me. I wanted . . . no, I needed Peeta to stay. He was so good at taking my mind off the horrors of the Games.

"Wait. Could you . . .?" My throat tightened. Peeta was at my side in an instant.

"What is it? Do you want a glass of water?" it wasn't what I wanted, but now that he mentioned it, my throat was parched. So I nodded. Anything to keep him in my room a little longer.

He pressed the cool glass into my hand. I automatically brought it up, drinking it down like Haymitch consumed alcohol. Peeta chuckled good-naturedly when I drained it, directing a sheepish smile at him, and headed back to the bathroom to refill it.

I sipped it and set it down on the nightstand. "Would you stay with me?" I whispered. Peeta pulled back, his blue eyes widening in shock. Hastily, I backtracked. "I mean . . . you don't have to. I just thought—"

"No!" Peeat said firmly, before I could say that I'd be alright if he left. "I don't mind. Not at all." He slipped under the blanket and pulled me so we were lying in the center of the bed with my back to his chest. His right arm settled comfortably over my hip.

We laid in companionable silence. Peeta's breathing tickled the back of my neck. It was so even I though he had fallen asleep already.

"Nightmare?" he questioned, softly.

I bit my lip. I didn't want to admit I was having nightmares. Most nights I dreamt of the Games. When Rue died in my arms. When I found Peeta hiding half dead near the river. Only he was dead in my nightmares. He would beg me to join him or blame me for killing him. Cato and the Mutts stared in my dreams frequently as well.

I shuddered at the reminder of my most recent nightmare. Peeta hugged my trembling form even closer to him. Each night, much like I just had, I'd jerk awake in cold sweat, screaming or about to. Getting back to sleeping afterwards was always difficult.

Admitting that I suffered from nightmares meant I had to admit that the Games still had a hold on me. And until it was absolutely necessary, I wanted to leave them behind. Forget all about them until it was time for the Victory Tour.

The nightmares were a weakness. A weakness I couldn't afford. I could only imagine how badly I would frighten Prim if she woke to my screams.

"I have them too."

I rolled over to face him. Peeta's expression was serious, but I didn't believe him. I told him that.

He laughed wryly. "I promise, Katniss. Sometimes I'm too scared to fall asleep."

"But I never hear you screaming." I felt guilty for not noticing that he was having trouble sleeping. After everything we had shared in the Games, knowing he had been watching me as often as possible since we were five, I was positive that Peeta already knew about my nightmares.

"That's because I don't scream," he answered. "My body stiffens. Locks up and I can't move until it's over."

I frown. That sounded worse. Knowing it's not real but not able to do anything about it because he couldn't move.

"Do you want to tell me what yours was about? It might help," he said.

I seriously considered his offer. Maybe the ones about the Games, but I couldn't possibly divulge this one. It was too personal. "What are yours about?" I countered.

Peeta grinned winningly, clearly thinking my asking meant I was agreeing. "I'll share my demons and then you'll tell me yours." Or not. He offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. I really wanted to know if his nightmares were anything like mine and if Peeta confided in me, there was no way for me to pretend mine were inconsequential.

"Alright."

He wrapped himself completely around me. If there was any space between us before, there certainly wasn't anymore. "Mine are always about you."

"Me," I repeated, surprised. That was the last thing I was expecting. I thought for sure it would be the Mutts responsible for the loss of part of his left leg. It hurt unbearably to hear that Peeta was afraid of me. I tried to escape hi arms but he refused to loosen his grip.

"It's not like that, Katniss. I dream of losing you."

I stop struggling. I wasn't expecting that either. Peeta's soft admittance stirred something. My stomach felt all fluttery.

His deepest fear was losing me. My nightmare appeared childish in comparison. I was afraid of my feelings for him, and those for Gale. Scared that by letting myself feel something for him, I was inviting myself to get hurt.

Nevertheless, I recounted my nightmare. Peeta's response was to clutch me all the tighter.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Katniss. You don't have to proclaim your undying love for me. Just let me be with you. Let me help you. That's all I ask."

I swallowed. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asked.

"I'll allow it."

Peeta rested his chin on top of my head. "Thank you."

I didn't feel like I had said or done anything deserving of thanks, but didn't ask why he had said that. Instead I said, "Stay with me? Until I fall asleep."

"Always."

Peeta's embrace chased the nightmares away and I slept peacefully for the first night since we left the Capitol. Judging by the bright smile on his face when Effie demanded we get up, scolding us on how very improper it was for Peeta to be in my bed, he had a peaceful night's sleep as well.

"I'll see you at breakfast?" I nodded. He kissed my forehead and left for his room.

I felt refreshed and ready to face the day. Then I remembered we'd arrive back in Twelve soon and Peeta and I would be surrounded by cameras.

I flopped back down on the bed and inhaled the scent of bread and cinnamon that always lingered around the baker's son. Maybe I could pretend Effie never woke me up.

"Don't tell me you're still asleep in there sweetheart?" Haymitch's voice sounded outside me door. "I will set Effie on you. If I have to be up, so do you."

Or not. Damn Haymitch.

Chapter 3

Haymitch raised his glass of scotch whiskey when I entered the dining car, draining it and refilling it from the bottle sitting by his elbow. Which was already half empty and it was only half past nine in the morning. And considering that he had just fetched me not ten minutes ago, drinking so much already meant that he was upset or stressed.

Not that I blamed him. The train would arrive back in District Twelve by eleven.

It would be a fanfare. Even just one Victor from District Twelve would have been a cause for celebration. The last time the mining district had won had been Haymitch’s Games, and all I knew was that it was before I was born. The winning district received extra supplies from the Capitol, which District Twelve was in desperate need of.

But this was the first time in the history of the Games that there were two Victors. Me and Peeta. The train station was going to be chaos, flooded with people celebrating our return. Celebrating that we folded to the system and killed other children.

It sickened me. I could hardly stomach the idea of breakfast. But I didn’t doubt that Haymitch would set the harpy of an escort on me.

“Oh, Katniss, dear, from now on you simply must be on time. The Capitol is going to have cameras waiting for us when we arrive and it is the height of rudeness to be late,” Effie lectured. “Now come sit and eat. I was just telling Peeta what to expect.”

I automatically took the seat next to Peeta, who slipped a hand under the table to grasp mine. I gave him a small frown and took my hand away. His generally open face closed, and he pointedly turned to Effie and asked her a question I didn’t hear.

I was too busy staring at her bright orange monstrosity of a dress and the matching wig.

“It’s just going to be a short interview piece,” she explained, daintily spreading a flavored butter on a warm scone.

I choked on the mango I had just taken a bite of. Peeta slapped me on the back of couple of times until I was only wheezing. “Interview?” I gasped.

Haymitch snorted, forgetting his glass and drinking straight from the bottle. “You need all the coaching you can get, sweetheart.”

Peeta poured me a glass of water. I accepted it, reddening as I remembered last night. Only hours before hand we had promised to take this relationship thing slow, and I practically begged for him to join me in my bed.

“Haven’t you been listening, Katniss?” Effie’s, thankfully white, not orange, lips scowled. Or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell under the foot of make she was wearing. “There’s going to be a crew to film your return home and your reunions with your families. Afterwards it’ll be a quick stop at Victor’s Village so all of Panem can see your new homes, and that’ll be that. Of course, you’ll have to choose your hobbies still and there is a lot of preparation to be done for the Victory Tour in six months.”

My heart started beating rapidly. The sound drowned out the shrill voice belonging to Effie Trinket. My victory finally sunk in. I had just won the Seventy-Fourth Hunger games. I kept my promise to Prim. I was going to see her again.

Peeta abruptly excused himself from the table and quickly exited the room. I stared after him a moment before following him. I was so nervous now that I couldn’t possibly finish.

I found him pacing in his room. He jumped when I slipped in through the open door and closed it behind me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked wearily.

“Are you alright?” I asked instead, ignoring his question.

He sat heavily on the bed, rumpling the perfectly made spread. “What are you doing here, Katniss?” he repeated. “I thought you were going to give me a chance. Give us a try. But the first chance you got you pulled away from me.”

“I meant what I said. I want it to be private. Just you and me,” I said hotly, defending myself. There was absolutely no need for Effie to see us together.

Peeta brought his head up to gape at me in disbelief. “That vulture has eyes in the back of her head that could see through concrete.”

Slowly, the incredulity turned into amusement. There was a definite sparkle in his baby blue eyes. “So you’d be okay if I touched you here?”

The baker’s son stood, taking two steps aware from the bed in order to pull me towards him. He linked our hands, raising them between us at chest height, much like we had done on the chariot rides at the start of the Games. I was acutely aware of how rough and strong and calloused his hands were.

“Yeah,” I whispered. And then he was kissing me.

I hesitated only a second before kissing him back. This one was nothing like all the ones we had already shared. While I had kind of liked kissing Peeta, not that I would ever admit that to anyone, they had always been awkward, because I had only been pretending for the cameras.

That was what made this one different. We weren’t kissing for the cameras or the audience. It wasn’t expected of us here, alone in his room on a train back to District Twelve. My stomach twisted almost painfully. It felt tight like it had after my father passed and my family was starving.

Which was stupid because I had been well fed since the end of the Games. Aside from skipping breakfast, I had eaten to the point of bursting, wanting to be able to tell Prim about all of the food. Her face would light up imagining how each dish tasted.

The bedroom door opened. I hastily shoved Peeta away and directed my gaze at the floor. This time he wasn’t wounded by my pushing him away. He laughed.

“Don’t you two lovebirds ever stop?” drawled Haymitch.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Peeta promised. Haymitch gifted us with a sarcastic look, but withdrew from the doorway. His footsteps echoed down the hall.  “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

“Why are you always comforting me? I just hurt you,” I said, confused.

Peeta shook his head. I couldn’t help but watch his hair move from side to side, falling in blond waves in front of his eyes. “It was a misunderstanding, Katniss. We talked about it. I overreacted. I know you’re not good with words,” he teased, and my nose scrunched up as a scowled, “but so long as we talk whenever we have a problem, we’ll be fine.”

“Right,” I said dubiously.

Peeta cupped both my hands between his; they dwarfed mine. “Don’t give up before you start, Katniss. I’m not asking you to reveal your darkest secrets or innermost thoughts. Just let me know if I do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Alright.” This time it was said strongly. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Now, let’s go apologize to Effie for our hasty departure and hope she doesn’t talk our ears off about proper breakfast etiquette.”

He held out his hand slightly, giving me the choice on whether or not to grab it. Peeta waited patiently while I debated. Did it really matter if Effie saw us holding hands?

I grabbed his head, threading my fingers through his. Peeta’s smile could have melted ice. Effie already thought we were some darling couple anyway. She’d probably only bat her eyelashes annoyingly and coo how adorable we were.

I had promised to give Peeta’s love a chance. Our fake act wouldn’t hold up forever. I couldn’t shy away every time he tried to touch me.

---

Peeta and I stood before the train’s door. We had pulled up to the platform several minutes ago and the Peacekeepers had stepped off first to clear away the crowd of people pushing towards the train. The formed a white barrier on the edge of the platform, a wall of people.

Even behind the metal door, I could hear them cheering. I felt the same now as when I had mounted the stairs to Effie when I volunteered. Dazed and not knowing how I was still standing.

The yells were deafening when Peeta and I stepped into view. First in line to greet us was Mayor Undersee. But I wasn’t paying any attention to him.

Off to the side stood a familiar head of blonde hair, braided in two braids just like it had been two weeks ago when I last saw her. She was crying again, but this time it was tears of happiness at my homecoming.

“Prim!”

At my shout, Prim broke away from our mother’s hold and flew into my arms. I knelt, hugging her close as she cried into my shoulder. I ran my hand along the back of her head soothingly until she had composed herself.  

“Prim,” I said softly. The noise of the train station faded.

“You came back.”

“Yes, I came back. Just like I promised you, little duck.”

“Up you get now, dears.” Effie’s voice broke through my bubble. I wanted to glare at her for interrupting us, but was stopped by what looked suspiciously like tears clinging to her no doubt fake eyelashes.

I rejoined Peeta, who was already standing next to the mayor. His whole face was alight with happiness, for what reason I didn’t know. I kept Prim beside me, unwilling to have her far from me now that I had her back.

Madge’s father made a speech about both he and District Twelve were proud of their two Victors, and how honored they were to be home to such a historic finale of the Hunger Games. There was a lot more but I didn’t really listen to it. He was only saying what President Snow and everyone else in the Capitol wanted to hear.

“And now, the Victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!”

There were a lot of questions from Capitol journalists. I let Peeta field most of them, only answering when they were directed to me.

“It’s good to be home. The Capitol was amazing, don’t get me wrong. The food was spectacular. Especially the lamb stew. But there’s nothing like coming back home.” As opposed to returning home in a box I thought viciously, struggling to keep a smile on my face.

Peeta wrapped me in a hug, adding his own opinion on how he felt to be back, which the reporters soaked up. All the grandstanding and speeches came to a close quickly after that. We posed for what felt like a hundred pictures, and then came the moment the rest of the world was waiting for.

I blinked when Peeta lifted my chin so that our foreheads were connected and our noses brushed against each other. “Can I kiss you?”

His mouth barely moved and he had whispered it, but it sounded like he was screaming to me.

“You don’t have to ask for permission.” I replied in the same manner. His eyes, so blue from such a short distance, shone with joy.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

It was a short kiss, but it left me breathless nonetheless. Then it was time to head to Victor’s Village. Peeta offered me his elbow and I took Prim’s hand in my own. The camera’s dogged our steps away from the train station, through the center square, and up the main road to the most luxurious section of District Twelve.

It was only as we were herded off the platform that I noticed the Mellarks, standing on the fringe of the wall of Peacekeepers. Peeta’s mother was harsh and unmoving, serious frown on her face. His father and elder brothers, on the other hand, looked relieved to see him.

But not one of them had come forward to greet him or hug him or cry their joy at his unexpected return. They stood still as statues as we descended the steps, eyes locked on us.

I glanced at Peeta, wondering what he thought of his family’s odd reaction. I had thought they’d be overjoyed to have Peeta back. I know he had said his mother outright admitted that she thought he had no chance. Not that anyone from District Twelve ever did.

He had been hurt and angry then, but Peeta seemed unconcerned now. Or maybe he didn’t see them. Whichever, I resolved to not say anything. It wasn’t my place to interfere.

But I did tighten my grip on Prim’s hand.

Chapter 4

“One of the outer districts, this is nonetheless a crucial one. These brave and hardy workers descend deep into the earth each day to mine the coal that keeps our nation running.”

That was how District Twelve was introduced each year at the games. It made District Twelve sound like a fabulous place to live. One of the larger districts and definitely the poorest, it was home to eight thousand people. Despite that, we were crowded in three main areas: the Seam, the Town, and the Hob.

But now Peeta and I would move into Victor’s Village. It was roughly a ten minute walk from the town square, but the sheer grandness and luxuriousness of it made it seem like it didn’t belong.

And quite frankly it didn’t. Victor’s Village was an imposing reminder to everyone else in District Twelve that three of their own would live in the lap of comfort while they starved to death in safety.

The houses themselves, twelve in total, were large and gloomy. Although I was definitely biased. Any house would look awful when you had to murder children to earn it.

“Are we going to live here now, Katniss?”

I smile softly at Prim, who walked between Peeta and myself. If it wasn’t for her, I would stay in my house in the Seam. But Prim deserved three meals a day and a house that was never cold. “Yeah, little duck. You’ll have a room all to yourself. And there’ll be plenty of room for Lady and Buttercup. But don’t think you can bring home any more pets,” I playfully scold. She giggles happily and grips my hand a little tighter.

“But I can still sleep with you if I get lonely?”

I didn’t answer her immediately. Instead I snuck a look at Peeta. Her innocent question reminded me of last night, when sharing a bed with him meant neither of us dreamt of the games. I had convinced myself it was a one-time thing. I couldn’t clutch Peeta like Prim would her goat. Last night had been an exception because my nightmare was worse than usual. It wouldn’t happen again, because I didn’t want whatever was going on between Peeta and I to be based on Snow and his twisted Games and expectations.

Peeta was watching us from the corner of his eyes. When the blue orbs flicked my direction, the lines in his face softened. Suddenly, I realize that, while I had Prim with me, he had no one. I had spotted the rest of the Mellarks at the train station, but none of them were walking with us to see where they’d be living now that their son was a Victor.

I frown, unhappy with the realization that Peeta’s family hadn’t bothered to join us or even welcomed their youngest member home.

“Of course you can,” I finally answer Prim. “Why don’t you pick your room first?”

Prim raced up the steps to the house I was given. My mother followed sedately. That left Peeta and I standing in the street between our two houses. His was right across from mine.

His smile looks brittle and his eyes are dim. Peeta’s falling apart in front of me. After all we had been through together; I didn’t want to leave him alone. Not now, anyways.

“Do you want to come over to my house?” I offer, thinking it strange that I actually had a house I’d want to invite people to. Our house in the Seam was small and cramped and even if I had had friends, I wouldn’t have wanted them visiting. “Until your family comes? You could help make lunch. I’m not a very good cook.”

I was more of the cook fresh skinned meat over a fire type. That I could handle. Working ovens and stoves to create the feasts we had been served in the Capitol? Not going to happen.

Peeta shrugs harshly. “My folks are staying above the bakery. The shop’s a lot of work. My mom doesn’t see the point in relocating and have to walk to the store and back every day when they have rooms directly above it.”

His tone was light, as if he understood and agreed with his family’s decision. I thought them unspeakably cruel for leaving Peeta to fend for himself, but I didn’t say that to him.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says, turning away.

“Tonight?” I parrot.

This time his smile is real and a spark of amusement lights up his face. “The Victory Banquet?” he reminds me, and I feel like an idiot for forgetting about it.

Snow was uncharacteristically generous when he doubled the rations District Twelve would receive because two of our tributes won the Hunger Games. It was only fair, he had said, that each Victor was rewarded, and that meant, until next year’s games, District Twelve’s monthly deliveries of food and medicine and everything else would include two portions of the extras that came from having a Victor. Mayor Undersee had decided to celebrate the good fortune with a banquet apparently.

I thought it a bad idea. Better to make sure everyone in the district got food than to waste half the month’s allotted supply on a fancy dinner party I didn’t want to attend.

“Right,” I say. “See you tonight.” Then I turn around and hurry into my house.

It’s large. It could fight ten buildings the size of my old home inside it and still have room to spare. There’s an office and study, which are supposed to be used for my talent. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m going to do for that. My only talent is hunting, and that’s illegal.

Upstairs are several bedrooms, and Prim’s already claimed the one on the corner overlooking the street. It has two walls with windows and is very bright and very Prim.

I choose one on the other end of the house, not wanting her to hear me screaming and crying at night.

I spend the rest of the day with Prim, telling her about the good parts of the Capitol, like the food, and sending her into fits of hysteria with descriptions of men and women wearing bright fuchsia or lime green and other colors that made you want to close your eyes from fear of being blinded.

My gut twists with each story I share until I have to force the words out of my mouth. I had thought Prim’s presence would be like a balm. That her cheeriness and innocence would chase away memories of the Games. Instead I was reminded of them all too forcefully as I carefully chose what tidbits to share with her.

Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like? Was there nothing that wouldn’t remind me of the Hunger Games?

I felt immensely stupid. Of course there was no escaping. So long as the Games existed I would never be free. And Peeta too. Both of us would have to return year after year to mentor new tributes, most likely to watch them die. In the history of the Games, there had only been four Victors from District Twelve, including Peeta and myself.

I push away all thoughts of the Games. I wasn’t going to let them taint Prim. I had taken her place to keep her safe, to keep her alive. And against all odds I had won.

“Katniss?” she asks, after I fall silent. Besides laughing at the extreme Capitol fashions, there weren’t a lot of good stories I could tell her. I only saw the people through glass windows and as crowds at interviews.

“Is it over?”

“Yes,” I lie immediately. We both know it’s not, that my responsibilities as a Victor means it will never be over, but in a way it is. Prim will never have to spend a sleepless night worrying that the morning’s update on the status of the tributes will say that her sister had been killed.

I survived. I kept my promise to her. And at the moment, that was all that mattered. We were both alive and safe for another year.

“Enough talk,” I decide. “There’s a party tonight and you can try the lamb stew for yourself.”

---

The Victory Banquent was tense. I felt more uncomfortable seated at a table with the Mellarks, my mother and Prim, and the mayor and his daughter than I did in the aftermath of the Games with Caesar Flickerman.

The food was delightful, the only good part about the evening, and just about everybody stuffed themselves with as much as they could eat and snuck rolls of breads into the folds of their clothes to take home for tomorrow. Mayor Undersee gave another speech about honor and the Games that had me struggling to keep down the little food I had eaten so far.

“Does this disgust you as much as it does me?” I jerk when Peeta whispers in my ear. Wordlessly, I nod. “Do you want to get out of here?”

I don’t hesitate. I throw down the napkin I was fiddling with and follow him away from the town square. The baker’s wife glares as we walk by and it’s only Peeta’s hand on my wrist that has me passing by her without saying something.

We walk in silence, not towards Victor’s Village like I was anticipating, but towards the fence that marks the boundary of our district.

He leads me straight to the whole in the fence Gale and I use to reach the forest.

“How did you know about this?” I ask.

Peeta turns to face me. “I watched you sneak out a couple of times.”

I blink, surprised by the answer. He had told me in that cave that he always noticed me. Words for the camera, I had thought. Clearly that wasn’t so.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Peeta states quietly. I flinch at the confession, even though I’ve heard it several times already. Thankfully, Peeta is so lost in his own musing that he doesn’t notice. “What would you have done if I followed you out here?”

“Shot you,” I answer honestly, which elicits a deep laugh. “I would have with the noisy way you walk. You wouldn’t have gone unnoticed,” I defend.

Peeta stops laughing. A shadow crosses his face. As stressful as the end of the Games was and my annoyance at his inability to walk quietly, that was actually a fairly peaceful part of the Games. It didn’t hurt to think about the time spent with Peeta.

I set my jaw. I don’t understand why that upset him but I wasn’t going to apologize. He wanted an answer.

“I suppose we ought to head back,” he says suddenly.

“Right,” I agree hollowly. I don’t want to leave but I can’t see any reason to stay.

That feeling accurately describes most of my interactions with Peeta. So far it’s all been a confusing mix of wanting him to stay while wanting him to leave me alone because I don’t want to get hurt like my mother did.

I don’t want Peeta to become such a large part of me that I don’t know who am without him.

Guilt pools in my stomach. I don’t think there’s anything that will stop me from being afraid of turning out like my mother. Maybe trying for something with him is a waste of time. I’m damaged and it’s not fair to make Peeta deal with that. I’m only going to end up hurting Peeta in the end and he doesn’t deserve that.

We reach the town square but Peeta continues walking. After a moment’s hesitation, I follow. He stops in the center of the street between our houses and kisses me unexpectedly.

Unlike the previous ones, which have been soft and gentle and warm, this one passionate and raw. I kiss him back.

He pulls away to breathe, touching his forehead to mine. “Good night, Katniss.” He kisses me lightly and enters his house.

Tomorrow, I think, staring at the door long after it closes behind him, I’ll tell him I can’t do this.

Robotically, I make my way upstairs and go through the motions of preparing for bed. That night I dream of him dying and my screaming wakes Prim. I assure her that everything’s fine and I don’t need to talk about it.

“Talking is supposed to help,” she murmurs into my stomach. I card fingers through her hair, an activity that usually lulls her to sleep.

“That’s what Peeta said,” I say absentmindedly.

Prim sits up, staring at me with wide blue eyes. “I like Peeta,” she states firmly. “I’m glad you’re with him.”

“Yeah, little duck?” That was the problem, I realize. I like him.

“Yeah. He makes you happy. You deserve to be happy.”

“I was happy without him,” I insist.

“No you weren’t. You were surviving,” Prims says gently. Of course I was surviving. I hunted and foraged illegally in the woods so my family wouldn’t starve. “But now you’re living.”

“When did you become so wise?”

“When Effie pulled my name out of the bowl.”

I automatically pull her small form tighter to me at the casual mention of her Reaping. Illogically, it sounds worse to hear Prim say it than when Effie announced it two weeks ago. Even after all I saw and did in the Games, that was high on the list of my most terrifying moments.

“Everything will be better tomorrow.” Prim yawns.

“Go to sleep,” I tell her. She does readily enough, blonde head resting on my chest. It’s several hours before I fall asleep, unable to get her words out of my head.

Was I only just surviving? Was living better?

Chapter 5

Peeta derailed my plan to put a stop to whatever it was we had. Not because I changed my mind. Even after my talk with Prim I think it is better that I don’t pretend that a relationship is possible when it’s not.

No, it’s because I hadn’t seen him in a seven days.

I knew the boy kept baker’s hours. Despite being a Victor, he still worked in his family’s bakery at least three days this week. Not that I had much room to talk. I was still rising with the sun to hunt in the woods.

Gale could only hunt on Sundays now that he had started working in the mines, but working six days a week and hunting one didn’t provide his family with enough food. I didn’t have much to show for my efforts because the fence had actually been turned on the first four days. The first time I had tried to shoot a wild pig, I had panicked, flashbacks of shooting Marvel overwhelmed me, and I completely missed. The rabbit and two small squirrels I had managed to shoot went straight to Hazelle, who wouldn’t fight me like Gale would if I tried to give them to him.

The only reason I hadn’t cornered him at the bakery is because I didn’t want to air our issues in front of everyone in the Town. Nobody could know we were breaking up because we still had to maintain the image of star-crossed lovers for Snow.

I eyed the sun, which was just beginning to crest the trees. Seeing it rise on that last day in the arena, all I felt was relief. Peeta and I had made it through the night. Both of us had survived the Hunger Games. We were Victors. Now I would never have to worry about whether there would be a tomorrow.

The Gamemakers had spoiled that sense of relief with their announcement revoking the rule change, but that didn’t make the moment any less impactful. The sun was still a sign of hope, much like my dandelions.

I wasn’t letting him escape to the bakery today. I crossed the cobblestone street and let myself into Peeta’s house. Nobody locked their doors in District Twelve, not even those with belongings worth stealing. The whipping you received when you were caught was enough to keep people from stealing. It would be even worse for Victors, who by virtue of who they were and what they were capable of, any thief would think twice if their life was worth less than a set of china plates.

Peeta’s house is an exact mirror of mine, which makes finding the kitchen easy. Soundlessly, I stepped up to the counter in the center of the room, perched atop a stool, and waited. As a hunter, I possessed an enormous amount of patience, but a week was enough to exhaust mine.

I had planned this perfect, choosing to ambush him on a Sunday because it was the one day most everyone in District Twelve bought bread. History classes that detailed the savagery of the Dark Days, before the Capitol, connected it to something called religion.

But it meant that more bread would have to be baked, and that mean Peeta would be helping, because he was too kind to refuse to work on the bakery’s busiest day.

I heard Peeta, with his heavy walk, coming before I saw him. He switched on the light and froze when it revealed the room to not be empty.

“Katniss?” His voice was still husky from sleep, and he blinked several times as if to ascertain that I really was sitting at his kitchen counter. “Wha . . . what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. You’ve been avoiding me,” I scowled.

Peeta turned away from me. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

His delivery was light, like we were making casual conversation. Something about the phrasing tugged at my memory, but I pushed it aside to focus on the blond, who was determined to prepare for his day and not talk to me.

And that more than anything caused my temper to boil over. Peeta was the one that insisted we could make this work if we actually made an effort to communicate, and here he was, actively avoiding me and with nothing to say.

It was all the proof I needed that I had made the right decision in calling off whatever we had. Even Peeta couldn’t be bothered to maintain it for a week.

“If you didn’t want to be with me you could have said so,” I said shortly.

He spun around, eyes wide, and took half a step in my direction. “What? No, I don’t want that. What gave you that idea?”

“You did.” I was back to scowling at him.  “I’ve been trying to talk to you all week.”

Peeta blinked, this time surprised. Then his face lit up with delight. “Really? What about? Are you still having troubles with nightmares?”

Caught off guard by the question, I automatically answered. “Yes.”

“Me too,” he admitted easily. “It’s easier when you’re not alone.”

I felt heat rising to me face at the reminder of the one night we had slept in the same bed. But that was a moment of weakness. It had been several nights since I had slept properly, and I’d wager it was the same for Peeta. I would have done anything if it meant a full night of sleep.

I knew what he was doing. Peeta was trying to putting the decision on me again, like after the spat we had about letting Effie see us holding hands. He thought he was being considerate, but it was actually making this harder. Just because he was already there, as Haymitch would say, didn’t mean that he got to back off until I was.

“I’m fine,” I insisted stubbornly. They were just nightmares. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I wasn’t going to beg Peeta to hold me each night.

His jaw tightened, and suddenly I was reminded that I wasn’t the only Victor suffering from nightmares. My nightmares are usually about losing you. Guilt churned in my stomach, but I wasn’t going to take what I said back. If Peeta wanted help with his nightmares he should ask and not beat around the bush.

He could admit his love for me for the Capitol and every district to hear, but couldn’t ask if I’d sleep with him again to stave off shared demons?

“Why can’t you just talk to me, Katniss?” he said, exasperated. “What do I have to do to get you to notice me?”

Disappear, was my first thought. Thankfully, I didn’t blurt that out.

“What do you mean, notice you?” I asked. There it was again. His body had stiffened when he said notice.

With an audible sigh, Peeta moved to lean against the counter in front of the sink. I shifted on the stool to face him. “You said it yourself. If not for the Games you would have never noticed me.”

It took a minute to recall the words I had said the last time I had spoken to baker. “I never said that,” I said confidently.

The blond shrugged. “You might as well. Did you even know my name before I was Reaped?” he demanded.

“Of course I did,” I answered, honestly affronted by the accusation. “You saved my life when you burnt that bread for me.”

“And that’s all I would have ever been. If Prim hadn’t been Reap alongside me, you would have never thought of my as anyone but the boy with the bread.” Peeta sounded resigned. “I would have died and you wouldn’t have felt anything—“

“That’s not true,” I softly interrupted. Peeta gifted me with a dazed look, as if he couldn’t believe I was actually talking about my feelings. “I would feel regret, because I wouldn’t have had the chance to thank you for that night. And I’d probably feel guilty and thankful.”

“Guilty and thankful?” he echoed, confused.

I tried to shrug it off. “Knowing you, you probably would have died protecting Prim.”

His arms were around me in a heartbeat. I unintentionally ended up mimicking my position from the last time he had held like this, as if he could protect me and keep me from falling apart by wrapping me in his arms. My arms came up around his back to clutch at his broad shoulders and my head rested in the curve of his neck. It felt natural and comfortable.

“I would have,” he said directly in my ear. “I would have done everything to make sure she came home to you.”

“I know,” I whispered into his shirt.

“She doesn’t deserve to die in the games. No one does,” Peeta said.

I looked up at him worried. It wasn’t the first time he had mentioned the unfairness and cruelty of the Hunger Game, but it surprised me nonetheless. I don’t think even Gale had the courage to say the Games were wrong within the legal boundaries of the district. And it had always scared me when he defamed the Capitol outside the fence. You never knew when the Capitol was watching and our discussions would have been seen as treason.

“We’re safe,” was all I could say.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of us moved. I would admit, if only in the safety of my own head, that I didn’t want to. It was irrational. My worst fear. But I had never felt safer than in Peeta’s embrace. All that time spent in the cave, I almost could have ignored the Games and pretend it was just the two of us outside District Twelve.

Gale and I had even found a cave during one venture. We didn’t go very far into the mouth when the sound of a large sized animal reached our ears. So we retreated, remembering that spot for future jaunts so that we would know to stay away.

When we finally separated, Peeta rested his forehead against my own. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Distancing myself from you,” he answered. Blue eyes bore into mine, begging for understanding and forgiveness.

I didn’t have either one for him. Not yet. “Why did you do it?” I asked evenly.

He hesitated. “Because I couldn’t stand the idea that you would have never noticed me. I love you, Katniss. And I know that you don’t feel the same. I stand by what I said. I’ll take whatever you can give me so long as it’s honest,” Peeta rushed on.

“What do you want from me, Peeta?”

“A second chance.”

I could hear the pounding of my heart in my ears, and I cursed it for beating so quickly and so loudly. I owed this boy my life. This boy, who had loved me unconditionally since we were five and the birds outside fell silent to listen to me sing. I couldn’t deny him the chance to win my heart.

“Okay. I’ll allow it.” Staring at his open, earnest expression, I wanted to see where this could go. My feelings, whatever they may be, were stronger than I had thought them.

“I think we should start over. Forget everything,” Peeta explained. “We’ll just be two normal people that like each other.”

“But we’re not normal. I’m Seam and your Town,” I argue back. It was pointless to pretend that anything in our lives was normal. Seam married Seam and worked the mines. Town married Town.

“So were your parents,” was his rebuttal.

I stiffened. “That,” I said forcefully, “doesn’t help your point. My mother could hardly function after my father died.”

“But she loved him enough to give up everything she knew to be with him,” he insisted.

“And look where that got her,” I laughed lowly. “A dead husband and a child that hates her for making her support the family when it should have been her responsibility.”

“And Prim,” Peeta reminds me.

Prim, the one bright spot in my life. Pure and innocent. Prim, who thinks I should stop running from my fears and live.

“I would have found the courage to tell you how I felt one on one someday,” he continues. “And I would have been so charming that you’d agree to date me,” Peeta finishes cheekily. To prove his point, he dipped his head and initiated a long kiss.  

“I have to get to the bakery now. Mom’s probably pissed. I’ll see you later?” he asked, tugging on my braid.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Never.”

I felt lighter as I bid Peeta goodbye and snuck out of the fence. This is me, I thought, effortlessly drawing back an arrow as I aimed for a plump bird. I’m the girl that hunts in the woods. Not the Capitol’s girl on fire.

It was the real me that was going to give Peeta Mellark the chance he deserved, because it was what I wanted.

Chapter 6

It’s Peeta that brings up the subject of nightmares again.

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed the night,” he offered. “I sleep better when I’m with you. The nightmares don’t bother me as much when I can wake up and see that you’re alright.”

After the talk where I cornered Peeta in his kitchen, we established a routine. Both of us, being people that needed to rise with the sun, decided it was easier for us to eat breakfast at Peeta’s house. It was a better alternative than me bumbling about my kitchen and waking Prim and my mother. The boy with the bread always had a plate of cheesy buns, freshly baked and waiting for me. They had quickly topped lamb stew as my favorite food.

Most mornings we didn’t talk. Afterwards, he would head into town and help Mr. Mellark open the bakery and I would sneak underneath the fence, retrieve my bow and quiver from the slightly hollowed tree I hid them in, and lose myself in my hunting.

Hunting was simple or easy anymore. Haymitch would call me a stubborn fool for returning day after day and recommend I have a stiff drink instead of torturing myself. It was unfortunate that my haven now came with reminders of the Games, of children I had hunted and killed. Every time I lifted my weapon and took aim I saw Marvel’s or Cato’s face, stuck through the eye with an arrow I had made.

As had become typical of interactions between me and the district’s resident drunk, I ignored him. I was the girl that hunted in the woods, and I wasn’t going to let the Games take that from me.

It was kill or be killed in the Hunger Games. I felt bad that I had killed. Not of the action itself, but because of its consequences. I had deprived a family of their son. Maybe even a brother. But I would never regret what I had done. It had been necessary to keep my promise to Prim.

I was a hunter. Killing was what I did. I would move on and forget about the Games, just like I had all the others we were forced to watch. With time, the faces would stop haunting me.

I was handling it just fine. I woke from the nightly terrors before crying out so I wouldn’t disturb Prim. Slightly sleep deprived was something I could deal with. I was already getting used functioning on four hours of sleep.

Peeta disagreed. The blond commented that my olive skin looked washed out, asking if I had been sleeping okay. I’d be angry that he was insulting off-handedly if it wasn’t done out of concern.

“Olive?” What was olive?

Peeta hm’ed around a mouthful of cheesy goodness. Swallowing, he said, “It’s a fruit that’s a dark yellowish, green color. You’re skin has that slight warm, yellowish undertone. Reminds me of olives. But you’re getting off topic.”

I set my jaw. “Wasn’t anything to get off of,” I said through gritted teeth. “The Games are fresh. The nightmares will go away in a couple weeks,” I stubbornly insisted.

Peeta was already shaking his head before I had finished speaking. “They won’t, Katniss. You can’t keep running from your problems. Ignoring them will only make it worse.”

“What about you?” I snapped back, not in the mood to deal with the terrors I dreamt of each night. Wasn’t it enough that I had told him one?

“You said on the train you’d let me help,” Peeta reminded, ignoring my question and staring at me determined. I found it impossible to look away from his blue eyes. “Let me help you, Katniss,” he pleaded. “We slept better together.”

I wanted so badly to refuse him, to tell him to back off and mind his own business. Didn’t Peeta realize how much he had helped me already? He saved my family when he gave me that bread, ignited my fighting spirit and reminded me that there was something I could do to ensure Prim was fed. He made me into the survivor that I was.

And, despite its underhandedness, his feelings had made me a popular choice to win the Hunger Games. The Gamemakers would have killed me off earlier for my stunt with the apple if I was just the surly and scowling girl from Twelve.

I owed Peeta, more than he owed me. He didn’t owe me anything, especially considering how stubborn I’ve been. Every time I open my mouth I hurt him.

We, I realized he had said. Plural. It was his business too, I recognized. I wasn’t the only Victor struggling with nightmares. How could I say no when it granted him a reprieve from his fears too? Ones that revolved around me.

“Just this once,” I said, eyebrows narrowed warningly, inviting him to contradict me. I always paid my debts. Peeta would realize that the night on the train had been a fluke. We had been too exhausted and emotionally drained dream again. Tonight would be like every other night, filled with darkness and death and him dying in my arms as Snow crowns me the Victor with a chain of roses, thorns piercing skin and letting rivulets of blood run down my face.

Peeta flashed me a brilliant grin, uncaring that this arrangement was a one-time thing. “You want to come over after dinner?” he suggested.

I’d rather sneak out of my house when Prim and my mother were down for the night. They would assume I was out in the woods like always. But Peeta looked so happy that I had agreed that I found myself saying I would.

“Great. We can talk about our talents then,” he added, rising from his barstool. I promptly choked on the last of my breakfast. Peeta came over and pounded me on the back with an open hand until I coughed up the partially chewed cheesy bun.

He swept it into the nearby trash bin with a wave of his hand and handed me his half-finished glass of water. I drank it gratefully as he hovered nervously. “Are you alright?” he asked concernedly when I set the empty cup down and took a deep breath.

“What are you talking about? What talents?” I scowled. If Haymitch was keeping things from me I was going to dump every bottle of alcohol he owned down the drain.

Peeta blinked, surprised. “Effie didn’t tell you?”

My scowl deepened at the mention of the overbearing escort. That was even worse. Effie treated everything to do with the Games like it was common knowledge and we should be overjoyed to have been picked to participate. I still hadn’t forgiven her for drawing Prim’s name from the Reaping bowl. Prim’s name was only in there once. One amongst thousands of slips. The odds of her being chosen at her first Reaping were the same as Haymitch giving up drinking. That is to say, no chance at all.

“Tell me what?” I demanded.

“She called yesterday afternoon.” He tipped blond curls in the direction of the telephone mounted on the wall. “Said she’d be coming out to the district to register her pearls’ talents. Apparently,” he said, mouth twisting wryly, “we’re a hot commodity in the Capitol and they’re clamoring to know what we’ll decided. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re placing bets on it.”

Peeta’s joke didn’t even register. All I could feel was panic, and a touch of horror.

“I thought we had until the Victory Tour?” I blurted.

We both flinched at the reminder of the dread Victory Tour, which took place six months after the Games. They were horrible. Worse than knowing I’d be mentoring scared teenagers who didn’t stand a chance at winning. It was the Capitol’s way of twisting the knife into the hearts of the people, making a mandatory parade-like event where the Victor traveled to each district to thank the other tributes for making the Games entertaining and praised the Capitol for putting us in our place in the same breath.

We had five months before it was time to go on the tour.

Peeta shrugged helplessly. “Effie wants it done now.”

“Easy for her to say,” I muttered under my breath. “Not like she has to choose. Her only talent is berating people for lacking proper manners.”

To my surprise, Peeta smirked. The boy was usually disappointed when I criticized our escort, claiming it wasn’t her fault that she was born in the Capitol. “That’s not true. She’s very good at saying the wrong thing, like when she said pearls are made from coal.”

He had a point. Effie’s obliviousness, when it wasn’t irritating me, amazed me.

“At least yours will be easy,” I sighed, frustrated. It was ridiculous that the Capitol forced us to have a talent they could market.

“Oh?” Peeta cocked an eyebrow at me. I scowled reflexively.

“Yeah. You’re an artist,” I said pointedly, remembering how he made his arm look like tree bark during training and that he decorated the cakes Prim loved to fawn over. “I don’t have any talents.”

The other eyebrow shot up to join the first. “That’s not true. Of course you have talents,” he insisted.

I shot him a withering glare. “None that aren’t illegal,” I clarified. My hunting was the worst keep secret in the district. Even before the Games. If the Peacekeepers could afford the kind of food they served in the Capitol, I would have been killed years ago. As it was, their lot was as bad as ours, so none of them cared that I broke the law because it meant they could have fresh meat.

“You have the most beautiful voice,” he complimented softly.

I fought the heat blooming in my cheeks. It wasn’t the first time Peeta had praised my voice, but this time he said it with a raw honesty that betrayed the long love he carried for me. Peeta usually kept such displays of emotion to a minimum to make me more comfortable.

“I don’t want to share that with the Capitol,” I glared down at the countertop, hands fisting the cotton material of my pants. “It’s mine. One of the few memories I have of my father.” I missed how Peeta’s eyes softened sympathetically and his nod of understanding.

Peeta’s rough hands gently unclenched my own, tugging them up onto the counter and curling his fingers around mine. “You don’t have to sing. I’ll tell them you’re my muse and that I only want to paint you. I’d be willing to bet everyone wants a portrait of the Girl on Fire.”

I knew Peeta was trying to distract me and make me feel better, but his words had the opposite effect, reminding me that we wouldn’t be sitting here if not for our popularity and the Capitol’s generosity, which knowing Snow, came with invisible strings.

He cupped my face under the chin, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Right. Together,” I echoed. We were a team. Maybe they would let me pose for Peeta’s paintings. I could handle that.

“Later, though,” Peeta continued. “My mother is going to kill me for being so late.” With a quick kiss, the baker had taken advantage of my not restricting when he could kiss me and was always creating opportunities to do so, Peeta was out the door.

I followed him as far as the door, watching as his broad-shouldered frame made its way down the path from Victor’s Village to the Town. When I could no longer see him, I grabbed my father’s leather hunting jacket and jogged to the fence.

Hunting always cleared my head. I could think easier surrounded by the trees and the sounds of nature, though I usually used it as an escape to think about nothing at all. It had something to do with knowing I was absolutely alone, literally the only person for miles.

“You’re late, Catnip.”

Except for Gale, who was bent over one of his snares, removing the rabbit he had caught. I didn’t mind share my private haven with the other teen. Gale and I were a lot alike. Stubborn and willing to do whatever necessary to take care of our siblings.

Gale’s presence meant that it was Sunday, as it was the only day he had off work from the mines, and that I was really out of it because I had lost track of the days. 

“Gale,” I greeted. His dark head popped up at my terseness.

“You sure you’re up for hunting, Katniss? You look pale.”

Gale’s words gave me pause. Not because he was the second person in the space of an hour to tell me I looked wane, but because he called me by name. He rarely ever called me by Katniss.

“It’s nothing,” I said, threading my arm through the strap on the back of my quiver and letting its familiar weight settle across my back.

“Don’t pull that crap with me, Catnip,” he said, bagging the rabbit. “We talk about everything. You know you can tell me anything.”

“It’s nothing,” I repeated. “Just stupid Victor stuff.”

Gale’s face closed off. In uneasy silence he reset his trap and moved light on his feet to the next one. I didn’t know why he was upset, but I wasn’t eager to find out. Chances were it dealt with the Capitol and I didn’t want to hear another one of his rants about the Capitol’s injustice. Not when I knew Snow was capable of taking Prim from me if I so much as looked at him wrong.

With the anger practically rolling off my hunting partner in waves, I found myself distracted, only managing to shoot one small quail and a squirrel. I made quick tracks back to my house when we called an end to our hunting for the day, leaving before Gale could argue about my two kills that were still in his bag.

I thought the day couldn’t get any worse. Lack of sleep from nightmares. Effie and the Capitol were breathing down our necks. And now I had managed to upset Gale, the one person who didn’t remind me of the Games every time we were in the same space.

Then I found Peeta’s door locked when I went over after dinner. I shouted and threatened, but he refused to let me, claiming that today wasn’t a good day and we could do it sometime next week.

I was worried. It wasn’t like Peeta to go back on his word. So I went around the side of the house and hefted myself through the open window. Peeta always had at least one open. Said the house felt stuffy otherwise.

I found him in the first place I look, the kitchen, nursing a bruise on the left side of his face with a frozen bag of peas. Involuntarily, I gasped, and Peeta whirled to face me, dropping his makeshift ice pack.

“Katniss?” he asked in bewilderment. “How did you get in? I didn’t hear the door.”

“That’s because I didn’t use it,” I said smartly, stepping forward with a raised hand and freezing when Peeta took a step backward. “What happened, Peeta? Who did that?”

He mumbled incoherently, eyes not meeting my gaze. Taking care to move slowly, I reached out for him again. This time he didn’t move away. I gently brushed the pad of my thumb over the darkening bruise. It ran along his cheekbone. It was an abnormally straight marking, not the result of someone striking him with a hand.

Oddly, I found myself recalling Peeta’s words as he left. My mother is going to kill me for being so late. I felt furious. I hadn’t like it when she had slapped him for burning the bread that night, but what possible reason could she have had to hit him today? Certainly not just because he was running behind schedule?

“I’m going to kill her,” I growled, marching towards the front door. I was halted by Peeta’s warm hand on my wrist.

“Please, Katniss. You’re not a murderer.”

“The fact that I’m standing here says otherwise,” I said flatly, not impressed with his defense.

“It’s not worth it. Let it go.”

“Let it go?” I shrieked, enraged. “She hurt you!”

“I know. I was there.” I scowled at him furiously. Peeta sighed, dragging his free hand over his face. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I’ll stay away for a few days and she’ll calm down.”

I was torn between wanting to tear Mrs. Mellark to pieces with my bare hands and comforting Peeta. Despite his claims, I could see the pain in his eyes.

I twisted my wrist so I could grab him and drag him over to the couch, scooping up the bag of frozen vegetable along the way. I pressed him down onto the cushions, kneeling on the seat next to him and reapplying the cold package to his bruise.

“You shouldn’t let her hit you,” I whisper.

“Let?” he asks, amused of all things.

“I know you can defend yourself.”

Peeta sighed a second time. “I can’t hit my mother.”

“But it’s alright for her to hit you?” Rage filled me. Peeta was the sweetest person. He didn’t deserve a mother willing to take a rolling pin to him.

“Just drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about.”

I thought about calling him a hypocrite. It was only this morning that he forced me to talk about my ever present nightmares when I didn’t want to. Instead I curled up against him, tucking myself under his arm and resting my head on his shoulder.

“You promised me a night with nightmares,” I said in response to his bemused look. A night on the couch would be uncomfortable. Both our backs would definitely be feeling it in the morning, but I wasn’t leaving Peeta alone.

“So I did.” He tightened his arm around me. Faster than I thought, I was lulled to sleep by the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat.

Chapter 7

Peeta’s smile was bright. “Sleep well?”

I yawned widely; jaw cracking, not quite comprehending that he had spoken. The bruise on his face had darkened to a deep blue-purple color. The sight of it ignited my fury once more.

Peeta recoiled when I stood, determinedly stuffing my feet into my boots.

“Wait, Katniss. Where are you going? Don’t run away because you had a nightmare.” His voice followed after me. Uncaring of his pleas to stay and talk, I stomped across the lane to my house.  My mother kept her healing herbs in a designated cabinet in the kitchen.

I rustled through the shelves, thankful that the glass jars were labeled. Prim spent hours pouring over the plant book our father had made, enough that she could recognize each one on sight if I ever brought her out to the woods. I was less familiar with them, knowing only where patches of them already grew. But I had suffered enough bruising and welts when first learning to hunt from the bowstring slapping the inside of my arm to know which plants worked best.

Unfortunately, that plant is best harvest towards the end of June, right before the Reaping, when it is riskier to sneak under the fence. In the interest of not upsetting Peacekeepers that want to be seen doing their jobs during the most important time of the year, Gale and I limited our hunting time to two hours. However much my mother had, it wouldn’t be enough for Peeta’s contusion.

Parsley was the best alternative, and I knew there would be plenty to spare. Hell, Peeta probably had more than I did, being a baker. I located the jar of parsley, scooping up a mortar and pestle for crushing them from the drawer underneath the cabinet, and rushed back to Peeta’s house.

The third son of the baker had locked his door again, and a quick check of the window proved it to be shut and locked as well. In hindsight, storming out of his house without a word wasn’t the best choice.

“Peeta! Open the door, Peeta!”

I waited several moments, listening intently for the sound of his unequal footsteps. They didn’t come. “I’ll break a window if you don’t let me in!” I shouted. To prove it, I plucked a pebble from the walkway, tossing it lightly so that it pinged against his living room window.

Peeta’s tread was thunderously loud. He wrenched open the door far enough that I could have entered, had he not blocked it with his body. “Don’t,” he said shortly. “Someone in the district would get blamed for destroying Capitol property.”

I glowered at him, caught off guard by his brusque attitude. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing. I just figured you wouldn’t be coming back. Besides, I’d rather be alone right now.”

I wanted to smash the jar of parsley, which I was clutching with a white-knuckled grip. Peeta’s hot and cold behavior was pissing me off. He says he’s okay if it takes time for me to figure out how I feel but avoids me for a week afterwards. He asks for a second chance only to turn around and brush me off and deny me entrance.

“You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want. Take these,” I said, thrusting the jar and mortar and pestle into his chest. “Crush the parsley into a fine powder and add enough water to make it paste-like. A week should be long enough to get rid of that bruise.”

I turned on my heel, not bothering to look back as I finished speaking. “Don’t worry about returning them.”

Stalking up the stairs, quietly so as to not wake Prim or my mother, I threw myself upon my bed. My chest felt tight and I struggled to breathe normally. Clearly, Peeta and I would never work out. We could hardly go three days without one of us trying to retreat from this relationship.

I rolled over, curling a fist into the blanket. Peeta would rather be alone, would he? That was fine. It was careless of me to forget that we barely knew each other. What little trust we had was built on our temporary partnering in the arena so we could both get out alive. I paid him back for the bread. Now there were no debts between us.

---

There was a plate of cheese buns in the kitchen when I rose for the second time. I stared at them, disbelieving. I didn’t need handouts from him. Did Peeta think he could give me food and I would run back to him? He blew the second chance he asked for. I wouldn’t give him a third because he made me cheese buns.

I tossed the baked goods in the trash, and the plate too, then took a page out of his book and promptly locked the door and all the first floor windows.

“Katniss? Are you locking the windows?” Prim stands on the bottom step, frowning in confusion.

I don’t have an explanation, not one that she would accept. If I told her Peeta and I were done she would be upset. In the short time we’ve been back, Prim has come to look at him like an older brother. Peeta doesn’t mind talking to her. He indulges her. I allowed it, because she smiled around him, like she used to before she was reaped.

I had never been an emotional person. I didn’t have time for feelings. I had to feed my family and Gale’s family. But, now that I had gone to the Capitol where I pretended to be thrilled to volunteer and participate in the Games, I could tell when Prim was acting.

Around me, her smiles were a little less real. She smiled just as wide, but they were dimmed somehow.

So I lied to her. “Yeah. I saw—I thought I saw a . . .”

“Katniss?” She comes to stand before me, picking up my hands in hers. Unwillingly, I jerk them away. Now her blue eyes are swimming with concern. “Are you alright? What did you see?” Prim aborts a move to touch me, to give me comfort, and hate bubbles in me. I hate that I’ve scared her, made her feel that I can’t stand even her familiar touch.

“A dog,” I choked out, suddenly remembering the nightmare I had on the train where Mutts of Gale and Cato killed Peeta. I flinched violently when I then thought of Cato’s screams as the Mutts fed on him where his suit didn’t offer protection. “I thought I saw a wild dog.”

My sister’s sweet features immediately morph into understanding. She’s only aware of the Mutts in the finale, but that’s more than enough for her to believe my pathetic lie.

This time I pull her towards me. Prim leans into my hug. “I’m okay, little duck,” I whisper, running my hair down the back of her head and gently tugging on the braid she has tucked behind her left ear.

“No you’re not,” she says just as softly. “And you don’t have to pretend either. Not with me.”

“I’m fine. The Games are over.”

“But they aren’t. Not really. You still have the Victory Tour. And next year . . .”

Prim doesn’t finish, but my mind automatically fills in the rest. Next year I’ll be a mentor. It’s going to be horrible. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep some scared kid alive. Peeta, Haymitch, and I are rare. Most people in District Twelve don’t have the skills nor the drive to survive. And because of our stunt, Snow is sure to guarantee that next year’s tributes will die quickly and painfully. Of course, it will also be dramatic, because next year is the 75^th Games and the third Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years the Capitol celebrates the end of the districts rebelling by holding a specially themed Hunger Games. They involve twists that make the Games more disastrous and difficult and deadly.

For the first Quell, the districts had to choose, voting on which children to send into the arena. And in the last one, twice as many children were reaped. Caesar Flickerman is partial to that Game and references it often, complete with accompany video. The bloodbath that year was brutal. Next year, Snow might demand only thirteen year olds can be reaped. Volunteering in Prim’s place may not be enough to keep her safe. The whole of Panem knows how much she means to me. To Snow, my sister is a pawn he can use to keep me in line, because I will do anything to protect her.

“You let me worry about that, little duck. The Tour’s not for several months. You won’t even have time to miss me.”

Suddenly, Haymitch’s outrageous consumption of alcohol made sense. Anything that numbed the mind would be a welcome distraction. I had nothing to fight against the reminders of the game.

Except for the woods. The woods were my sanctuary. And better yet, there wouldn’t be any cameras beyond the fence. Out there I could be just Katniss, a girl with a bow. Not the Girl on Fire.

---

I immediately breathed easier once I was on the other side of the fence. The familiar scents of the forest, along with the ever present smell of coal, was a balm to my nerves.

Just a few feet inside the tree line was a partially hollowed pine. Hidden within were my bow and quiver and a couple of bags to carry game. I retrieved the bow, trailing fingers down every curve and grain. The Capitol’s longbow was extremely efficient, producing more power from a reduced draw weight. It was a weapon designed for killing, opposed to my hunting bow.

I hefted my bow and quickly gauged the bowstring. It had been several days since I snuck beyond the district’s borders. Finding no evidence of having been chewed by the forest’s denizens, I set off deeper into the trees.

I moved quickly but quietly. Any bears, thankfully, would be further in than I planned to venture today, but there was a pack of wild dogs that patrolled the woods. Not trusting my ability to not panic if faced with them, I was careful to watch for dog tracks and didn’t travel in the same direction.

Over the course of two hours I shot and killed a wild turkey and two squirrels. Feeling pleased, and much less stress than I had been after the events of this morning, I headed back to the fence. The turkey would go to the Hawthorne’s. Normally, the squirrels would go to Mr. Mellark, but after the last two days, I wanted nothing to do with the baker’s family. His wife should consider herself lucky that I can’t bring my bow inside the district, elsewise she’d be the one with an arrow through the eye.

Greasy Sae could always use fresh meat. Her stews were the best tasting dish that could be found in District Twelve. She could make squirrel taste like something extravagant, even to me and I knew I what I was eating.

I weaved through the tightly packed Hob, setting the game bag down on Sae’s counter. “Two squirrels,” I announced. “They aren’t particularly fat.”

“But they’ll do,” Greasy Sae said once I removed them from the bag. She eyed the still present bulge appreciatively. “What else you got hidden in that bag?”

“For Gale,” I said in lieu of an answer. The older woman nodded, understanding. Everyone in the Seam knew that he now worked in the mines. They also knew what that meant for his family. Being a miner paid the absolute minimum it took to keep the shafts open and teeming with workers. Thing was, most people working the coal mines were so poor they accepted the pittance they received gratefully.

But that was nowhere near enough to feed a family of five. Gale continued to grumble about how it was his job to see that his family had food, but I was stubborn. So he grudgingly relented, though I knew he was secretly gratefull.

“Then you best get going,” Sae advised, gripping the squirrels by the tail and fishing a handful of coins out of her apron. I pocketed them and stood, shouldering the still full game bag. “Now, don’t be a stranger just because you’re one of them Victors, ya hear?”

I left without replying. It was disconcerting, being viewed as a Victor even by the people of District Twelve. We never cared for the games. We watched because viewing was mandatory. Afterwards, we forgot about the Games. Put them out of mind until the temperature warmed and the Reaping rolled around again.

I hadn’t even planned to win, yet here I stood nonetheless. I just wanted to protect my sister. Sweet, innocent Prim didn’t belong in the ruthless and fake Capitol. Though she would have charmed everyone, the arena would have destroyed her. Prim was meant to heal, not fight.

Part of me wishes that I had died in that arena. Prim would have been devastated, but she would have been safe. Instead, my stunt with the berries painted an invisible target on her back. I have no doubts that Snow wouldn’t hesitate to threaten her.

They may have said I won, placed a crown upon my head to raucous cheering while I was dubbed a Victor, but the Games were far from over.

Chapter 8

Notes:

Hey everyone. It's been a while. I'm certain most of you thought I would never get back to this. At points, I didn't believe I would. It would have been so easy to let the stories be forgotten. And then an author of a story I had long since lost hope in ever getting another chapter posted a note about how they were going to seriously revamp it and I was so excited. Then I realized I had readers who would feel the same. So I got off my pity wagon and wrote this for you guys.

Peeta continued to leave bake offerings. No doubt aided by my sister whose eyes got all doe-like whenever he and I weren’t talking. Which happened just about as often as we actually talked, not that I was keeping track.

Much as I didn’t want to, the next time I had a bag of plump squirrels, I took them the bakery. Mr. Mellark opened the back door, pleased, and joked about how I no longer needed to sneak in.

I must have looked puzzled, because he offered a standing invitation to drop by whenever I wanted.

“Now that you’re with Peeta, consider our home yours as well.”

The bag of squirrels landed on the counter with more force than necessary.

I wouldn’t have been here if Hazelle hadn’t mentioned her supply of tesserae grain was running low. “I’m trading for the Hawthornes.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, unbothered by my brusqueness. “Let Gale know he’s still welcome to trade. I dearly missed the squirrels while you were away.”

The sound of my teeth grinding was deafening, but the baker, occupied with wrapping two loaves of day old bread, didn’t notice.

“Is there anything you would like, Katniss? It’s on the house. Peeta mentioned you were a fan of our nutty bread.”

I refused, knowing his wife would somehow blame her youngest. I wasn’t going to give the awful excuse for a human being a reason to lash out at Peeta the next time he came in. I had only caught glimpses of him through the window. The bruise was starting to fade but my anger hadn’t.

At his mother for daring to lay a hand on him. I was still angry that she had thought I would be the Victor, that she cared more about reaping the benefits of a District Twelve win over the life of her son. There was a lingering anger with Peeta for continuing to put up with his mother’s abuse and to make excuses for her. For not letting me hit her back.

Greater than the anger was the hurt. It hurt that Peeta tried to hide it from me. Made me feel like a fool for giving us a try. All his talks about how he’d be happy with any affection I gave him and his willingness to wait for me to love him were just that.

Meaningless words.

Both of our fights had been his fault. Peeta had been the one locking me out repeatedly. It was a pretty obvious sign that he didn’t want me, and no amount of cheese stuffed buns was going to persuade me otherwise.

That was the moment Mrs. Mellark entered the kitchen with a loud bang of the swinging door.

The woman glowered at her husband before turning narrowing eyes on me. “We’re not a charity. If you want bread you’ll have to pay for it like every other person in Town.”

I held my tongue. Of course I could pay for myself, not that I actually wanted the sweet-smelling loaf. However, I couldn’t pay for the other two loaves that had already been prepared.  Those were for Gale’s family. I wasn’t going to trivialize everything he had done to keep them fed by buying food for him. Even Hazelle’s pride wouldn’t accept handouts.

“Still a dirty Seam rat. All that coin you’re hoarding won’t do you any good. Don’t know what the damn boy sees in you. You’ll only ruin him. Not that he was useful before the Games. Worthless brat.”

“Darling!” Mr. Mellark cried. His wife fell silent with an ugly glare.

Beyond incensed, I accepted the baker’s offer, pointing at a loaf I knew to be expensive.

Mr. Mellark winced slightly.

A vein throbbed above Mrs. Mellark’s eye. “Give her something else if you must give handouts. That loaf is too expensive.” She spat out the last sentence like each word was its own sentence.

 Peeta’s father meticulously wrapped the indicated loaf of bread and pushed it into my hand. I stared at it, mouth nearly watering from the delicious aroma. How much would it cost if I weren’t a Victor? Before I could never have hoped to trade for such a decadent bread.

“I can pay.”

It was a petty move to pick the most expensive loaf in the bakery. Even with the extra food and luxury items that would come each month as a result of our win, there were few in District Twelve that could afford such a rich loaf. But someone would have bought it, otherwise the baker wouldn’t have wasted ingredients making it. And because I couldn’t control my anger, he was going to lose a profitable sale.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Mellark said, to me or his wife I was unsure. “It’s the least I can do for you, Katniss.” My confusion must have shown because he elaborated. “For bringing my boy home.”

“Your mistaken. I didn’t do anything.”

The words came out biting. Mr. Mellark had it all wrong. It was Peeta that saved me. If not for him, the Gamemakers would have seen me die in that arena.

His father looked like he wanted to hug me, but thankfully his arms remained at his side. “You risked your life for him. You were willing to die for him.”

I desperately wished he would stop looking so sincere and grateful. I hadn’t done any of that. I was going to die as a ‘fuck you’ to the Capitol, denying the obscenely flamboyant and extra masses the Victor they craved. Keeping Peeta alive was the only way for both of us to survive as long as we did. Without him, there was no tragic love story for the citizens to throw their money at.

“Worthless boy,” his mother snarled. “I told him you would be the Victor. I never would have thought he’d go to such lengths, latching onto you like a leech.”

“Stop it,” I said warningly. For Peeta’s sake, I didn’t want to break his mother’s nose. But if she kept flapping her jaw, I wasn’t going to be held responsible for my reaction.

I was reasonably certain that the Peacekeepers wouldn’t arrest a Victor.

“I know that boy didn’t have it in him to win. His behavior has been a disgrace. Coming to work every day, making it look like we can’t get by without him.”

“Stop talking about him like that!” I yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of the brother manning the counter.

Mrs. Mellark’s face puckered, like she had sucked on a lemon, astonished that someone had the gall to raise their voice at her.

“Peeta is the only one that deserved to win.”

I stalked out before I gave into the urge to put an arrow in her eye. The door slammed behind me.

Peeta deserved better than that. He was courageous and strong, and not just physically. If I hadn’t volunteered in Prim’s place—even though I would never have let her step foot in one of the arenas if I could prevent it--and another boy’s name had been chosen in place of Peeta’s, the baker’s son would have thrown his life away to see Prim crowned.

My chest tightened at the idea of the boy with the bread dying. Peeta had such a good heart. Too good to have come from that shrew’s loins. How could a wonderful person like Peeta come from such a horrid family?

Peeta’s mother may have been the worse of the lot, spewing vitriol and physically lashing her children, but his father and brother weren’t winning any sympathy points. Mr. Mellark loved his son. I didn’t doubt that. It evident every time he spoke of Peeta. But for all his faith in his son, he didn’t stop his wife from belittling or even harming Peeta.

Peeta hardly talked about his family and know I knew why. Did his mother treat all her sons as she did her youngest? Or was he a special case?

On autopilot, I navigated the familiar path to the Hawthorne abode. Hazelle, sensing my black mood, accepted the bag of leftover game and bread with solemn thanks.

“You’re a blessing, Katniss. Peeta’s a lucky man. I know that Gale thought the two of you would get together one day, but I’m glad you found someone you love.”

Bewildered by the unexpected and uncharacteristic compliments, I told her it was the least I could do, and quickly retreated to Victor’s Village.

I walked briskly past both mine and Peeta’s house. Without knocking, I let myself into Haymitch’s. There wasn’t a point in locking anything in District Twelve—unless you were keeping an unwanted person out, apparently—because not even the most desperate impoverished living in the Seam would dare risk stealing from the Capitol.

His house was surprisingly clean, but empty. If not for the rows of liquor that filled an entire room, I would say it looked like no one lived there.

“Relationship problems, Sweetheart?” Haymitch drawled from where he leaned on the end of the banister. “Better sort it out before Sunshine arrives.”

It took a minute to connect the nickname to Effie, and I gave him a baffled stare.

“If it was, I wouldn’t come to you for help,” I flung. The barb garnered a hard look, but no other response. For the second time that day I swallowed my frustration. I wouldn’t get any answers from Haymitch if I pissed him off. “What does a Victor do?”

“Watch twenty-three children who didn’t know better die,” he lowly delivered.

I flinched violently. Red blood bloomed on Rue’s abdomen, staining a field of white flowers. “I meant the rest of the year.”

“Drown in guilt and nightmares. Rinse and repeat with every Reaping,” he said nonchalantly, draining his glass and picking up a bottle. Instead of refilling his glass, he poured one for me then took a long pull directly from the bottle.

If I hadn’t been through the horror of the Games, I would have believed Haymitch desensitized to watching his tributes die. I had never given thought to what Games must be like for him. He lived a comfortable life in his large house and didn’t have to worry about where his next meal was coming from. During one bad winter, I had blamed him for not trying hard enough, for not somehow making one of his tributes a Victor so that the district would flourish for a year.

Now I lived it. Now I realize there wasn’t much Haymitch could do. The Capitol controlled everything about the Games.

Before Peeta and I, he had never had a tribute with the drive to win. Everyone in District Twelve knew that their two tributes always perished early. After 73 years and only two Victors to its name, the people of District Twelve had no reason to believe their children would come home alive.

Year after year, Haymitch had to watch twenty-three children, two of his own, die for the crimes of another generation. It was no wonder he had turned to drinking.

I curled my fingers around the drink. “Does this quiet the thoughts in your head?”

His blue eyes darkened. “Not long enough.”

I nodded, expecting that. I stared at the reflection of tumultuous grey eyes on the amber liquid’s surface. They didn’t look like the eyes of a Victor. And why should they? Winning the Hunger Games wasn’t a victory, not when it meant the rest of my life was tied to it. Any future victories would keep the Capitol’s attention focused on them.

“Try not to need it too often, Sweetheart,” his lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile. The corner of his mouth had pulled back, but the movement lack emotion. “You should get going. Sunshine’s here.”

I groaned, following his pointed stare to see the woman in question standing outside Peeta’s house. She was dressed in an extravagant bright yellow ensemble, almost as if she was trying to be the district’s personal sun.

I dreaded having to talk to Effie. I still had no idea what I was going to choose as my talent. I was pretty sure Peeta’s offer to be his model was off the table. Haymitch grunted, sympathetic I hoped.

“What was your talent, Haymitch?” I asked, suspicious. The only thing the district’s formerly only Victor was known for was being an embarrassing drunk.

“I made myself into a character, which suited the Captiol well enough. ‘And look, it’s just after the bloodbath and Haymitch is already in the drinks. How long until the alcohol poisoning kicks in?’ But I wouldn’t recommend you follow me, Sweetheart.”

“Why not?” I demanded. It had to be better than giving another part of myself to them.

“Panem’s already decided your character, Girl on Fire. Trust me, you do not want to be seen as the rebel.”

Chapter 9

Warning delivered, Haymitch ushered me out of his house, probably hoping to keep Effie and her cheer away. Undoubtedly, the Capitol woman would have disregarded knocking, boundaries, and personal space in her efforts to insure her two Victors were in place, and then dragged him along because it was still his responsibility as their mentor to showcase what the Capitol expected of its Victors.

District Twelve expected nothing, if only because Haymitch was our first Victor. Everyone knew Haymitch was hailed by all of Panem as a raging alcoholic.

From what he had just shared, apparently even the Capitol had appallingly low expectations for their poorest district.

Weak. The first to die. Don’t care enough to wash the coal dust off.

I made my way across the street to a blindingly dressed Effie, with one last glance at the door I had just come from.

Whenever I thought of Haymitch, it had been with anger. He staggered around drunk any time he bothered to make the walk from Victor’s Village to the town, although he was more regularly seen in the Seam. It seemed like he made a point to embarrass himself whenever someone from the Capitol visited. And for all that the previous tributes never stood a chance, I hated him for not even trying. For enjoying his fancy foods and expensive alcohols as the Games tore families apart.

I had never given him credit for surviving. I didn’t understand what winning meant. Probably more so now that it was my turn.

Rebel? Was he warning me to stop my trips beyond the fence? My hunting activities, and Gale’s, were the worst keep secret in the district. Everyone was aware we subverted the law on a weekly basis and didn’t care. Our hunting benefited them frequently when we needed bread or grain or milk. Or items like clothes when they could no longer be repaired.

Maybe it was a simple warning to pay closer attention. Capitol presence would be frequent the first few months, and unexpected with how little I cared. I relied on Peeta to inform me on when Miss Manners are more important children’s lives planned to visit.

I couldn’t stop, but I could be extra cautious the next few times I planned to hunt.

“Katniss, dear, there you are.” Effie smiled brightly to match her outfit, sweeping her arm around invitingly. “Come along now, hurry up. We have much to do, so many decisions to make.”

I walked stiffly past her, as she insisted on remaining in the door until I was inside Peeta’s house, and then followed her grudgingly into his living room, where I sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Effie, oblivious to the tension, perched in between us and used her arms to draw us in closer, until she had one Victor pressed into each side.

“This is a preliminary meeting, darlings. Soon it will be time to choose your talents. Everyone in the Capitol currently lives in anticipation of discovering how you will now spend your days, now that they’ve been vastly improved.”

Peeta’s blue eyes bore into Effie. “You mean they want a return for the money they spent keeping us alive.”

I stared, surprised by the baker’s bluntness. Typically, Peeta was more willing of us to humor her. I actually believed he genuinely liked her, instead of resignedly putting up with her like I did.

Effie pursed gold painted lips. “It’s only to be expected. They spent good money to influence the Game’s Victor. That the two of you are here is proof. Your love story was so powerful that they changed the rules. Naturally, your actions reflect on them. They don’t want to be connected to the next Haymitch.”

I hadn’t realized that the rich elites could throw their money around like that. Was that why Snow had allowed the rule change?

And yet they loved me. The Girl on Fire. The rebel, Haymitch’s voice whispered in my head. The Hunger Games had given me a name and it had spread like wildfire. It was my worst fear in the aftermath, that the Games would somehow define me.

“Anyhow, that’s not what I came here to discuss.” She pulled a plain, for her tastes, a solid pink color with not a sparkle to be seen, from nowhere. It looked fit to burst from the number of papers held within it. “Now, we wanted to be prepared for every eventuality.”

“Don’t you mean possibility?” I interrupted.

Effie blinked. “Isn’t that what I said, dear?”

I glanced at Peeta for his opinion. I thought eventuality sounded more predetermined, as though we were being presented with options instead of the right to choose. Peeta shrugged, apparently either as lost as me, or perhaps not willing to point out Effie’s error to her face.

“Naturally, Peeta, you’ll be an artist. It’s been so long that I can’t remember the last time we had a Victor with your talent. There will be a figurative bloodbath as people vie for your works.”

I felt sick at the mention of a bloodbath. How could Effie stand to talk about that event so casually, cheerfully even?

Peeta looked at me, face carefully blank. “Assuming you don’t object.”

I objected to the whole notion that this farce was necessary, but I knew that wasn’t what he meant. It was just a painting, I reassured myself. No one in the Capitol would own me if they hung a portrait of my likeness on their wall. I’d probably even been replaced with next year’s Victor. Quarter Quells were a much bigger affair than the regular Games.

Effie steamrolled over any response I may have given by pulling a catalog out from her binder. She paged through it to show Peeta its contents, all the while explaining how to use it to order the necessary supplies.

She turned artificially colored eyes to the female Victor. Was there no part of this woman that was real? “As for you Katniss, there’s already a waitlist of people, with more being added every day.”

“Waitlist?”

“Oh, yes, you wouldn’t know what that means out here. You’ve already been booked for several events. People on a waitlist are next in line if an engagement falls through or a spot opens up. They’re essentially letting you know that they’re interested in your services.”

“What services?” I scowled.

“Your singing, do keep up, dear,” Effie admonished, like it was my fault the Capitol had made plans for me that I was completely unaware of. “That song you sang for poor Ree was simply touching. Now the upper crust of the Capitol wants you to sing at their parties.”

“Rue,” I corrected sharply, trying in vain to ignore the images of her final moments. “Her name was Rue.”

Peeta reached out to me, fingertips grazing my arm before I jerked it away. I didn’t want him comforting me. I didn’t need to be comforted. Rue hadn’t even been dead a month and already people were forgetting her name. The Hunger Games were over, so people moved on with their lives, sparing no thought those that didn’t make it out.

I refused to sing for those people. Each and every one of them was another Effie. Shallow and riddle with holes, like a thimble.

Effie was still rambling delightedly about all the other things she had scheduled me to do. Guest appearances, attending parties, and wouldn’t I just love to Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith this year.

“That was President Snow’s personal suggestion, Katniss. He thought you were so wonderful during your interviews.”

All the rage that had been building suddenly fled, leaving me deflated. Panic quickly took its place. This was exactly what I feared. Snow was going to force me to be some kind of mascot or spokesperson for the Games. My little act of rebellion would be forgotten, twisted by the Capitol until nobody in Panem remembered the fiery girl from Twelve was only there to spare her sister. Instead I would be the new face, like Finnick Odair or that chick had ripped someone’s throat out with her teeth. They would find new and creative ways to light me on fire every year.

What if they tore out all my hair and replaced it with fire?

Peeta’s fingers curled around my forearm and I startled, reflexively jerking away from his touch. Unlike the last time I had withdrawn, Peeta followed, his hand grounding me in reality. His grip was soft, but firm, as expected from someone that spent their day kneading dough and painting cakes but could still heft fifty pound bags of flour.

“As much as I would love to have an excuse to see Katniss dolled up every year,” he began, “that seems more like a job than a hobby. Perhaps she could be my inspiration.”

For a moment, Effie’s eyes sparkled at the idea. The tightness in my chest that I hadn’t notice loosened.

Why was Peeta so damned nice? We had been fighting, taking turns ignoring the other, for the last two weeks. I was still avoiding him. Why would he offer to spend any more time with me when we couldn’t last two days without one of us blowing up at the other?

“Oh, that sounds fabulous darling. All of my friends will be positively clamoring for your paintings if paint Katniss.” The baker’s son reclined back against the couch, visibly relieved by Effie’s approval. My throat tightened. I wanted to thank him, but I couldn’t get the words to form.

And then it turned out thanks were unnecessary.

Effie clapped her hands to bring our attention back to her. “Now that that has ben settled, we must order Katniss a new wardrobe. You can’t appear in the Capitol dressed like—”

“Like me,” I snapped, wishing my Girl on Fire moniker was a little more literal. What I wouldn’t give for some fire right now, I thought, glaring at her towering wig of coiffed sunshine.

Effie pursed painted lips. “So, plainly rather. We need to get you the season’s highest fashion if you’re going to be on stage with Caesar Flickerman.”

“What?” I said, dumbfounded.

She dug into her binder, flipping to a section marked by bright pink pieces of paper and removed the whole section, setting it down on the coffee table. It turned out to be a stack of fashion magazines, and presumably catalogs, several inches tall. “I know you have your signature style dear, and fire tones absolutely compliment your complexion, but pastels are all the rage at the moment and there’s been an increasing demand for pearls lately. That’s my doing, you know. I told everyone how coal can become a pearl.”

The escort looked pleased with her contribution. Was I supposed to be grateful for her ignorance?

“I thought we just agreed I would pose for Peeta.”

Effie blinked, nonplussed. “Yes, of course you can do that as well, but President Snow wants you to join Caesar and Claudius. And it would be a shame if we never heard your lovely singing voice again. Oh, I know, maybe they can create a song for the Games. You could sing at the parade or the crowning. Or both, yes. I’m positive the Gamemakers would agree with me.”

My vision swam before me, a blur of colors overshadowed by the hideous yellow shape that was Effie that I couldn’t block out.

There was a solid warmth next to me, pressing against my side from shoulder to knee. A weight settled across my shoulders, an arm. Peeta’s arm, I distantly realized, still struggling to breathe. He whispered in my ear, words I couldn’t decipher through my panic.

Haymitch’s warning couldn’t have prepared me for this outcome. It was worse than I had imagined, sitting there next to Peeta in the final interview, knowing that, for our safety, for Prim, I would have to feign being in love with the baker’s boy for the rest of my life. I had been disgusted by the thought, still vehemently opposed to love and all its troubles, and yet bitter that the Games had stolen that choice from me.

I chose to give Peeta a chance because I didn’t want the Captiol to decide who I was. If I could come to love him, even just a little bit, then a part of their control vanished. Our love wouldn’t be just a story concocted to get both of us out of the arena.

It would be real.

And I found myself surprised by how much I wanted that, wanted something that was all my own.

I hunted because I needed to in order to survive. I was good at it because I had to be. I sang because it made Prim smile, let her forget, even just briefly, how unfair life was with our father gone on mother mentally checked out.

For all that I thought Peeta’s love was a gimmick for sponsor’s, he wasn’t forcing me to love him back. He said he would be happy with whatever I gave him, so long as it was real.

And Snow had just taken that away from me. He was going to reshape me into a Capitol citizen. Dyed skin, implanted gems, animal features. I hated looking at them. Their modifications and extravagance. They were nothing more than shallow puppets.

If I became one of them, Peeta would lose his love for me.

New plans in motion, Effie took her leave, not noticing the Victors she had left in shambles.

It took an age for Peeta to coax me down from my panic. He took my limp hands in his own, pulling me towards him until our locked hands rested on his thighs. “It’ll be okay, Katniss. I promise. We’ll get through this.”

“How? You can’t—”

“You won’t be alone.”

I stood, ripping my hands away, incensed that he was still spouting that drivel about how we could get through anything together. “We can’t go a day without mortally offending each other. How am I supposed to trust you to have my back? To keep me from shattering into pieces only to be put back together in the wrong order?”

“Because I love you,” he proclaimed with confidence.

“You won’t. Not when they’re done with me."

“Aside from his hair and eyebrows, Caesar, looks pretty normal,” pointed out Peeta. “Besides, I don’t love you for you looks. I love you for you.”

“What does that even mean?”

Peeta joined me in standing, cupping my face so I was forced to meet him head on. His blue eyes burned with love and determination. “I love the girl willing to break the law to feed her family. I love the girl that sings when words fail her. I love the girl that cares for her sister like Prim was her child. I love the girl that still returns to the woods to hunt, even though it reminds her of the Games. I love the girl that doesn’t give up and forces people to acknowledge her. I love the girl that defends me when I won’t do it myself.”

Peeta’s voice softened at the end of his rant, cautious about dredging up the cause of their most recent fight. “Even if they change how you look, they’ll never change who you are, Katniss. Nor what you mean to me.”

“Peeta,” I said hoarsely, trying not to cry.

“I can paint anywhere. They’ll have to lock me up to keep me away from you.”

I closed the distance between us, sinking into his embrace. “Don’t let me forget who I am. I don’t want them to change me.”

“Never,” he vowed. “We’ll get through this together.”

I shut my eyes, letting his words wash over me. This time, I believed him. For all that we fought, Peeta and I kept coming back together, drawn to each other like two magnets. We were stronger together than apart.

“Can we pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist? Just for a little bit.” I wanted it to be just me and him, for as long as we could get away with it.

My answer was a gentle press of his lips to my forehead as he lead me upstairs to his bedroom, where we curled up together, forgetting about Effie, Snow, the Capitol, the Games, the talents forced upon us, and the ugly future looming over our heads.

Chapter 10

Notes:

Some of the lines between Snow and Katniss come directly from Suzanne Collin's Catching Fire.

Things moved quickly after Effie’s visit. Far too quickly.

The trains ate up the distance between District Twelve and the Capitol. Packages arrived almost daily. Canvas, brushes, paints and other supplies for Peeta. Items which he genuinely appreciated and was excited to use. They were higher quality than anything he could scrounge up locally. He spent several hours clearing out all the furniture in one of the spare bedrooms so he could set up a proper art studio with enough lighting and space that he could work on several projects at once.

Watching him sweep a brush across the canvas, colors blooming to life, was relaxing. Already he had been flooded with requests for my image. The Girl on Fire. I studied every replica he made. Staring at my face, I found myself feeling like it belonged to someone else.

The fierce expression on her face. The confident look in her eyes. They can’t have been mine.

I couldn’t recall ever feeling confident or fierce. Not even during the Games. No, my primary emotion there was fear. Not for myself. For Prim. Who would take care of her when I died? For all that I fought, I had never expected to emerge the winner. No, I fully expected for my body to be shipped back to the district in a crate of a coffin.

For Peeta as well. The baker’s boy willing to die for me. He had wormed his way into the heart I thought only held room for my little duck.

Peeta had a chaise in his art room, just beneath the window. I frequently found myself laying upon it, losing myself in watching him work. Inevitably I would fall asleep. Peeta would unearth a soft, earthy green blanket and lay it over me. His fingers would linger feather light on my cheeks before returning to his brushes and paints.

I slept better in Peeta’s presence. It was a sanctuary where I could pretend we were a Seam girl and Town boy who had bucked expectations like my parents, and not two teens trying to prevent the other from shattering. Sometimes those one- or two-hour naps on his chaise were the only times I could sleep.

Effie’s visit had been a blessing for Peeta. The aspiring artist could now do what he had previously only dreamed off. For me it had brought a resurgence of nightmares. And every time I came home from hunting to find a box on my doorstep wasn’t helping.

The boxes were filled with clothes. Capitol style clothes. I could already feel they way they would constrict and constrain me. Tight in all the wrong places, and pinching whenever I tried to move. Couldn’t sit comfortably in them either.

Except for those Cinna created.

Cinna, bless his soul, had designed most of them. Apparently, based on the note he had hidden rolled up and stitched into the hem of one dress, he had started creating outfits with the intention of claiming I was the designer. He was going to let me take the credit for his work.

I had cried over that note, unable to fathom why a man whom I had only spoken to four times when he dressed me would extend an offer to essentially fake my talent.

Prim had been startled by my outburst, and likely didn’t believe my excuse that they were tears of laughter because the dresses were hideous, but she didn’t pry.

Since Snow had had other plans for Panem’s newest sweetheart, Cinna had convinced Effie to let him be responsible for the new wardrobe the escort insisted I needed. Effie agreed easily. It was Cinna’s genius with the chariot outfits that made me the Girl on Fire. In her mind, there was no one better suited to the task of making sure I was dressed to impressed. I much preferred his elegant but utilitarian designs over what sponsors were sending. They were fancy but not over-the-top extravagant.

However, I couldn’t escape some truly atrocious pieces. Handpicked by Effie herself or Capitolists that hoped to earn favor or appear to have close ties with the newest victors if I was seen wearing something they had gifted me. Some included personal notes from people who had spent money on ensuring Peeta and I won.

I wanted to toss every article of clothing that didn’t come from Cinna into the fireplace and watch as the monstrosities were reduced to ashes.

Instead, box after box of dresses and pantsuits, all supposedly of the Capitol’s couture, filled my closet. Prim ooh’ed and ah’ed over every piece, running her hands down crushed velvet and silk and satin and cashmere and a dozen other fabrics, exclaiming happily how she wished she could see all the citizens in the Capitol dressed like this.

Busy fawning over a particularly ghastly beige tiered frock adorned with thousands of silvery tassels with a sheer neckline that would expose more cleavage than I was comfortable with—it honestly reminded me of a lampshade—she hadn’t seen my face twist. I would have to be dead before Prim step foot into the Capitol.

With a cheerful wink, she had whisked away the dresses that didn’t belong to Cinna to hang in their mother’s closet. “There’s far too many to fit in yours, and mom’s the same shape as you.”

Before I knew it, my house was bursting with eccentrically colorful clothes and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground as I made for the boundary fence.

Winter in District Twelve was hard. Before, the house was so rundown every cold breeze blew straight through. Mother, Prim and I would put all the bedding in one bed and slept together to keep warm at night. Food was always a concern. Hunting became a daily task, sometimes twice if Gale and I hadn’t found enough before school.

I hunted on autopilot, checking Gale’s snares and bagging his catches—four squirrels, a rabbit and a fox. The animals that I managed to shoot were all scrawny. Desperately foraging out in the elements because they needed to.

Winter meant it had been six months since the Games. Half a year had passed since Prim’s name was drawn. Six months since I had to fight to return home to her. Been forced to kill other children. Since I nearly took my own life.

Six months since Peeta and I won.

Victor. Panem’s greatest lie. The Games only ended if you died in them. People thought you were lucky or blessed if you survived, if you came out of top. Knowing what I do now, I knew that wasn’t true. The only thing the Victors won as a continued life of torment, forever tied to the Games for their achievement, and the awful people that celebrated the event each year.

Freshly fallen snow also meant it was almost time for the Victory Tour.

The Victory Tour followed six months after the Games. The Capitol forced the year’s Victor to travel to each district and make speeches thanking them for their tributes and making the games great and exciting. The districts put up a pretense of being happy because it was required, but in reality they were bitter and angry at the loss of their loved ones.

It was the Capitol’s way of keeping the horror fresh, having the recent Victor, or Victors in mine and Peeta’s case, parade through each district to celebrate their good fortune.

I dreaded this more than the idea of becoming Caesar’s new co-host for the Games. How was I supposed to look Rue’s family in the eye and thank them for their daughter’s contribution when I was the reason she was dead? How could I pretend that Cato was a worthy opponent when I still heard his screams at night as the mutts tore him apart?

How was I supposed to stand in front of each district and thank them for making my games memorable when all I wanted to do was forget?

When some nights dark thoughts slithered through my mind, and I dreamed that my voice caught in my throat. And instead of me climbing the stage on shaking legs, my silence damns an inconsolable Prim, carried between on stage by a pair of Peacekeepers.

The arrival of the first snow signaled the end of the quiet pretense Peeta and I had been living in. The flurry of white flakes ushered in a bustling crew of Capitol people to prep us for the tour.

And just like that, all the progress Peeta and I had made since Effie’s last visit evaporated.

Dreamless nights in his arms no longer happened. I stared at the wall and avoided sleep, not wanting to confront the nightmares that awaited me. Nor quiet mornings after where I took comfort in learning how to bake. Learning to create something instead of destroying, Simple breads for now, but one day Peeta would no longer be able to coerce me into talking about my feelings with cheese buns.

The buns were actually unnecessary. All he needed to do was turn those soft blue eyes on me, look at me like I personally made the sun rise each day.

Thankfully for my stomach, Peeta was unaware of the effect his eyes had on me.

Now his eyes looked at me the same way I looked at him. Panicked more often than not, searching for an excuse to escape. I could no more give him and out than he could for me. We were both trapped, surrounded by cameramen, stage hands, stylists, Effie, and dozens of tv crew personnel as they prepped for Caesar’s interview.

The Capitol’s presence drove a wedge between Peeta and I.

No, I suppose that was being unfair. I transformed into a wooden doll when they descended upon us. I pulled away from Peeta’s affectionate touches, turned deaf ears to his whispered reminders that we were in this together.

The emotions I was still struggling to label were forcibly drowned out by the star-crossed lovers act. Only I knew it wasn’t an act for Peeta, and that it wounded him to see me faking the loving gestures that sold our story.

I cared for him. Wasn’t that enough? It wasn’t love but it was something.

---

When the preliminary footage was finished to the producer’s expectations, I hurried into my house. I wanted nothing more than to be in the woods or next to Peeta, but both of those options were denied to me until the tour was done with.

I found my mother and Prim in the kitchen, carefully grinding at herbs for the clinic she still ran out of our old house. Prim was chattering excitedly. For her, the arrival of the prep teams and camera crew was good news. Last time a camera crew came out to District Twelve it was to film the feast after we returned. Before that, it was when they came to visit the families of those that made the final eight. Prim associated the cameras with good news, because they’re presence meant I was still alive.

The return of the cameras meant the return of the lies. Being madly in love with Peeta, whom I was slowly getting to know, and swooning like a lovesick girl. Pretending to be grateful to Snow and the Capitol for our lives and cushy homes and the wealth they gave us for winning.

Mother, face drawn and pale, pointed with a knife to the door of my unused office. The door of which was ajar. Apprehensive, I left Prim and our mother to their work. I hovered on the edge of the door, pushing it open like I expected a snake to come from behind it and strike me.

All things considered that was exactly what happened.

My vision was filled with white. Dreadful white roses lined the windowsills and a particularly grandiose pot sat on the corner of the desk. Their fragrance was overwhelming.

“Come sit, Miss Everdeen. I have something I would like to discuss with you.”

Robotically, I took the seat across from my guest. Although, with President Snow seated behind the desk, it felt like I was the one out of place. What was he doing here? Snow never left the Capitol. The nausea which I had been fighting from the blood-scented roses doubled at the realization that President Snow had traveled all the way out to District Twelve to pay me a personal visit.

“Things will be much easier between us if we don’t lie to one another, what do you think?” Words caught in my throat, I nodded. I was too terrified to speak. There was a viper in my home, just across from where my mother and Prim were busy in the kitchen. He was too close to my family, and every instinct I had was screaming at me to get rid of him. And I could only do that by listening to him. “Good, glad you agree.”

President Snow smiles, lips too full and stretched too long. Likely one of many modifications. “My advisors were concerned you would be difficult, but you’re not planning on being difficult, are you?”

“No,” I finally managed speak.

“Of course, you’re not. No, the girl who went to such lengths to preserve her life wouldn’t throw it away so easily.” If only the monster before me knew of how many nights I had dreamt that exact scenario, dying in the blaze of fire that bore down upon me instead of fighting. “And then there is your family to think of. Your mother. Your young sister. All of those . . . cousins.”

I choked. “Cousins?” I realize it was a mistake, but it was too late. I forgotten that the gamemakers had arranged to interview that Hawthorne family, posing as cousins, because the only family I had was my mother and sister, and that wasn’t enough to fill a fifteen-minute segment.

Snow chuckled, unconcerned. “No need to panic, my dear. I already knew they were not your relatives. But all of Panem does not. All of Panem was moved by that stunt you pulled with the berries. And that is where my problem lies, Miss Everdeen.” Snow braced his elbows on the desk and fold his fingers beneath his chin. “If Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane had had any brains, he would have blown you up right then. But he had an unfortunate sentimental streak. So, here you are. Can you guess where he is?”

I nodded once more, no guesses necessary. Obviously, Snow had ordered him killed for besmirching the sanctity of the Games.

“I thought so. Your love-crazed act caused quite the uproar in the Capitol. They were ever so moved by the idea of young lovers that couldn’t bear to be parted. But you and I know differently,” Snow’s voice was soft, yet dangerous. “And, so do the districts.”

I stared at him, bewildered. Where was he going with this speech? Would it kill him to get to the point? The longer he was present in my home the more on edge I felt. I had unwittingly stirred a hornet’s nest and was waiting for the inevitable sting.

“This, of course, you don’t know. You have no access to information about the mood in other districts. In several of them, people viewed your little trick with the berries as an act of defiance, not an act of love.”

“I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.”

I was more taken aback by my comment than he was. “The true nature of the berries is not a question to you or to me, Miss Everdeen. But not all the districts are convinced. No, what they saw was a girl from District Twelve, of all places, defy the Capitol and walk away to live a fairy tale happily ever after. If she could do that, what is to stop them from doing the same?”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “You mean . . . uprisings?”

President Snow rubbed at the spot above his left eyebrow. “Not yet, but they’ll follow if the course of things doesn’t change. Do you have any idea what that would mean?”

It was hard to imagine something worse than the Hunger Games, which had come about after the first uprising. The one where mythical District Thirteen, if it ever existed, had been wiped off the map by the Capitol’s weaponry.

“Whatever problems you may have with the Capitol, believe me when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a moment, the entire system would collapse.”

“It must be very fragile if a handful of berries can bring it down.”

There was a heavy pause as we surveyed each other, like two alpha buck readying to fight to prove themselves a better mate to a doe. “Come now, Miss Everdeen. Didn’t we agree to be truthful to one another?”

His smile was wicked. “The problem is not the berries, but you, Miss Everdeen. You have sparked a fire, that if fanned, will reduce the nation to naught but ashes in the wind.”

“I didn’t mean to start any uprisings,” I protested weakly. I just wanted to get home to Prim. It was Peeta and Haymitch that had concocted this stupid doomed-to-die-star-crossed lovers façade. Why was I the one being threatened? Haymitch claimed I lacked any acting ability, so it wasn’t like Snow could believe I was responsible for the story.

“I believe you,” he said sympathetically, and my spine shivered at the idea of this monster feeling that way towards me, “however, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t be here if I were the only person that had doubts.”

His message was clear. I needed to convince the districts to return to normal, stem the uprising I had inadvertently brought to fruition. That I was a foolish girl who didn’t realize her actions could be misconstrued as defiance against the Capitol.

“Your Victory Tour starts tomorrow. By the time you reach the Capitol, I expect all of Panem to know that you are grateful for the Games, because they brought you and Mr. Mellark together.”

The President of Panem stood and regally swept from behind the desk. “By the way, Miss Everdeen, Caesar and I do look forward to working with you. The Quarter Quell is an exciting time to appear as a host.”

The door clicked shut quietly behind him, but it sounded like a cannon to my ears.

I had once chance to save Prim, Peeta, and my mother. Probably the Hawthornes and Mellarks, too. I had to convince the districts that the lie was real. And I was a terrible liar.

Iron burst across my tongue. I spat a mouthful of blood onto the roses Snow left behind.

Snow had just stolen the one thing that had been mine; my relationship with Peeta. Whatever Peeta and I were was supposed to be kept separate from the Capitol’s schemes. We’d play the desperate lovers on screen, but off it we were just him and I. A boy in love with a girl that didn’t know how to love.

But he made me want to.

And now that choice had been taken from me.

I had to love Peeta, or my family would pay the price.

Chapter 11

Morning came too soon.

I hadn’t even bothered with trying to sleep, knowing it would be a futile effort. The nightmares, long since switched from watching as Prim, Peeta and Rue were torn to shreds to visions of myself, dressed like Effie, standing proudly beside Snow as the chariots bearing the tributes poured from the tunnel, smiling as twenty-three more children faced their slaughter, had consumed my nights ever since Effie revealed the president’s plans for me.

One by one they would approach the dais where Snow and I stood and proclaim how honored they were to be selected. Then the president would lean down and whisper in my ear: “I promised you no more lies. See how eager they are to die for their district’s honor. If only you had demonstrated the same . . . resolve.”

But I had. I had thrown myself into the arena with no expectations of winning. I was a half-starved girl from the poorest part of the poorest district. And while I was capable of handling myself out in the woods, the arena was a different game.

I killed because I had to. I spent years of fighting back against the system, struggling to survive after my father died. Even knowing I had no chance of winning didn’t prevent me from fighting to come out on top every time I was faced with another teenager trying to kill me. My worst fear had been that Prim would have been watching me die on live television when it finally happened, when one of the Careers bested me.

I had never imagined that surviving was the worse option. Consumed by the misery of living in the poorest part of Panem’s poorest district, concerned only with finding enough food to survive another day, I hardly had the energy to care to care about the Games outside of tesserae, the Reaping, and Capitol mandated viewings. We all cursed Haymitch for being a worthless drunk—it was safer to blame him rather than the Capitol—unable to create another Victor, but everyone living in District Twelve knew the truth. There was nothing Haymitch could do when presented with scrawny, unfit, starving kids who were taught as soon as they were old enough to understand that to be Reaped was a death sentence.

Six months since Peeta and I had been crowned as the first ever dual Victors, and I sometimes felt like I was living in a nightmare. Clearly, they were stepping up a notch, as a personal visit from President Snow was something that should only occur in nightmares. After all, the man never left the Capitol.

And yet the monster had been in my house, just down the hall from Prim, far closer than I ever wanted. Unknowingly threatened as a means of controlling me, forcing my cooperation in becoming the Games newest mouthpiece.

Haymitch’s warning had come true. The-Girl-on-Fire, the girl the Games created, would continue to be a part of them.

So, no, I didn’t sleep. I listened numbly as Effie, dressed in her favorite pink monstrosity, scolded me for the dark bags underneath my eyes, tutting about making the stylists work harder. I sat in a haze as they went through the familiar grooming process from arrival at the Tribute Center, only coming back to myself when Cinna stood before me.

Dark rimmed eyes, kohl he called it, met mine with frightening sincerity. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you.”

I gaped at him like a fish struggling to breathe. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I was responsible for District Twelve’s style. I’m the one who sparked the fire.”

I surged forward, latching onto the hands he held tightly folded in his lap. They trembled briefly beneath me. Working my jaw, I struggled to put my emotions into words. I had never blamed Cinna. In all my bitter rage I had cursed Snow and his Games. Haymitch and Effie. Even Peeta at points, before I realized his love was more than just a gimmick. Not once had I blamed Cinna.

“You kept me alive,” I said.

Cinna reversed our grip so that he cradled my hands. His fingers trailed over mine, gently caressing where my fingers formerly held calluses, developed from years of pulling back the bowstring. They had been surgically removed upon arrival to the Capitol, like everything else they considered an unsightly blemish. Six months later and they had yet to rebuild.

“It’s Snow’s fault. Not yours,” I repeated. “You saved me. If not for you and Peeta, I would have died in that arena.”

I had been angry. Brash and hotheaded. After my stunt with shooting at the Gamemakers, I had truly signed my death warrant. The eleven they gave me had nothing to do with my skill at archery or even my chances of winning. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was a target painted on my back that had the Careers hunting me once the initial bloodbath was over.

I defied them. I showed them no respect or fear. I was a loose cannon aimed at them. The Gamemakers had done everything in their considerably large power to eliminate me.

And they failed.

Not because I was too stubborn to die. The only reason I walked out of that arena alive was due to Haymitch, Peeta, and Cinna making me desirable. Cinna completely transformed me from the dirty Seam Girl people put up with because I was good with a bow and could put meat on their tables if they were willing to trade, to The-Girl-on-Fire who made up half of the Starcrossed Lovers. He made me noticeable. Forced everyone to look at District Twelve. And then Haymitch had capitalized on it.

I thought I had gotten past blaming Haymitch for my situation. He did what he had to, to keep us both alive. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful. Confused. Angry. Humiliated. I had gone through plenty as a slowly worked out that being Haymitch’s ploy didn’t prevent Peeta from having genuine feelings.

But there were moments, especially recently, where I sometimes wished I had been brave enough to swallow the nightlock berries.

Cinna’s grip grew firm, drawing me out from my maudlin thoughts. “You’re alive because you refused to give up, Katniss. And you need to keep that fire burning.”

The stylist withdrew, crossing the room to fetch the garment bag labeled District 11. In the manner of true Capitol excess, I had a different outfit for each district, designed to represent that district’s contribution. Eleven produced all the food, and even knowing Cinna’s style wasn’t as extravagant or flamboyant as most Capitol fashion, I was still concerned about what he would reveal. Would this dress somehow grow crops? Maybe it would be beaded with grains of rice instead of actual beads.

Cinna held the dress aloft, draping it over one arm so I could see every detail.

“Rue.” I bit down on my lip to prevent a sob from escaping.

The style was precisely what I had come to expect from Cinna, simple but elegant. It had clean lines, just a bodice and skirt with a decorative bow on the backside where the two met. Lining the hem and neckline were flower, as well as the sleeves, which looked to be just a ring of flowers. The flowers, combined with the color, a deep cocoa-brown—the color of Rue’s skin—this dress was a tribute to her. Not the district she hailed from.

“Cinna—”

He cut me off with a gentle smile. “No need to say anything, my dear.”

My heart, and good mood along with it, plummeted at the subtle reminder that Snow could be listening. I let Cinna dress me like a doll, obediently stepping out of the clothes I wore and raising my arms above my head so he could drop the dress over me. I would probably never be comfortable wearing a dress. They were impractical things only meant to make girls look or feel pretty, two things that never ranked high on my concerns. But this was a whole new level.

Usually, I appreciated Cinna and his style. If I was to be forced to dress up, I would pick one of his creations every time over whatever else was offered. But I almost wished he had given me something more like what Effie wore. Such a garish dress was easy to hate, in turn making it easier to separate myself from Victor Katniss Everdeen. Instead, the silent homage to Rue ramped up the guilt I felt. It was my fault she had died. I had been too slow to take out the Career’s supply. Too slow to get back to her. Too slow to kill Marvel before his spear sank into her tiny body.

Cinna finished the ensemble with a winter cloak. White this time, a nod to the outfits Peeta and I wore for the promotional posters for the Victory Tour. It was supposed to represent innocence and purity and the power of young love.

But we all recognized if for what it truly was: a claim of Snow’s ownership.

A knock came at the door. “Katniss, dear, are you ready?” Effie’s voice sounded. “They’re waiting on you. I understand the need to be fashionably late, but we are on a very tight schedule. Twelve districts in twelve days.”

Cinna’s arms wrapped me in an embrace. “Remember, Katniss, I would put my money on you,” he whispered directly into my ear.

Once more his words fill me with confidence. I may only be sixteen and in over my head, trapped in a game of political intrigue with President Snow, but I’m not alone. I have Cinna who was willing to let me claim his work as my own. I have Haymitch who could have stopped coaching me, stopped caring if my mouth got me into trouble, as soon as they laid a Victory crown upon my head. I have Prim who I will continue to protect, no matter the cost. I will take whatever Snow throws at me if it keeps my sister alive and safe.

The automatic door to my cabin slid open with a quiet woosh, revealing Peeta, resplendent in a cream colored suit trimmed in brown and a dark chocolate shirt to match, a perfect compliment to my own outfit.

And I had Peeta, of course. The man who convinced me love didn’t have to be curse. We’ve struggled in the last six months. Nightmares and arguments and misunderstandings. Harsh words, locked doors, and avoidance. But there were quiet moments, sleeping in each other’s arms to ward off the memories, his fingers tangled in my hair. Baking lessons at four in the morning when the faces and blood are too strong to ignore. Peeta exposing him, physically and emotionally, when the pain and frustration of his missing leg overwhelmed him and allowing me to take care of him.

Those were the moments where I felt Peeta and I were more equal. He had unknowingly saved my life when he tossed me a loaf of burnt bread, and had done so even more deliberately since his name was drawn. It felt good to return the favor, to lessen the debt between us. Regardless of what Cinna believed, I did owe my life to the boy with the bread several times over. I was alive because of Peeta.

The last time we were on this train he told me he would take whatever I could give him, so long as it was real.

Ironically, Snow’s visit, his insistence on only truth between us, and the sleepless night that followed, had given me the push I needed. Snow offered an ultimatum disguised as a choice. Play up the lovesick girl act or bear with the consequences of his disproval. He wanted a lie so strong it appeared to be truth.

But I was tired of the lies.

I stepped forward and tripped over the hem of the heavy skirt. I caught myself on the arm he held extended. He twirled us with the momentum, transferring me upright into his other arm like it was natural. It was the sort of move we reserved for the cameras. We had a similar slip and fall during Caesar’s interview, where I had pretended to lose my footing due to ice and Peeta swept me off my feet and then we gazed at each other adoringly like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Unrealistic, I know, but that was what the Capitol wanted. They ate up our displays of affections like I had the lamb stew, and it left them craving more.

I gifted Peeta a kiss on the cheek, secretly delighting in the way his mouth fell open in surprise.

“Snow visited me last night. Did he say anything to you?”

His arms stiffened, and it was only because I was already watching that I saw how his face closed off. “No,” he said, shortly.

“There’s been unrest in the districts. He warned me I need to be more convincing.”

“I understand,” he bit out.

I fisted my hands into his suit jacket, uncaring that Effie would scold us for wrinkling the material right before we went on stage. “Listen, please. I spent last night thinking about his warning, how I could make our story more believable, and I realized I couldn’t.” Blue eyes gazed at me, pained, no doubt afraid of what I would say next. “Not because I’m a terrible liar,” I joked, earning a weak parody of a smile, “but I realized acting the part for the camera would solve nothing. The districts, Snow. Neither cares what’s true and what’s a lie. But I do.”

I studied his face, praying he could see my earnesty. My hands drifted north, sliding up his back to curl over his broad shoulders. “We both want this to be real. We both wish the Capitol wasn’t involved. I learned long ago that wishes weren’t reality. It’s too late to keep Snow and half of Panem from caring about whether we’re truly in love or faked it to cheat the system. But I realized last night Katniss The-Girl-On-Fire and Katniss-the-girl-you-love don’t need to be two separate people.”

“Katniss,” he said, voice low and desperate.

I closed the distance between us, mashing my lips to his. It was sloppy and rough, but passionate. I kissed him harder, hoping he would understand what I was saying.

Effie cleared her throat loudly. I ignored her, keeping my hands around his shoulders to prevent Peeta from pulling away. Peeta’s strength was more than a match for mine. The fact that he didn’t step out of the kiss meant he wanted to be here as much as I was.

Not that I had ever needed proof that Peeta loved me. He said it often enough and took it a step further with his actions. Now, I had finally caught up.

“You love me.” Peeta’s expression was a mixture of dazed and blissed.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Congrats on finally figuring out your feelings, sweetheart, but you could have picked a better time,” slurred Haymitch. The man had gotten into his drunken character about halfway through the train ride. District Eleven, responsible for the nation’s food production, was easily the largest district, and thus it was several hours even by train to reach the main city where the mayor and town building dwelled. “Crowd’s waiting for your speech.”

“Haymitch is correct, my pearls.” Effie looked physically pained by the admission. “We really must get a move on, if we’re to keep on schedule.”

Peeta threaded his fingers through mine. “Together?

I could see the Peacekeepers outside the train, waiting to escort us to the town hall. Public speaking would never be my strong suit, and it was made all the worse knowing the speech I was expected to give, thanking Rue’s and Thresh’s families for providing worthy competitors. District Eleven was the only other district besides two with managed to get both tributes into the top eight and thus qualified for the special rule change. It could have been Rue and Thresh in our place.

I didn’t feel ready for this part at all, but in this matter, I had no choice.

“Together,” I agreed.

We were a team and we would get through this together, one district spectacle at a time. Then all we would have to worry about was mentoring batch after batch of kids doomed to die, but that was a future problem. Right now, all my focus was on making my Capitol approved—because it was Capitol written—speech sound real and convincing.

Chapter 12

Effie had informed us that the crowd in the Town Hall would only be a small portion of District Eleven’s population. Since the district was responsible for most of the nation’s agricultural production, they were always harvesting something. Fruit and nut orchards, fields of wheat or corn.

Staring out at the crowd of dark-skinned people with curly hair, every face reminded me of Rue and Thresh.

The worst part, however, was the raised platforms where District Eleven’s Tribute families stood. Above the rest of the crowd and backdropped with a holographic image of the family member they lost. None of them looked happy to be there.

I certainly wasn’t.

The Victory Tour wasn’t mandatory viewing. Not in the way the Games were. Watching the Games was terrible enough the first time, so no one in the less favored districts, who tributes usually didn’t make it past the bloodbath, wasted precious time watching highlight reels and recaps and listening to the Victor recite speeches about how two children who died in the chaos of the bloodbath were instrumental to their success.

Only Peeta’s arm around my waist was keeping me upright. Looking at Rue’s family—her parents and five siblings smaller than her—brings back Rue’s final moments with unfortunate clarity. The gaping wound in her stomach. The acceptance in her eyes as I sung to her.

The resounding blast of a cannon that marked her death. Her stalwart face against the fake arena sky.

I listened to the mayor’s speech in a daze, only realizing it came to an end when a young girl presented me with a bouquet of flowers consisting of red corn poppies, five spots, and daisy Africans. Likely the mayor’s daughter, as she scurried to his side once I had accepted the flower arrangement.

Sooner than I would like, Peeta had finished his speech, offering up a month of our tribute winnings to each of Rue’s and Thresh’s families. It felt like the least we could do. Rue had saved me more than once, and Thresh had pulled Clove off me and let me walk away from the feast, even though I had failed to protect Rue.

Snow was bound to be unhappy with our announcement, handing over a portion of our “hard-earned” winnings to another District, but Peeta and I had agreed on the course of action. Wanting to give their families something in return for the support their district had given me.

They, too, sent a loaf of bread in one of my darkest moments. A silent message of gratitude for the funeral I gave Rue.

I forced myself into reading the script Effie had provided me, thanking District Eleven for their participation. Rue and Thresh had performed admirably, demonstrating a resourcefulness that could only be learned from toiling in the farms. It rang hollow to my own ears, so I knew there was no way anyone watching would believe it.

I dropped the notecards, unwilling to tell another lie.

“Please believe me when I say I am grateful. Not because Rue and Thresh represented your district proudly, scoring higher and lasting longer than previous years. If not for their mercy, for Rue’s knowledge of plants and skill at getting around unnoticed, I would never have been reunited with Peeta. I sometimes wonder how differently it might have gone if they had announced that rule change in time for Thresh and Rue to team up as well.”

I finished my impromptu speech, voice trembling slightly, hoping I was doing as President Snow asked and putting out fires as opposed to starting them. I didn’t know how to tell the districts that their anger was justified but pointless. The Games were proof that the Capitol always won.

They won the war and continued to remind the unfortunate citizens living outside the city, even the precious Career districts, year after year by sending children into a glorified warzone as a form of entertainment.

Rebelling hadn’t done us any good the first time. I don’t think there was anyone alive who remembered what life was like before.

Why did the districts suddenly think protesting the Capitol’s brutality would do anything other than earn them a public whipping?

A glossy black and white bird landed on the edge of the stage. Without hesitation, I whistled the four-note tune Rue had taught me, the one she used at the end of the day to signal to the other workers that it was time to head in.

The mockingjay copied the tune immediately, likely having heard it before.

The wall of Peacekeepers at our backs leapt into action, bodily escorting Peeta and I off the stage. The crowd chanted the names of their fallen tributes. Screaming followed the sound of gunshots.

I thought we would be corralled into the safety of the Town Hall, held there while the soldiers quelled the chaos only to emerge and continue the tour after everything had been contained like nothing had happened. Instead, the Peacekeepers practically dragged us to the convoys meant to take us back to the train.

They thrust us into the armored truck, even Effie who was complaining quite shrilly about the rough treatment. Only Haymitch appeared unbothered, though it was hard to tell given how drunk the man was.

“What happened back there?”

Haymitched squinted. “That, Sweetheart, was you saying the wrong thing.”

I scowled. “How? I complimented Thresh and Rue as competitors. Said I was . . . grateful for their presence.”

“For someone who’s terrible at public speaking, you certainly have a way with words, Sweetheart.” Haymitched chuckled. And not in the light-hearted manner of laughing with you. It was low and full of dark amusement. “You implied that you only won the games because District Eleven’s tributes helped you.”

I sat silent. Wasn’t that the truth? Thresh could have killed me but chose to spare me. He and Rue were both skilled at hiding from the other tributes. If the two victor rule change had gone into effect before Rue and I had gone after the Careers’ supplies, I have no doubt that Thresh would have killed every remaining tribute.

“Snow doesn’t want you to compliment the other tributes in a way that makes the Games look bad for killing them. You’re supposed to be focusing on your boy there. Turning the Girl-on-Fire into the Girl-in-Love.”

Haymitch raised his glass towards Peeta, who could have been carved from wood with how stiffly he sat.

“So, I’m only supposed to make heart eyes at Peeta while he thanks twenty-two other children for dying?”

“Damn straight,” Haymitch grouched. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, girl, but every time you open your mouth, the wrong thing comes out. It may be too late, but I think you need to let Wonder-boy do all the talking.”

The trucked slammed to a stop, throwing me forward off my seat and almost into Haymitch’s lap, seeing as he was seated across from me.

Face on fire, a combination of his rebuke and where my face nearly landed, I scrambled to my feet, barely managing to do so before a Peacekeeper yanked open the door and pulled me out of the vehicle by the arm. Unbalanced, I caught the hem of my dress underfoot and stumbled.

Peeta protested immediately. “Get your hands off her. There’s no need to be so rough.”

“Look at those scratches!” Effie gasped. “You’re making more work for her prep team. I do hope Cinna brought matching gloves so we can hide her hands.”

I had just inadvertently gotten people killed and all Effie cared about was the minor scrapes on my palms and how to hide them for the rest of the tour. Snow told me to convince the nation of mine and Peeta’s love story and I failed on the first chance.

Vomit splashed over the Peacekeeper’s white boots.

And my hands. I stared at my hands, covered in sick, wondering if I could pretend to be sick for the rest of the Victory Tour.

“Come on, Sweetheart. Up you get.” Haymitch was gentle as he helped me stand and guided me onto the train. Numbly, I let him wash and clean my hands, taking care to disinfect the small abrasions on the heel of my palms.

Why was he being so gentle? Hadn’t I just ruined everything? Surely Snow was going to target all of our families now? I should have just died in the arena. As least then Prim would be safe.

“Wouldn’t count on that, Sweetheart. Believe it or not, your sister is more valuable to Snow alive. He needs someone to threaten to keep you in line.”

Wounds tended to, Haymitch slunk from the room to hunt down another bottle of alcohol.

Peeta materialized as soon as their mentor vanished. “Are you okay, Katniss?”

My first instinct was to lie. To say I was fine. But I wasn’t fine. Far from it, in fact. I was shaken. Worried and exhausted. I knew the nightmares would be bad tonight.

“I messed up. And somebody else is going to pay the price.”

The baker tried to console me, telling me there was still time to turn the district’s perception around. District Eleven was only the first stop. We still had elven to go and the Capitol as well. “District Eleven will grieve and move on eventually. We all do.”

It was how the lesser districts survived. We blamed the Capitol and the Games for the deaths of children who never had a chance because they were weak, underfed, and knew they never stood a chance. But we danced to the Capitol’s tune because we had no other choice. We dressed up for Reaping Day and prayed that our names weren’t plucked from the bowl because we knew our tributes always came back in boxes. We appeared for mandatory viewings because skipping wasn’t worth the lashes it would earn. We stood in the crowd of Victory Tours where higher districts crowed about how they won this year as if winning the Hunger Games was something to be proud of.

For all the resentment, fear, and hate we felt for the system, we kept it out of earshot of officials and Peacekeepers. They might be willing to ignore Gale and I hunting beyond the perimeter fence because it benefited them. But whispers of dissent were dealt with harshly.

The sound of ringing suddenly filled the silence, startling both of us.

There was a phone, tucked away in an unnoticed corner. I stared at it like it had turned into a snake and was about to bite. Haymitch had warned us first thing to be careful when using the phones in our new homes, that someone might be listening in.

Not that we would be using it anyway, not even for ‘late night phone calls.’

Peeta shook himself out of his stupor, rising to lift the phone from its cradle. “Hello, President Snow. Of course, sir.”

Blank-faced, he held the phone out to me.

“Hello, President Snow,” I flatly repeated Peeta’s greeting.

“Hello, Miss Everdeen. I hope District Eleven’s unruly behavior has proven how vitally necessary it is for you to . . . step up your game.” My throat was dry. I couldn’t find the words to convince this monster that I had tried to play my part. That I didn’t mean for it to backfire. “Luckily for you, the broadcast had switched to showcasing the girl’s highlights after your sentimental speech, and none of that dreadful chaos was caught on camera.”

“That’s a relief,” I managed to say.

“Do not rely on another such stroke of good fortune, Miss Everdeen.”

The phone clicked and a new tone sounded in my ear. I slammed it down.

“Katniss?”

“I never considered myself lucky,” I said in lieu of an answer. “But he said I am. Because the riot wasn’t broadcasted to the other districts. But I can’t keep doing this.”

Peeta’s blue eyes widened. “You have to, Katniss. For us. For Prim. We just need to make it to the next Reaping and they’ll forget all about you.”

“No they won’t!” I cried. “I’m supposed to be hosting them now, Peeta! They’ll never forget me or what I did—defying the Capitol’s power.”

“It’s a Quarter Quell next year. They’ll be too busy with hyping that to care—”

“Caesar brings up the second quell all the time,” I cut him off. It was one of his favorites because of how bloody and exciting it was. After all, it was hard to top a game with double the number of tributes in scale of blood and shows of power.

“And I’m sure once the third one is underway, nobody is going to be paying any attention to last year’s winners. Especially if we keep quiet,” Peeta assured.

“So you agree with Haymitch that I should just keep my mouth shut? I’m sure Snow will be thrilled to have a mute co-host.”

He winced at my anger. “Please, Katniss. I just meant if we keep our heads down and do as he says, there will be a shiny new victor next year.”

And we’d be trapped in the cycle of watching kids die because Snow and the new head Gamemaker were sure to guarantee that District Twelve’s tributes would be dying quickly and/or horrifically until everyone realized the 74^th Game was a fluke and no more winners would be coming from our district until our victory was forgotten about—like the one who won before Haymitch. He said we had had a Victor early in the Games creation, and that he had been the first since them.

“We’ll ask Haymitch for advice. Maybe stab another mahogany table to make him take us seriously.”

I chuckled at his joke, remembering how I had nearly stabbed the drunkard and demanded that he start actually coaching us and helping us survive.

“Right. Let’s go find the bar car.”