The Wild Ones

by green and yellow

"We're the wild ones," he says. "The example, not the exception. They let us live so they could kill us all over again." A pregnant Katniss is going back into the arena... and Cato is going with her.

1. je serai

Like others, I have developed an unfortunate obsession with Cato. I really mean it when I say it's unfortunate, because somehow it has consumed me, and every spare moment I've had in the last month or so, I've been writing furiously. Which is not a bad thing in itself, but people are starting to get the impression that I don't like them anymore because I always slink off to write.

This all started when I saw the film, I guess – I really liked how they portrayed Cato at times, and that heated glare at Katniss after the parade held so much tension, but I also hated how he was portrayed at times – I didn't think the Career pack would have been so buddy-buddy and noisy, and he didn't really come off as insane at all to me.

I can't pretend the following story is altogether unique, just from flipping through some of the summaries of Cato/Katniss fics. I'm sure there are several renditions of the same basic ideas. My intention in writing this was more to explore the character of Cato than anything else, so if you choose to read on, keep that in mind.

This will be a three-part story, and all parts will be long. Just warning you now. Also, there will be some harsh language, though I tried to use it sparingly, and some graphic scenes. More graphic than anything I've ever written, anyway.

There were three questions I asked myself when sitting down to write:

What if Cato didn't mess around after the tracker jackers and just killed Peeta then and there?

How would that have changed the Games, and what would have happened if Cato won?

What if Katniss really was pregnant entering the Quarter Quell arena?

So there you go. Greg Laswell's new album, Landlines, was also inspiration while writing (and you'll notice that the subtitles of each "part" are song titles), as was my favourite book, which you might be able to guess – if you're familiar with it.

Also, to those reading Knotted: I'm so sorry for the lack of update this week! As you can see, I've been a bit preoccupied. Next Sunday for sure :)

---

The Wild Ones.
Part I: No Mercy in Panem
(it's settled now)

Katniss wonders, sometimes, if she may have preferred to live during the Dark Days. For while there was fear and loss in the bitter war, there was also hope in blind uncertainty. There was a spirit of a people that forged on to the death, and those who perished fought for their children's freedom.

They didn't know any better.

There is no place for such optimism, she's quick to discover, as a victor of their Games. They, the ones who crushed the rebels during the Dark Days. They, the ones who burned an entire district to the ground. She should have realized that victory is worse than death.

Now, it's too late. There is no hope.

The hallway outside of the office of President Coriolanus Snow, ruler supreme of the nation of Panem, is decorated with rich tapestries, marble pillars and a deep crimson rug. It feels regal, stuffy, and bone-chillingly cold to Katniss, who waits on a patterned wingback chair to be called upon. She wears a fitted dress that pinches her at the waist and impossibly high-heeled shoes that cramp her toes together and dig into her heels. Next to her sits her mentor, Haymitch, whose sunken eyes are sick from too many hours without the comforts of the drink.

They wait for what seems like hours without exchanging a single word. The situation is too dire; too hopeless at this point. She has inflicted damage on the dictatorship, and now she must wait to be bent into servitude. It is unspoken knowledge between mentor and tribute. Poor Haymitch. Finally he has a victor, only for her to be deemed a reckless threat to the stone pillars on which the nation is ruled. If there's anything she regrets, it's that he won't get to bring her home to 12. She owes him as much.

Beyond the carved wooden doors leading to Snow's office, there is a sharp smack!

Katniss' head snaps up, eyes dilated with alarm. A furious cry rips through the walls, and Katniss feels its anguish reverberating in her bones.

"Hey," Haymitch says from beside her. He leans forward to put a hand on her wrist. "It's not your concern. Don't get nervous now."

"I'm not," she replies stubbornly, though both of them can feel her hands shaking in her lap.

Moments later, the doors down the hall burst open and a boy emerges, tall, blond and murderous. He immediately turns to the exit, followed closely by a murmuring middle-aged man, and Katniss sees that the boy is nursing his own fist, hissing in pain as he strides away. She stiffens as he speaks, certain that he'll turn around and kill her like he meant to do from the very beginning.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" he says to Brutus, his mentor. He curses his fist, shaking it out. "It was just supposed to be me, damnit! It shouldn't have to be this hard."

In a panic, Katniss turns to Haymitch, whose empty stare conveys nothing at all.

"Miss Everdeen," comes a smooth, aged voice from the doors to the office. Snow stands at the entrance, dabbing his lips with a handkerchief. As he inserts the cloth back into his breast pocket, he smiles in a manner that slows the blood in her veins. "The other victor of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Do come in."

---

Sarcastic or even brash words from her former mentor would be helpful to calm her nerves, but Haymitch is sullen and morose in the room. He sits so close to her that she fears they may have brought her here to kill her suddenly.

"Now, Miss Everdeen," Snow says, leaning back in his chair from across the desk. "Before I begin, I thought I should afford you the chance to ask me the question that has been plaguing your mind for two days since your release from the arena."

Twiddling her thumbs in her lap, she asks in a voice wrought by hours of confusion, "Why did two of us come out?"

For in the seventy-three annual Hunger Games before hers, there was only one victor. Twenty-four sent in, one who emerged. Those were the rules, written in the stolen blood of the rebels. There is no mercy in Panem.

Snow nods calmly, having expected her question. "Because, Miss Everdeen, I saw potential in you both. Of course, there are several fallen tributes from over the years who would have made excellent victors, but instead were left to perish. Rules are rules, you know. But this time – call it a stroke of brilliance, if you will – I saw the advantage in making an exception."

A chill zips down her spine. With her chin up, she asks, "And that is?"

Snow holds up his hand to silence her. "Let me explain. What they may not teach you in District 12, where Mr. Abernathy is your sole example—" at this, Snow delivers a pointed glare to Haymitch, "—is that a Hunger Games victor is awarded luxuries and riches beyond your wildest imagination. Gowns made of the finest fabrics, jewels carved from the most sparkling diamonds. A victor is a celebrated figure throughout Panem, but nowhere more than in the Capitol. You're far too modest, Miss Everdeen – even after your victory interview yesterday evening, I doubt that you are aware of your celebrity."

She heard the screaming, yes. Saw the flailing limbs vying for her attention through the blinding lights shining on her from all directions. But she was too focused on him sitting beside her, him who claimed just as much fame – though perhaps less right to victory – than she.

"With fame comes scrutiny, yes, but also desire. They desire to know you, Miss Everdeen, to understand you – to be with you."

His last words cause Haymitch to prop up his elbow to support his head, his fist clenched stiffly against his temple. Katniss shivers, wishing she were anywhere else. Even to be back in the arena would be less frightening.

"For the right price, I would offer you to citizens of the Capitol," Snow continues. "A tribute with natural beauty, such as yourself, with that olive skin and those mysterious almond eyes… why, I'd have patrons lining up out the door for a night with you."

She knows she was right to dread this meeting. If all that awaits her as victor is a body bought and sold, she will regret not eating those damn nightlock berries when she had the chance. Inferring the meaning behind his words, she gives a quick glance to Haymitch. He nods grimly.

Snow catches the exchange. With a chilling smile, he adds, "Not to worry, my dear. I have something different in mind for you."

Briefly, her mind rotates through a list of things that could possibly be worse. Imprisoning her mother. Torturing Gale. Killing Prim. That's all.

"You are a special victor – you and Mr. Embry. While I'm not accustomed to denying the citizens of the Capitol, you are the exception. I rather like the mystery in your eyes, Miss Everdeen. I'd rather keep you on display than pawn you to the highest bidder. When they can't have you, they will never lose interest – don't you think? It's like dangling meat on a string in front of a salivating wolf."

She could sigh with relief, but she has a feeling there is something far worse in store for her. Still, she has seen the dyed skin and abnormal surgeries on the people of the Capitol, and never having to be within their grasp is soothing.

"You must understand that I can't simply withhold you," Snow goes on. "There is a precedent in place, of course, and my people will expect you. While you will not belong to the highest bidder for the night, Miss Everdeen, you must belong to someone."

Her shoulders stiffen, her gut clenching in anticipation.

"In my infinite mercy, I will allow you to belong to just one: the other victor of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games."

Cato.

No. No, it can't be. There must be something else. Something else she can give or sacrifice.

It's then, as she's shaking her head in disbelief and raw fear, that her eyes cross a hole in the wall. Its former patch of wall sinks in, the bronze paint chipping around it. It's about as big as a fist.

"Mr. Embry, of course, is already in agreement," Snow adds, as if this will change her mind.

He hardly looked in agreement back there, she wants to bite back, recalling the way he'd exited Snow's office in a flurry of rage, cradling his fist as if he'd injured it somehow.

The hole in the wall.

And she recalls the bewilderment written across his face as it was announced, in their deadlock, that two victors would be crowned this year. The only time they ever had – and ever would – agree on anything.

"No," Katniss says, looking to Haymitch for support. He frowns, but his lips are pursed in contemplation. "No," she repeats firmly. "I can't."

Unfazed, Snow replies, "I think you'll change your mind."

"Nothing will change my mind."

Leaning back in his chair, he twirls a pen in his fingers. "Haymitch, perhaps you will be kind enough to enlighten your tribute."

He looks like he'd rather keep his mouth shut, but Haymitch says, his tone inexpressive, "Sweetheart, it's either him alone or hundreds of others."

"I don't care," she says. "Not him. I didn't win so I could belong to him."

"No," Haymitch agrees, "you won to go back to your family. You fought to live for them. After a fight so gruesome, it would be a shame to let them die for you. Trust me, sweetheart."

With her lips parted in horror, she wonders about all the things she never sought to learn from her mentor. After all, entering the arena she assumed they would never meet again.

Snow smiles gently, pleased with the mentor's advice. "You know, they don't give you enough credit in the Capitol. You're rather clever, Mr. Abernathy."

They'll kill them, Haymitch is suggesting. They'll take Prim and her mother. And then what will she have fought for? What use was surviving?

His icy blue stare burns in her memory…

But then there is plaited blonde hair, an off-white blouse tucked neatly into a skirt, boney, lifeless hands folded on her stomach as she lies limp in a coffin.

Not Prim. They will not take Prim.

"What do you want, then?" she asks, her voice dead and faint. "What do I have to do?"

Smug in the wake of her defeat, Snow rests his elbows on the table. "I want a tale of romance," he says. "I want to see it unfold in front of me. Two star-crossed lovers who were never destined to live while the other still drew breath. For only then will Panem understand the mercy and forgiveness of their leader."

She's willing to bet this has nothing to do with mercy. In fact, it will be the slowest, cruellest form of torture, to submit to the monster from District 2 in plain view of the nation. For only then will Panem understand that to defy is to dig your own grave.

Mulling over his own words, Snow twirls his index finger in the air and continues, "Mr. Embry is impatient, violent, and quick to agitate. You, Miss Everdeen, are stubborn, standoffish, and ruled by emotion. I want you to tame each other."

She, an uncivilized Seam animal with embers in her eyes, and he, an aggressive, robotic soldier from 2 who was bred for slaughter.

Not for the first time, Katniss thinks, It should have been Peeta. It should have been Rue. Instead, it is her and Cato, two who were placed in the arena to vie for certain death. She remembers his cold glare from the night of the tribute parade. The hunger in his eyes, ravenous with murder, when he began to climb the tree in which she sought refuge. The cry of victory when he thought he finally had her atop that Cornucopia surrounded by growling mutts. The hatred oozing from every pore of his skin just before they took to the stage together as victors.

And now he will have her, just not in the way either of them had expected.

"You've given me a lot to think about these Games, Miss Everdeen," Snow says. Lost in her own horrific thoughts, Katniss hears his voice like it's a whisper in the distance. "I only hope, now that it's over, that I can give the same to you."

---

They come for her on the second day. Her body is light and nimble, and she effortlessly scales a tree and watches them from above. "She'll have to come down sometime," Peeta says. "We'll kill her then."

And with his words, a piece of her heart breaks, for he is all that's left of home and he has just sentenced her to death. They'd spent their last night before the Games on the roof on the Training Center, alike in their despair, and all the while he was plotting against her. Convinced the crowd he was in love with her for sponsorship points, then aligned with the Careers in the arena who were determined to kill her first.

He is a clever boy, and even without brutality, his brainpower may gain him the crown.

She toils through the night as the burn medication seeps into and mends the singed, pastry-like skin on her thigh. She watches the pack of Careers sleep below her and curses the boy with the bread, for if she is to die tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, she will never have evened the score. She will die by his hand, indebted.

When tiny Rue, the tree-hopper from 11, whispers to her in the dark and points to a hive above, Katniss is thankful for the knife in her pack. She begins to saw, and when morning breaks, she saws some more.

The hive crashes to the ground and tracker jackers swarm the Careers. The killers rouse from their sleep with screams and race to the lake to avoid the venomous stings. Two don't make it – girls from 1 and 4. With her mind swirling shapes and colours, Katniss hops down from her leafy sanctuary and pries the bow from the hands of a dead, misshapen tribute.

And then he is back – the boy with the bread, his eyes round and pleading. "Get out of here! Run! Katniss, you have to go!"

So she does, vaguely wondering where his loyalties lie. And as she moves as fast as her jellied legs can carry her, she hears a shout of fury. She knows by the deep tone of his voice that it's the tribute from 2 who has returned from the lake, livid that she has escaped and Peeta has helped her.

Peeta's cry of agony is the last thing she hears before her mind blanks and her feet carry her wherever they do.

She is out for two days, and when she wakes, Rue tells her he has been killed by sword.

She never intended for him to die. At least, never because of her.

Never will she settle her debt, for he has saved her twice and died doing so. Perhaps he did love her after all.

The boy with the cold blue stare has stolen his life. She will steal his, or she will die trying.

---

Never one for pomp and circumstance, Katniss finds that the life of a victor does not appeal to her at all. If it weren't for Prim, she doubts she'd bother with any of it – her mandatory attendance at all celebrations, banquets, elite galas and ceremonies. She would much prefer a quiet life where she can slip into the woods unnoticed to hunt. Despite the fact that she no longer needs to do so to provide for her family, it's become more of a hobby than a necessity, and she takes comfort in its routine.

But it's weeks after the Games and her return to District 12 before she can sneak into the woods. She's certain Gale has forgotten about her by then. He is as annoyed with the hubbub surrounding her victory as she is, especially because he has since been dubbed her "cousin". That little nugget of information was revealed to her when she stepped off the train into the district in front of the cameras. When he was interviewed during her time in the arena, he was proclaimed her cousin for the similarities in their appearance – dark hair, olive skin. The look of the Seam. The idea of a tribute having a handsome "friend" back home is rejected by production crews, she discovers, as it dampens the tribute's desirability should they become a victor.

And now, of course, Gale must remain her "cousin", for she has reluctantly agreed to belong to someone else.

Not that she ever would have belonged to Gale, or had even given it much thought until now. She can't imagine ever wanting to belong to anyone. She simply wants to be in control of her own fate.

Gale does find her, that Sunday in the woods. She's so relieved that she nearly cries, which embarrasses her to no end. They exchange stories of the folks in town and make idle chatter as they hunt, fish, and gather just as they've always done. But they do not talk about the mines, where Gale spends twelve hours of every day. And they do not talk about the Games, for Katniss is determined never to speak of them again.

But he does have one burning question for her, which he prefaces with an apology.

"Why did they let two of you come out?"

Looking off into the distance, where he once suggested they make for the hills and run, she replies, "I don't know."

But she does know. She knows perfectly well, she just can't say it aloud. Especially not to him.

He kisses her before they part that day, soft and slow and sweet. His fingers are rough on her cheeks as her stomach flutters nervously. She moves her lips in response but isn't sure if she's doing it right – no one has ever kissed her before.

Everyone in the Seam probably assumed they would get married someday, knowing how much time they spent together. Gale might still think so, and she can't bear to break it to him that everything has changed.

She never fantasized much about her first kiss, but she certainly never thought she'd cry afterwards, when he was long gone. When his lips were on hers, though she tried to focus, all she could see were those ruthless blue eyes boring into her.

---

There's nothing to do when you have everything, and Katniss finds her life sinking into a dull routine. She takes over the daily snare run in the woods and is always sure to drop off her game with Hazelle, Gale's mother, first and foremost – but she rarely sees Gale himself, whose only free day is Sunday. Often on those spare days, he joins her in the woods to hunt, but their chatter is never serious anymore, and though she sometimes fights the urge to throw herself in his arms, she maintains a cool distance. As the Sundays wear on, she senses his escalating frustrations. They used to know everything about one another, and now she can't admit to him what keeps her awake at night, nor what wakes her with a yelp when she's already sleeping. Thoughts of Cato plague her conscious mind, and the horrors of the arena visit her while she's sleeping.

She wonders what he's doing now, over in District 2. She wonders if he ever thinks of her, too – probably, alongside how much he wants to kill her. It's clear that Cato never intended to share his victory with anyone.

And she wonders, on a day when she arrives home after hunting in the woods and visiting Haymitch, if President Snow has come to visit Cato, too, and given him that same cruel, snakelike smile.

"I have a problem, Miss Everdeen," he says to her once they've both been seated. "A problem that began the moment you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena."

She pauses, flashing back to picking the berries in the arena and making the decision to end it all. Even then, she knew there would be sacrifices in being a victor. And with Rue gone and Peeta, sweet Peeta… it was all too much.

But before those berries touched her lips, Claudius Templesmith announced a feast and she was stupid enough to hesitate.

"If the Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane, had had any brains, he'd have let you kill yourself. Tributes have done it before, as I'm sure you know – the weak ones. But unfortunately for Mr. Crane, he had a sentimental streak. So here you are. Can you guess where he is?"

She nods with a gulp, knowing without words that he has been executed.

"He wanted a victor out of you," Snow continues. "He saw the way the Capitol reacted when your district partner died for you, when you cried over the body of the little twelve-year-old."

Her name was Rue, Katniss wants to spit. But her mouth is suddenly dry; she couldn't speak if she wanted to.

"You made it clear that you were playing for your sister, and the Capitol loves a heartwarming story, even in the Games. What Mr. Crane did not consider was the simultaneous impact you were having on the districts. He didn't realize it until far too late, when you had Mr. Embry on top of that Cornucopia at the bitter end. It wasn't plausible, then, to knock you off your feet with a gust of wind or to blind you with acid rain to give Mr. Embry the upper hand. Your death would have turned you into a martyr, and we couldn't have that. But it also wasn't possible to allow you the triumph of winning, because that would send across an unfortunate message to the nation that defiance is acceptable."

Frowning, she links her fingers in her lap. She doesn't doubt that the president is being absolutely candid with her, and it is gravely unsettling.

"So you see, now, why there had to be two victors," Snow finishes, "and why I found myself with no other choice than to make the arrangement, already discussed, between yourself and Mr. Embry."

"That, I'm not sure I understand," she manages to say, wetting her lips.

The corners of his full lips curl in the most unpleasant of ways. "It's quite simple, Miss Everdeen. I want Panem to see the change in you, beginning on your upcoming Victory Tour and ending with the Quarter Quell later this year. I want them to see you go from defiant, rebellious Seam rat to refined, lovesick schoolgirl who would do anything for the one she loves."

Katniss stiffens, instilled with anger that he would dare call her such a thing.

"And it can't be just anyone you give yourself to," he goes on. "It can't be that cousin of yours – what's his name? Gale, I believe."

Her eyes narrow.

Snow delights in her immediate reaction. "I see you know who I'm speaking of. Yes, he's quite handsome, but he won't do. No, your beloved must be a victor, one who has killed. When Panem sees your love story unfolding, they'll realize that even the most stubborn has changed her ways; that it's not worth igniting when you're beside the one you love. I want them to realize that if it weren't for the Games, you never would have found each other. It wasn't cruelty that landed you both in the arena, but destiny."

"But I don't love him," Katniss points out.

"Convince me," Snow says with an evil twinkle in his eye. "I've given you all the ingredients. How hard can it be? The way the nation will see it, you've been developing a friendship all this time apart through phone calls and letters. Your reunion on the Victory Tour will spark your romance – that's an awful lot of time to be travelling together, you know. When the baby comes, I doubt anyone will be surprised at all."

Katniss snaps to attention, her voice squeaking as she repeats, "Baby?"

Snow taps his fingers impatiently on the desk in front of him. "Oh yes, Miss Everdeen, did I forget to mention that? By the end of the Victory Tour, I expect you to be carrying Mr. Embry's child." Before she can protest, he adds, "I am a merciful leader, wouldn't you say? One who allows life to flourish amongst such bitter death."

Katniss can only shake her head in bewilderment. She can't do it. She can't. She's only seventeen. She never wanted a baby. She never even wanted to get married, even if it was to Gale.

Gale.

President Snow seems to be thinking the same thing. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Everdeen, there are a number of things you haven't been particularly adept at hiding. I know about the kiss, you know – and your cousin, I could easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution."

A shiver races through her as panic sets in. Of course he would know about the kiss in the woods. Of course her refusal to cooperate will endanger those she loves. What would Gale's family do without him? Rory and Vick and Posy… they couldn't manage it. They'd all starve. And he'd never forgive her. Never forgive her for her carelessness. And that would be another debt to go unpaid. Another life lost because of her. He kept her family safe and fed while she was in the Games – now that she's out, she owes it to Gale to do the same for his.

"Please don't hurt Gale," she whispers. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now."

"I'm only interested in how it affects your dynamic with Cato, thereby affecting the mood in the districts," Snow replies.

"I'll be in love with him," she says, her voice pleading now. "I will."

"I should hope so. If the uprisings are to be averted, this Victory Tour will be your only chance to turn things around."

Snow rises from his chair, prepared to shake her hand and depart.

"Wait," Katniss says, hopping to her feet alongside him. "The child."

"What about it, Miss Everdeen?"

"Will I get to keep it?"

"Of course. What's yours is yours."

"And what about the Games? When it's of age, will it be reaped?"

Gale always figured that victors' children were reaped far too often for it to be coincidence. The child of two victors would have a target on its back from the moment of conception.

Feigning a sympathetic smile, Snow responds, "I wouldn't worry about that for now."

He takes a few steps in the direction of the door, but she blocks his exit, and she can see he's displeased that once again, she's displayed her defiance.

But she needs to know.

"I'll always worry about it," she says fiercely.

Snow ponders his words for a moment as Katniss breathes in the stench of roses. The flowers on his lapel can't possibly give off such a strong scent – it has to be added perfume.

"To be honest, Miss Everdeen," he finally says, sidestepping her to leave the study, "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

---

He's in perfect range after she blows up their mountain of supplies at the Cornucopia, but she can do nothing but stare in bewilderment as the ringing in her ear will not go away. Even the whistling of the wind is muffled as she watches him give a sickening twist to the neck of the boy from 3 who was supposed to be guarding the supplies.

He is erratic, impulsive, and teetering on the edge of sanity. He knows it was her, and his hunt will only become more animalistic, more intense. She is his prey, and he has never been hungrier.

She could kill him now, from her hiding place. She could, but she doesn't, because his blind fury is terrifying and pitiful and intriguing all at once.

She wants him to look her in the eyes as she lets the arrow fly. Before he sucks in one last breath, she wants him to know what he's stolen from her.

---

Her prep team bursts back into her life with almost frightening excitement. They do what they please with her and she barely cares, mostly because her infrequent requests are always refused. No, she can't wear her hair braided off to the side. No, her eyebrows cannot go un-plucked. No, she will not be bringing those ridiculously unflattering hunting boots and jacket along on the Victory Tour.

By the time the prep team is finished with her, she feels overwhelmed with stress over trivial things, like the strands of hair framing her face and the dryness of her skin in the winter weather. She's annoyed with herself for being concerned with such vapid silliness, but it hangs in the back of her mind like a looming shadow that Cato will be seeing her soon. And while she convinces herself that she could hardly care for his opinion, the thought of him being disgusted with her – a common "Seam rat" – is enough for her to want to call the whole thing off.

She can't go through with this.

But then Cinna arrives, her stylist from the Capitol, and he's sympathetic and calm and real. He'll be with her throughout the Victory Tour, and that will make it bearable. Not bearable – just one notch above absolutely excruciating.

Even with Cinna showing her some designs he's come up with and adjusting her in the winter outfit that will kick off the Victory Tour, she finds she grows increasingly nervous by the minute. By the time he helps her with her beautiful ermine coat and earmuffs to brave the frosty weather, her hands are trembling with indecision.

"You're going to be fine," Cinna tells her in a low voice. He always looks straight into her eyes when they speak, and it's one of the reasons she trusts him so instinctively. "You're beautiful. You're smart. You're brave."

She nods fervently, wondering now if there's anything she could have said to President Snow to change his mind. If there's anything she could have sacrificed that would have released her from this vile servitude.

She can't do it. She won't.

Her mind is absolutely made up for all of thirty seconds until she sees Prim being interviewed by a crew in the kitchen, dressed in a beautiful sky blue dress and white boots that remind Katniss of a little bird hopping around in the trees – just like Rue.

And then she remembers. There is no way she can renege on the deal with Snow. Because Rue and Peeta have already given up their lives, and Katniss will not allow anyone else to do so for her.

"For good luck."

Her mother's voice breaks her from her trance and she looks down to see her pinning the token mockingjay to her red scarf. With an appreciative smile, she pats the pin down.

Effie Trinket, the district escort, is beyond thrilled to be on a Victory Tour – she probably never expected to be in such a position, being assigned to District 12 and all. She's clapping her hands to get everyone's attention and reminding the crews that in just a moment's time, the two victors will reunite.

Katniss isn't ready. She'll never be ready.

Effie knows it, too, and pushes her out the front door.

She stumbles onto the stoop and then down the steps, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the day. When she's no longer blind, the first thing she lays eyes on is the second camera crew who are waiting outdoors for her appearance. The peacefulness of the empty Victor's Village. A fresh, white blanket of snow on the ground.

And then, Cato. He stands on his own with the crew behind him, hands in his pockets. His brown jacket is unzipped despite the bitter cold, a plaid scarf hanging loosely around his neck. His icy blue eyes match the weather, and they're just as startling as she remembers. Otherwise, he looks older. Taller. Leaner. Her stomach makes a weird flip that leaves her reeling.

Convince me, Snow said to her. So for Prim – for Rue, for Peeta, for Gale – she knows she must.

Despite every fibre in her being telling her not to, her lips curve into a smile as she moves toward him. With only a flickering of curiosity in his eyes, he steps forward as well, and then it's like they're in one of those cheesy television shows over which the Capitol audience obsesses.

Katniss fights the urge to roll her eyes.

His embrace is warm as she steps into it, wrapping her arms around his waist and shutting her eyes to magnify the serenity of the moment. This is supposed to be a reunion, after all. If Snow wants this love story exacted properly, she's going to have to make everyone believe that she and Cato have been in contact this whole time, growing closer even with the distance between them.

She is wildly on edge in his arms, her heart beating overtime, certain that at any moment, he'll pull out a dagger and finish what they started in the arena. If he responds half-heartedly or even with disgust, everything is blown. It is not she, Katniss realizes, but Cato who holds the lives of her loved ones in his hands. From the moment Snow threatened them, he had Katniss wrapped around his finger. She'd do whatever she needed to do to keep them from harm. But Cato… he is wild and unpredictable. He is the one who could so easily throw them all to the wolves.

He might, still.

Even though his arms are stiff and unwelcoming, she knows that he is acting, too, and she wonders what kind of deal he's made with Snow. It's clear that he didn't ask for this, either. And why would he? She tried to kill him. He tried to kill her.

That's more of a horror story than a romance.

---

It's customary for the Victory Tour to kick off in District 12, the smallest and poorest district. Then it's off to the rest of the districts in descending order, with the victor's district being the last stop on the tour before the Capitol, where the largest and most elaborate celebration is held. This time around, as there are two victors from different districts, they'll begin in District 11 and visit all in descending order before returning to District 12 and then crossing the country again to make an appearance in District 2. Then, the Capitol. It seems like an unnecessarily elongated process to Katniss, who would be just as happy to get her own district's celebration over with right now, but the Hunger Games is not just for the Capitol's entertainment, but also for the districts' punishment, and things must be done in a certain way.

There's a crowd waiting for them at the train station, and Katniss wonders if these people truly care or if they were paid to attend. With camera crews all around – it will take a while to get used to that – she bids goodbye to her family. She gives her mother a kiss on the cheek and hugs Prim tightly to her chest, telling her to be good and to remember to pack bigger lunches to take to school to share with Rory and Vick, Gale's younger brothers. Annoyed at being reminded, Prim rolls her eyes and assures her she will.

When she straightens, she finds Cato standing only a few yards away, intently surveying the familial exchange. She's uncomfortable to know that he has witnessed something so private to her, but keeps her expression light and airy. She crosses the platform to take his outstretched hand, and together, they wave to the crowd.

Just before they step onto the train, she sees a dark-haired figure covered in soot racing toward the station. She pauses, and Cato feels the yank on his hand and looks back. Gale is supposed to be in the mines today – what is he doing here? It's clear that's where he's come from, given the state of his appearance. Still, he's a welcome sight, and her heart soars. She waits, forgetting that Cato waits with her, until Gale attempts to climb onto the platform and is barricaded by a wall of Peacekeepers.

No! she wants to shout. Let him come up!

But as he gives her a helpless, apologetic glance, she also sees his gaze zone onto her hand, intertwined with Cato's, and in an instant, Gale's eyes darken.

Then she remembers. She and Cato, they're supposed to be falling in love.

With Gale's cutting stare and Cato's frozen glowering, she feels trapped in between two walls. There's a tug on her hand. Amongst the commotion of the crowd, she looks into Cato's questioning eyes as he gives an almost imperceptible cock of his head in the direction of the train.

Enough of this, his eyes seem to say.

With one last glance at Gale, she finds herself giving a tight-lipped smile before disappearing with the other victor onto the train.

---

Their first meal on the train is nothing short of extravagant, and everything is so delicious that it physically pains Katniss not to take second helpings. She can only imagine Effie's insurmountable horror if she gorged herself in front of not only her own team, but Cato's, too. She'd get an earful for sure. The mental picture brings a faint smile to her face, and she dabs her lips with a napkin to hide her expression.

Cato sits across from her at the table, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of meat. Unashamed, his eyes bore into her as he chews, clearly recognizing her smile and apparently annoyed by it.

Brutus, Cato's mentor, and Haymitch each occupy one end of the table, and Katniss is grateful for it – they talk across to one another and prevent the meal from being deadly silent. Brutus is a broad, muscled, ferocious man who appears to thrive on the gory deaths of mere children in an arena, and Katniss shudders at the thought of ever being alone in a room with him.

Then again, she's not particularly thrilled by the idea of being alone with Cato, either – especially not with his stare so unflinchingly focused on her.

She's also thankful for Cinna, who purposely took a seat beside her at the table and who, every so often, attempts to incorporate her in his quiet conversation with Nerissa, Cato's stylist, whose freakishly pale peachy skin is surrounded by an eerie halo in the low lighting.

Even the district escorts – Effie Trinket for 12 and Raynor Woolley for 2 – are subdued, though Katniss suspects that Effie is making a large effort to contain herself for Katniss' sake. Once they're in the public eye in some of the wealthier districts, Katniss is certain that Effie will be beside herself with enthusiasm.

Afterwards, Katniss is relieved when Cato retires to his room and Brutus and Haymitch travel a few cars down in order to relax with a bottle of brandy. When the prep teams are gone and Katniss is changed into a pair of the lightest, silkiest pajamas she has ever worn, she sits with Cinna, and he holds her hands in his as she explains to him what Snow said to her earlier that day.

"Damnit," he curses to himself, lowering his head. "You're only seventeen."

"I have to do this," she whispers. "I have to, otherwise everyone I love is dead."

"You do this, and there's nowhere to go from here. You're his, Katniss – not Cato's, Snow's. He'll have you, and your baby, too. This is something you can't ever take back."

"I know," she says, on the verge of tears. "I wish I didn't love anyone. I wish I was alone."

With a comforting hand, Cinna smoothes down her hair. Looking straight into her eyes, he replies calmly, "But you aren't."

Sniffling, she nods. "So this is how it has to be."

---

Rue's death unhinges her, just as the exploded food supplies unhinged the boy from 2. She targets the boy from 1 as soon as the spear flies from his hand, and she's certain her arrow has found his neck before the spear finds Rue.

Nonetheless, it finds her eventually.

And she was so like Prim, so innocent and young and good, that Katniss weeps in the grass and decorates Rue's body in flowers. She removes a roll from her pack – a sponsor gift from Haymitch – and sacrifices her next meal to leave it sitting beside the girl amongst more blooms. Her tribute to Peeta, the boy with the bread.

It is not the boy from 2 who has stolen Peeta from her, nor the boy from 1 who has stolen Rue.

It is them. The Capitol. For a human life is not nearly as valuable as the message it sends after it has been taken.

She can't hate him, the boy whose eyes are a frozen blue. They stole something from him, too, and the rage in his eyes proves that he knows it.

She knows she must stay strong for Prim, but it's the first time she thinks that perhaps they're all better off dead.

---

As the agricultural district, District 11 is a sprawling mass of land. Its enormity is baffling to Katniss, who has known only the Seam and the forest all her life. It takes hours after crossing the border to reach the core of the district, whereas Katniss knows that crossing District 12 would take very little time by train, hovercraft or even car. Despite its proximity to District 12, there are no forests in District 11 – only fields and more fields of yellow, green or beige. Working far out in those exposed fields in the heat of the summer sun seems a daunting task, and she thinks of little Rue, whose short life was lived amongst fields of wheat.

Or perhaps it was lived in the orchards in the distance, where she would have learned to scale the trees to pick the fruit.

"Oh, Katniss!" Effie exclaims as she finds her staring out the window in the dining car. "What are you still doing here? You should be dressed! Up, up, up!"

Katniss would be perfectly happy to spend the day watching those rolling fields pass by, but Effie shoos her up and to her bedroom, where Cinna and her prep team are waiting with beautifying tools and outfits. To complete her autumn harvest ensemble – an orange frock and gold headband – Cinna affixes the mockingjay pin to her dress. He says nothing about it, but from the twinkle in his eye, she senses that her token from home may become a staple for all of her Victory Tour outfits.

As they pull into the station behind the Justice Building, Effie goes over their program for the day – stand outside the Justice Building overlooking the population, listen to the mayor's speech in their honour, and thank the citizens with their Capitol-approved reply. Prim and her mother drilled her lines into her memory, and as she steps into the loading car, Cato's automatic mutterings to his mentor confirm that Brutus has done the same for him.

"Best to stick to the script," Haymitch offers to both of them before they exit. To Katniss, he says, "And smile, sweetheart. None of those sour scowls in front of the cameras."

She glares at him, a flush creeping up her neck. It's not like she cares, but Haymitch could have chosen a more convenient time to say such a thing – like when she wasn't inches away from her rival in the arena.

Brutus pats Cato on the back to send him off, and as the two of them step off the train, he says, "And remember – you're supposed to be in love."

With a scowl of his own, Cato grabs her hand and links their fingers. His touch is harsh and cold, and as they cross the Justice Building to reach the veranda overlooking the population, she shudders. She can barely touch him without cringing – how can they act in love in front of thousands and then perform an unspeakable act together on the train? Her heart rate accelerates, and she's sure it's not only due to public speaking and facing Rue's and Thresh's families.

Before she can prepare herself with a deep breath, they're ushered onto the veranda where the population is waiting. It's harvest season, and Katniss saw many farmers in straw hats in the fields while she was on the train, so this can't be the entirety of District 11 – still, she's certain that even this small sampling is thousands bigger than the whole of District 12.

They're introduced to the crowd to a round of applause, and as Katniss looks into the crowd, she sees eyes staring back at her that are wide, curious, and hungry.

Surveying the platforms below that house Rue's and Thresh's families is the hardest of all. Katniss doesn't even listen to the mayor's speech – instead, she's focused on the five little siblings who all resemble Rue in one way or another. She left them with one less mouth to feed and no one to look up to.

Two little girls present them with beautiful bouquets of flowers. Presents they certainly don't deserve. Katniss thanks each of them individually.

On her left, Cato's hand tenses in hers. When she gives him a glance, he's staring into the crowd and purposely avoiding looking down. It's in her to smirk – it serves him right, for hunting and murdering Thresh. But then she thinks of the boy and girl she killed from 1 and every other death she had a hand in, and the smirk isn't there anymore. She's as much of a killer as Cato, and she does not look forward to meeting the families she's stolen from.

He snaps out of it when it's time for him to speak. He delivers his portion of the speech flawlessly, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her close as he speaks to begin their great act of deceiving the nation that they are in love.

When it's time for her to add the closing remarks, she begins as rehearsed. But then, somewhere along the way, it all seems to slip away. The lines that have been running over and over in her head for weeks are lost; her mind blank. She could offer a simple thank-you in closing and no one in the district would know it was an error, but one look at the platforms below and she's compelled to do something else. To offer some solace to these two broken families.

"I want to give my personal thanks to the tributes of District 11," she says. With a steadying breath, she continues, "I only ever spoke to Thresh one time." Cato's hand stiffens in hers, but she goes on. "Just long enough for him to spare my life. I didn't know him, but I always respected him. For his power. His refusal to play the Games on anyone's terms but his own. The Careers wanted him to team up with them from the beginning, but he wouldn't do it. Right, Cato?"

He's not happy with her, that much is clear, but he nods.

"I respected him for that," Katniss says.

Thresh's small family – a decrepit, hunched-over woman and a young girl – nod in appreciation. The elderly woman seems to have a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Katniss turns to Rue's family. She tells them how she grew close with their daughter in the arena and how they kept each other alive. She tells them how beautiful things bring Rue to her mind, but nothing more so than her sister, Prim.

"Thank you for your children," she finishes. "And thank you all for the bread."

From within the crowd, someone whistles a familiar tune. It only has four notes, but Katniss recognizes it instantly – it's Rue's song; the one she shared with Katniss to be their communication as they carried out the plan to blow up the Careers' supplies. She catches the eye of the whistler, and in that moment, she knows that she has done something very, very wrong.

In unison, the people of District 11 bring three fingers to their lips and extend them to Katniss. The same gesture she gave to them after receiving the bread. The startling impact fills her with dread. This is not quashing a rebellion; it is inspiring one.

With unsettled eyes, the mayor interrupts the mass display with some closing remarks. And then, with applause, the victors are ushered off the veranda.

She's forgetting something. Her flowers. Where are they? Whether she deserves them or not, they are a token from Rue's district, and she won't leave without them. Cato looks over his shoulder as she disconnects their hands and heads back to the veranda, but he doesn't follow her.

And she's glad he doesn't. For when she slips onto the outlook to grab her bouquet, she sees that the whistler has been hauled to stage by peacekeepers. In front of the entire crowd, they shoot him in the back of the head.

Bang. Dead. Just like that.

Whatever she inspires, the Capitol will crush.

---

She knows, from the sympathetic looks Effie has been doling her all evening and the uncharacteristically warm tones in Haymitch's voice, that tonight it begins. It horrifies her that everyone seems aware of what is about to happen, albeit in varying degrees. Her prep team fluttered around her before the feast that evening, commenting on how she must look desirable for Cato. Their oblivion to her thoughts, feelings and reactions is actually comforting, for it proves that she's doing a decent enough job so far establishing her love for Cato onstage.

At the feast in District 10, Cato had held her hand and given her smiles and leaned over every so often to whisper in her ear, signs of a budding romance that drove the crowd wild.

But all he had whispered were various observations about people attending the celebration and, sometimes, instructions on how to react. "When I finish speaking, laugh," he said to her once. And she obeyed.

Now, she finds herself alone in her room after a kiss on the cheek from Cinna and a squeeze on the shoulder from Haymitch, both gravely reminding her that she is brave.

She doesn't want to have to be brave. She wants to be smart – to find a way out of this.

But it's too late. He's already knocking at her door.

"It's open," she says, and as she stares out the window at District 10 whizzing by, she hears him wordlessly step inside and close the door behind him.

She turns, grateful to see that he's still wearing the same outfit – dress pants and a nice shirt – that he wore to the feast. His prep team hasn't insisted on finding a new outfit for the special occasion. Or maybe they tried, and he simply refused, just as she had done when Venia and Flavius suggested spritzing her with lilac perfume and dressing her in lacy undergarments.

It's horrifying to think that they're all going to be on the same train as the deed takes place. For all she knows, there could be a crowd listening in just outside her door.

Oh, sweet mercy.

Cato walks to the center of the room and stops there, his eyes a brilliant blue even in the dark. He waits, watching her calmly with an air of cockiness, like she is the one with everything to fear, not him.

He's right about that.

"Well?" he asks after a prolonged silence. He shrugs, gesturing to the bed. "Can we…?"

Between fear, anxiety, and hopelessness, annoyance is what prevails. Is that it, then? By the end of the night, she'll be pregnant with his child, and that's all he has to say? Until now, she'd assumed that he was simply keeping his mouth shut so as not to give away the story of their whirlwind romance, but now she wonders if he just has no interest in speaking to her at all. If they'll pass by this entire Victory Tour in silence, even as he visits her bed.

It's clear that he wants nothing to do with her. He's acting out of obligation, just as she is. What could Snow have offered him that would persuade him to agree to this? Or is he protecting something, same as her?

She grits her teeth at his airy manner. "I know why I'm doing this," she says, rooted to her spot at a safe distance from him. "But why are you?"

When he gulps, she watches his Adam's apple move down his throat and then bob back up. He begins to remove his tie, saying in a clipped tone, "That's my business."

So that's how it will be, then. Fine. They won't speak. It's probably for the best.

Still, she stays at the window, watching with caution as he tosses his tie on a chair, followed quickly by his shirt. She sucks in a breath, noting the definition of his hip bones, the muscles in his stomach and his broad, hairless chest. The thick biceps are not something to be ignored, either. Not for the first time – but certainly for the first time up-close – she is reminded of just how big he is. Not only because he is from a wealthier district and likely never went hungry a day in his life, but also because he trained for the Games for years. Without her bow, she is absolutely helpless next to him, and suddenly she is overcome with trepidation and paralyzing fear. He can do anything to her in here. They're completely alone and she's without a weapon. Whatever he wants will be his.

The only time she can ever remember quivering is in the final few moments before the 74th Hunger Games in which she stood alone with Cinna in the Launch Room. This is nothing compared to the jitters in her hands now.

With an impatient sigh, he finally says, "Come here, Fire Girl."

She ignores the mocking nickname and does as he says, only because she's afraid of the consequences if she refuses.

When she stands in front of him, her eyes only at level with his lips, he motions for her to turn around. She twirls, gasping as she feels his hands come in contact with the skin on her back. He unzips her dress without a word but does not force it off her. It seems he's not going to do all the work himself.

The lump in her throat is the size of a skipping stone as she steps out of her gown, back still turned to him. She hears the clinking of the metal on his belt buckle and, when she draws up the courage to face him again, she realizes he has removed his pants.

They stand staring at each other in their underwear, illuminated only by the moonlight, and while she keeps her eyes trained to his blond hair – almost like Peeta's in its cut and colour – he lets his gaze wander all over her until she feels completely violated and defenceless.

He points to the bed, raising his eyebrows expectantly. It actually doesn't seem like such a bad idea to her, so she moves there willingly, eager to hide herself under the blankets.

And as he crawls underneath the covers with her, she can't help but think that is the boy who tried to kill her. Who still would, if he had the chance. The one who killed Peeta. Who snapped the neck of the boy from 3. Who counted his kill with pride after the Bloodbath. This is the one who had the tendency to explode with rage.

"Stop shaking," he tells her, void of sympathy.

"I can't," she snaps. Does he think she is chattering willingly?

With an irritated scoff, he places a hand on her hip and turns her around again so that he can unhook her bra. She is the one who lets it slip off her shoulders, but before she can face him again, she covers her chest with her arm.

He rolls his eyes at her modesty. "Really?" he asks unkindly, though he does not yank her arm away.

He does away with his last article of clothing and Katniss realizes that, to remove the final barrier between them, she'll either need to awkwardly squirm around or remove the arm that covers her chest.

It would be so much easier if he weren't watching her so keenly.

Finally, she musters the courage to get it over with, pushing away thoughts of Cato and Brutus having a good laugh over this later as he relays all the details without a censor.

She, for one, will never speak of this again. Not to Haymitch, not to Cinna, not to anyone in the world. Snow himself cannot make her repeat in words what is about to be done.

And then, completely bare under the covers, she lays her head back on a pillow and stares straight at the ceiling, her breaths shallow and a hot flush setting her cheeks on fire. From the corner of her eye she senses his gaze on her, travelling from her forehead, to her lips, to the exposed mounds on her chest.

She might prefer to be back in the arena right now, if given the choice. How cowardly she was, not to eat those nightlock berries when she had the chance!

There's a shift under the covers, and his hand reaches across her torso to run from her ribcage over her hip, down her thigh to the back of her knee.

"You're skinny," he murmurs.

With her eyes fixated on the ceiling, she replies without expression, "You're not."

"No," he agrees, running his hand back up and laying his palm flat across her stomach, as if he's measuring her. She doesn't move, unable to breathe. Maybe they're both thinking the same thing: after tonight, a baby will be in there.

If Cato is thinking it, too, he doesn't say a word. Instead, he shifts closer to her and moves his hand in between her legs.

Startled, she breaks out of her frozen shell, clamping her legs together and gripping his wrist to pull it away. He seems just as surprised by her reaction as she is by his forwardness.

"Is that necessary?" she asks.

With his hand suspended in the air by her grip on his wrist, he can only release a ghost of a laugh. "Uh, it is if you want to be able to sit down tomorrow," he says. When she frowns, he adds with a smirk, "Trust me. You're not my first virgin."

She glowers at him, furious that he's aware she's never done this before. Her calculated movements and trembling fingers have made it painstakingly obvious, but she's angry all the same that he would even mention it.

With a fiery stare but not another word, she releases her grip on his wrist and he moves his hand underneath the sheets again. Within seconds, it's where it was before. Her legs clamp instinctively.

"Stop."

"Relax," he replies. "I'm helping."

"Why should I believe you?"

He places a hand on her bent knee and urges her to open her legs, but she will do no such thing. "If you would just let me—"

"Just get it over with."

She's so hot and bothered by this situation and his cavalier responses that she's certain her cheeks really will catch fire. What makes it worse is the amused gleam in his eyes. Maybe Snow didn't have to persuade him with anything at all – Cato simply relished the idea of watching her cringe beneath him.

But that can't be it. Because she vividly remembers sitting outside Snow's office just days after being pulled from the arena, and she remembers the hole in the wall and Cato cradling his fist. Those weren't signs of voluntary relent.

"You're not ready," he argues.

"Yes, I am."

She's testing his patience now; he's biting back a furious comment. Why would he put up with her stubbornness, she wonders, when he could so easily dominate her?

With an exasperated sigh, he growls, "You really don't know anything about this, do you? What do they teach you in 12?"

Survival, she wants to bite back. And this isn't a part of it.

"I know enough," is her reply. "Just put it in me."

There's a moment of silence before he barks with laughter. "You're funny," he chuckles.

Shame is what heats her, she convinces herself, not his burning touch. She turns her head on the pillow, her chin touching her bare shoulder as she looks up at him with smouldering eyes. She spits, "You should be dead."

This puts an effective end to his humour. With a burst of rage, he rolls on top of her and pins her down, and though she struggles, she can't break free. As she stares straight into his blue orbs, she realizes she's not shaking anymore – she's only angry. Filled with hatred for the one who took so much from her and who now mocks her as she writhes beneath him.

"No, Fire Girl, you should," he counters, holding her arms in place. She burns at the sensation of skin on skin under the covers. "But instead, here we are. So why don't you shut that pain in the ass mouth of yours and let me do you a favour."

This time, trapped underneath him, she knows she's no match for his muscular arms and broad shoulders. Glaring all the while, she spreads her legs when he nudges her to do so.

"Arrogant bastard," she mutters under her breath, though she feels him hardening on her lower abdomen and weakens as the fear claims her again.

Ignoring her insult, he moves his hand between her legs and commands her to stop squirming. With another smirk, he explores her with his fingers and says, "They're right to call you the Girl on Fire."

Before she can spit at him, he captures her lips with his own, effectively silencing her. She shuts her eyes, nipping on his lower lip with her teeth to continue their heated argument. Much to her surprise, he seems to enjoy this, deepening their kiss.

It's only the second time she's done this, and she can't help but think she's doing it wrong. Cato doesn't seem to mind, roughly claiming her lips and exploring her with his tongue. Though she has the bare minimum of experience, she can't help but remark to herself that he's so different from Gale. He is so much rougher, more demanding, more confident, and yet he maintains a quieter sort of command. He begins to rub circles in between her legs and she feels the heat from her cheeks spread slowly to her belly. After a minute of this, she must break their connection to gasp, too vulnerable now to look him in the eyes. She turns her head away from him, biting her lip and hoping to muffle any sounds she might make by whispering into the pillow.

Cato continues his ministrations. She resists the urge to tell him to go faster, to press down harder. From the way her body begins to respond beneath him, he seems to know. She's unsure how much time passes as she lies there with her face pressed into a pillow, willing it all to be over but hoping she'll feel like this forever at the same time.

She's grateful that he doesn't speak again, because she no longer has the brainpower to form a retort. Still, she wishes he would have given her some warning before giving up on his toe-curling manual stimulation and plunging inside of her.

It's the initial thrust that knocks the wind out of her chest, sending her eyes flying open before she shuts them in pain, squeezing them tightly to keep in the tears. One slips out despite her best efforts, dripping slowly down her cheek.

"Sorry," he mutters, his tone unsympathetic as he moves slowly out and then back in.

The pain is blinding at first, and when she's able to find her breath again, she hisses, "You jackass."

"I said I'm sorry," he repeats in irritation. He pauses overtop her, allowing her a moment to adjust to his size.

Furiously, she wipes the tear from her cheek, using every last bit of resolve she has to deliver him one more heated glare. "It shouldn't have been you."

Despite her fury aimed at him, his expression softens. As he steadies himself above her, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Shut your eyes," he instructs her, gasping at the exertion it takes to hold himself still within her. "Imagine it's him, then. Your cousin."

The way the word rolls off his lips – cousin – makes her realize that it is not just Snow, but Cato who sees past her amicable relationship with Gale. But when he begins to move again, even though it goes from searing pain to just uncomfortable soreness, she senses that she no longer has the strength to openly hate him. All she can do is take his suggestion. Shut her eyes and pretend it is someone else who owns her this way.

Gale. He doesn't feel like Gale. They're both rough around the edges and quick to anger – Cato more so than Gale – but Gale tasted like salt and it's spice that now lingers on her taste buds. There are always words for Gale, but she can think of none to say now, none she would be able to say if it were him instead of Cato. There's a calmness she feels when with Gale that she does not feel now. He wouldn't make her panic this way. He wouldn't keep going, knowing he had hurt her, even if it would start to feel interesting and almost good, like it does now… or would he? His head drops to her neck as he moves against her, grunting with the strength it requires to keep himself controlled. Would Gale do the same? Or would he kiss her through the pain? The thought of being naked next to Gale is horrifying – even more so, somehow, than with Cato. Probably because she has known everything about Gale for years, and aside from his dire need for anger management and his ruthless lust for blood, she knows absolutely nothing about Cato.

As he picks up the pace, Katniss has to bite her lip from crying out, and she chomps down so hard she's afraid she may have drawn blood. When his mouth finds her breast, her lips part with the new sensation, her breaths coming in short bursts. After a grunt, he grips underneath her thigh and lifts it, reaching even deeper inside her now. The heat between them sizzles on her skin and in her core, but it doesn't burn. She fists the bed sheets in her hands and can't even bother to be embarrassed about the moan that escapes from the back of her throat.

She realizes it's almost over when his movements become sloppier, less sharp. His breath hits her neck in erratic bursts and then, as suddenly as it began, he stiffens on top of her and mutters something against the skin on her shoulder. Spent, she sags on the bed and waits for him to roll off of her, which he does after just a moment of lingering.

She pulls the sheets up around her, self-conscious once again as her breathing regulates and her heartbeat steadies in her chest. Only a few more moments pass until he sits up, runs a hand through his hair and sighs, giving her one last glance which she does not return.

"Not bad, Fire Girl," he says as he stands, pulling up his underwear with him. With a light chuckle, he adds, "But I've had better."

If she had her bow with her, she'd kill him for that. She wonders why he does it; rub salt into the wound when she's already given him everything she has left to own. She liked it better – or, more accurately, hated it less – when they weren't speaking to one another.

As she lies there and stares blankly into space, he retrieves his clothing from the chair and heads toward the door without another word. She hears the doorknob turn. Then it turns again. Then he's jiggling it, turning it back and forth until he slams his palm on the wood in frustration.

"Bastards," he mutters.

She props herself up on an elbow, using her other hand to hold the sheet over her chest. "What?" she asks.

He bangs on the door again, this time with his fist. "They locked us in."

Katniss falls back on the bed. She should have seen this coming. Of course Snow would arrange for locks on the outside of the doors. For it wasn't enough that she should have to give herself to her would-be killer – Snow would want her to have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of the night as well, beside the boy – man – who has just stripped her of everything.

She hates him. She hates him a thousand times more than she hates Cato, who seems to think it's appropriate to drop his clothes and climb back into bed beside her.

Rigid, she can only stare questioningly at him, willing him to take up residence on the chair or loveseat or even the floor.

He rolls his eyes at her reaction. "I'm not gonna touch you, Katniss," he assures her, though his words are less than comforting.

She reaches for her discarded bra and underwear to dress herself under the covers. "A man with chivalry would sleep on the chair," she snaps.

With a snort, he deadpans, "I didn't know they concerned themselves with chivalry back in 12."

Fuming, she clasps her bra and tugs a section of the blankets away from him to cover herself. "We're a lot more civilized than you seem to think."

"And much poorer judges of character," he adds. "Did you paint me as chivalrous before or after I killed your boyfriend in the arena?"

Lover Boy, the Careers had called Peeta. Lover Boy, for proclaiming his secret crush on Katniss on national television the night of the interviews. She still doesn't know if he was telling the truth. She never will.

But she knows she hates Cato for mentioning him at a time like this, and he reads her hatred all over her face. With another roll of his eyes, he turns his back to her and lies on his side, facing the window.

Seething, she burns holes into his skin with her stare, but after a while there's no satisfaction even in that. She turns on her side as well, staring at the definition in his back, the muscles that ripple underneath the unblemished skin after years and years of training to kill. In the moonlight, she holds up her own arm and remarks on the difference of their skin colour – she the dark olive of the Seam; he the golden tones of a Western district. She, a wispy, hungry hunter; he, a strong, broad fighter. In any match against her, he'd go in as the favourite – and yet, she could have killed him in there. She would have, too.

But she didn't. And now he lies next to her for the choice she made.

"Cato?" she asks quietly, certain he's asleep.

She's surprised when he replies, "What?"

Though his back is to her, she can picture his icy blue eyes so clearly in her mind, inquisitive and harsh all at once. "Did you imagine I was someone else?"

He shifts under the covers but keeps his back to her, turning his face toward the pillow. "No," he mutters gruffly. After a pause, he adds, "I didn't need to."

---

She'd always thought she was better off alone, but she realizes she never knew the true meaning of it until now, cowering in that cave. She hunted with Gale, attended school with Madge, slept next to Prim. She doesn't say much, and with a mind so protected and serene, perhaps she thought it was equal to loneliness. But loneliness – true, physical and mental loneliness – is draining in the bleakest of ways. After a couple of days she wonders if she's gone mad and if it will always be like this now, even if, by some twist of fate, she makes it home to 12. She wonders if she will simply slip through life lost in a nightmarish daze, where crooked fingers stretch toward her not to comfort, but to choke.

She finds the berries. Recognizable in an instant to any hunter. Nightlock.

"It's better this way, Prim," she says aloud, cupping the berries in her hands. "I wouldn't come back the same. I wouldn't be your Katniss anymore."

She begins to cry, her hands shaking as she stares down at the navy berries in her hands. "I'm sorry," she whispers through tears. Raising her chin to the sky so she knows she is heard, she says, "I love you, Prim."

The berries have only just touched her lips when the voice of Claudius Templesmith bursts into the arena.

"Good evening, tributes," he says. "Here in the Capitol, we like to think of ourselves as generous hosts. As our guests, we are inviting you to a feast."

She doesn't care. Just do it, she pleads with herself, staring longingly at the berries.

"Now, hold on," he continues quickly, as if he knows that he only has a split second to convince her, "before you decline, consider what will be waiting for you. Something you desperately need. Medicine, perhaps. Food. Or… and perhaps most importantly… a message from a loved one. Yes, that's right. For the first time, a loved one will be permitted to reach out into the arena. For some of you, it will be your last chance to connect with them."

She raises her chin as his words slowly sink in, and she has never hated anything so much as she hates the Capitol.

---

They will not be allowed a repeat of District 11, so they are given speeches to memorize instead. She thought it would get easier, having passed the hurdle of facing Rue's family, but it never does. Because in each district, there are two families who lost someone so that she could live. She and Cato.

He ignores her, for the most part, and even though she burns with shame every time she thinks of what they've done together and what he's seen and felt of her, she'd rather he leave her alone than dish out snide, arrogant comments. He's chummy with Brutus, but only when his mentor isn't staggering around with a bottle of scotch. It takes a week or so, but Katniss finally determines that it's not Brutus' moods that affect Cato's willingness to spend time with him, but his involvement with Haymitch. When Brutus and Haymitch are together, Cato drops out of the conversation almost entirely. She begins to suspect that he hates Haymitch, and she can't figure out why. Haymitch is protective of her, though there's nothing much he can do about Snow's arrangement. She can't remember any sort of confrontation between Haymitch and Cato, unless it was had in private, and when she asks, Haymitch says he doesn't think he's ever spoken to the boy one-on-one.

Other than that, Cato spends a decent amount of time alone. After his buddy-buddy alliance with the rest of the Careers in the arena, she suspected that he enjoyed being in groups, for it allowed his competitive nature to thrive. She's surprised to discover that he finds peace in loneliness, just like her.

But he doesn't like being cooped up on the train, and that much is obvious to everyone aboard. Sometimes he paces through the cars, complaining of nothing to do and nowhere to go. When they stop in a district for a night or more, he's always quick to find a gym or training center where he can release his energy. And every so often, Katniss spies him staring out the windows of the train, watching the sights fly by with longing.

She'd be happier outside of the train, too. It's been days since she's had a bow in her hands and delivered a fresh kill to the Hob.

Their cool distance from one another is only witnessed by those aboard the train, and while Effie and Raynor are always encouraging them to spend time together, everyone else seems to understand that when the train pulls up to a platform and they step outside, they'll be more in love than they were in the previous district.

Having never been in love or having any romantic experiences with the opposite sex whatsoever, it's fascinating to Katniss the way Cato takes charge and seems to know what to do. He's a flawless actor, always finding new ways to publicly display his affection for her. One day, they hold hands. The next, he keeps a steady hand on the small of her back. He exits the train first and lifts her down from the steps, his hands locked on her waist. He places a hand on her knee when they're made to watch a parade or a show put on by a district, and she finds that no matter where they are, no matter what there is to see, his eyes are always on her. Even when they're on the train and no one is expecting them to act in love, she feels his gaze burning into her, unwaveringly focused. It might just be habit, having to pretend to be fascinated with her in public. But she senses there's more to it than that, and it irks her that he probably knows three times as much about her as she knows of him. Know thine enemy.

They don't spend another night together and aren't asked to. She assumes she's pregnant because she has done what was required to be so. Panem might figure it out right away, after watching her decline glass after glass of wine and champagne at the victor festivities, but Cato refuses as well, which is confusing to her. Perhaps he hopes to deflect the attention from her so that they can surprise everyone later – but she has a feeling that Panem's knowledge of her pregnancy is not his main concern.

The train makes it to District 6, and Katniss and Cato go without speaking or touching unless in front of cameras – and even then, his touch feels cold and his words have an edge – until she bleeds. Her eyes fill with tears when she realizes her monthly flow has arrived, for she knows this wouldn't be likely to happen if she were pregnant. She's horrified by the prospect of being locked again in a room with Cato. Having to lay bare and exposed below him all over again. To let him touch her wherever he pleases, for his lips to be on her skin. Once was enough. She doesn't know if she can bear it twice.

Her prep team is the first to know, of course. They go straight to Cinna, who informs Effie, and within hours, the entire train is aware of her failure to conceive. To spare her the embarrassment, Effie assures her that she'll be the one to break it to Cato.

And so she does – by waltzing straight over to where he sits in the lounge area and informing him within eyeshot of Katniss.

She could kill Effie Trinket, and would if the Capitol woman wasn't so completely oblivious, but instead she simply sits there and feels her face heat with shame and humiliation as Cato's eyes find hers over Effie's shoulder.

With a gust of courage, she hardens her gaze and stares unfalteringly at his handsome face. She can't see anger there, per se – she can't make out what she sees, really. His face is masked with neutrality. Boredom, even.

Arrogant ass.

He won't have the best of her.

---

By the time they reach District 4, it's been a week since the news of Katniss' barren uterus has spread like wildfire throughout the train. She no longer bleeds and knows she won't be able to put off a night with Cato for much longer.

"It doesn't always happen the first time," Effie says in an attempt to soothe her. With her infinite wisdom, she continues airily, "Some couples try every night – multiple times – for months."

Katniss is wide-eyed and disgusted after that nugget of information.

"I know, sweetheart," Haymitch says to her when she nearly bursts into tears in front of him. He's not the comforting type, but he puts his arms around her and pats her head. "But soon, it will be over."

Not soon enough, she thinks. And then, for the rest of her life, she'll have a child to care for.

The tension in District 4 was palpable that day as the citizens stared on at the victors who made their own rules for the Games and got away with it. The barely-concealed rage terrified her – this was what Snow had spoken of. The unsettlement in the districts. The impending uprisings, all because of her defiance.

It's not enough to act lovey-dovey with Cato. Snow's right: they need a baby to convince the nation. This baby is, quite literally, the lynchpin of peace.

So when Cato raps on her door after a long night of mingling with the elites, she beckons him inside, and it goes unspoken between them that this time, they must succeed. Whatever he has riding on her pregnancy is just as important to him as Prim and Gale are to her.

But that doesn't mean they'll work as a team.

They undress themselves quietly, each shedding an article of clothing at a time and waiting for the other to match or surpass them. Cato, whom she assumes has done this a million times, stands his ground without even a flinch – in fact, he seems to enjoy the challenge. Katniss, on the other hand, has to bite the inside of her cheek in order to muster up the courage to be so exposed and under the scrutiny of such unreadable blue eyes. But she refuses to surrender, despite her burning cheeks.

In the middle of the mattress, they meet, and he hesitates, gauging her reaction before reaching out and touching her. He certainly isn't gentle as he lays her down and claims her breast with his hot mouth, but he isn't exactly rough – just commanding. She'd never say it aloud, but she's grateful for it. It gives her something to fight against, and without his control, she'd be flooded with embarrassment, unsure of what to do next or how to go about it.

But once it begins – once she feels him grow stiff against her thigh and senses her own body responding with a slickness between her legs, she becomes defiant in a different sort of way – the way that doesn't care for matching him, but instead wants to prove how little he affects her.

Because he killed Peeta. He killed the boy from 3. Thresh and Foxface and all the feeble ones in the Bloodbath, dead by his merciless hands. And he never looked back; she's sure of it. That in itself is despicable.

She turns her head, squeezing shut her eyes. It's hard to focus on anything as her body reacts traitorously to her emotions, arching with pleasure, but at least she can refuse to meet his eyes as he claims her as his for the second time.

"You know I could get anyone," he murmurs against her neck, and she fights the urge to slap him and his arrogance across the cheek. "Why should I have to put up with your indifference?"

She grunts as he slips a finger inside her. "I don't know," she says, sucking in a breath. "Why do you?"

She's genuinely interested in his response, but if he answers, his voice is muffled by her cry of surprise as he enters her. He doesn't waste time letting her adjust this time around despite the pain that surges in her lower half. At first, it's like a wound freshly reopened, but when a minute passes, it can only be described as mildly uncomfortable. After a while, her body has become stimulated enough so that he can slide easily in and out, and then it becomes hard to gather breaths because every thrust hits her in the right place; even better than the one before.

And she hates herself for it – hates her body for betraying her, for responding so eagerly, even to his unyielding control. How he holds himself together, she'll never know, and she's almost grateful when he grinds against her, hard and swift, collapsing against her and cursing to himself.

He tries the door again, but just like last time, they're locked in. She clothes herself in her undergarments and a pair of pajamas that she's hidden underneath the pillow and curls up in the corner of the bed, leaving ample room for him as she knows he'll just climb back in anyway. He does, but not before grabbing something from the pocket of his pants on the floor. He rolls one in his hand and inserts it in his ear while she watches with intrigue.

"What's that?" she asks before she can stop herself.

Without glancing over, he replies, "Earplugs."

"Why?"

"So I can sleep." He's in no mood to elaborate.

If only to annoy him, she points out, "You didn't wear them last time."

"I didn't know I'd be stuck in here last time," he replies in a sing-song tone, and she knows she's testing his patience again.

"Did you not sleep?"

Maybe she'd had a nightmare. A violent one. She cringes at the notion of him lying beside her as her worst memories of the arena were brought back to life in her mind. He would hear every word. Know her darkest secrets; her biggest fears.

He pauses before inserting the second earplug. With a scoff, he says, "Next to my enemy from the arena? No."

She's on her side and curled into a ball, the sheets wrapped around her form, and she studies him with curiosity as he settles in on the opposite side of the bed. "What can I do in here?" she asks. "You're bigger than me."

"And you got an eleven in training," he reminds her. "Don't think I forgot about that, Fire Girl. Don't think for one second that I've forgotten that you're a threat."

Of course it upsets him, that she beat him in training scores. He'd made that clear even before the Games began.

For a second, she considers telling him how she did it. How she was branded with the highest score out of the pool of tributes by shooting an arrow at a smoked pig.

But she holds herself back. He doesn't deserve to know.

"Then why wear the earplugs, if you need to be on alert?"

"Because everyone has to sleep sometime," he says under his breath, "and I figure, even if my mind tries to trick me at night, we're in this together until we've done what he expects us to do."

---

Katniss thinks it's over, but he visits her again the next night in District 3. They don't speak at all this time, and when she's jarred awake by a violent nightmare of the gamemakers extracting Peeta's eyes after his death to insert them into a mutt, he doesn't hear her through his earplugs. She curls into a ball in the corner of the mattress, shaking with fear as she stares at his back. As soon as her teeth stop chattering, she hears him muttering faintly to himself, soft whispery breaths, and she's sure from what she can make out that he's dreaming of twisting the neck of the boy from 3, whose family he had to face earlier that day. When he stirs, she nearly jumps out of her skin. Her sharp movement on the mattress must wake him, for she sees his muscles tense, hears a gasp as he's brought back to consciousness, and then she must close her eyes and pretend to be sleeping as he rolls onto his back.

In District 1, it's more her nightmare than his, as she was the one who shot Marvel with an arrow and the one who cut down the nest of tracker jackers that killed Glimmer. Glimmer was an only child, she discovers, and her parents are left without legacy – and Marvel, she learns, has two older brothers, one who won the Games himself, and they tower over her with rippling muscles and stony glares. She's glad, that day, for her love story with Cato, because he never strays from her side and only lets go of her hand to sign an autograph or two. At least Cato has a lot to lose by killing her. She feels oddly safe – and even oddly guarded – in his presence.

When he comes to her that night, she doesn't want to talk about it, and so they perform their duties in silence once again. She's not sore from it anymore, and though he finds satisfaction in surprising her, there is no more pain. Afterwards, he doesn't even bother to check if the door is locked – they both know it is – and instead rolls over, back to her, and pulls his earplugs from the drawer in the nightstand where he now keeps them. She has one of the worst nightmares that night – a succession of them, actually – and when she's able to break free from hell, she opens her eyes to Cato on his back, watching her silently. His chest is bare and exposed – in her writhing and thrashing, she's stolen and twisted all the sheets. Sweats of terror cause stray strands of hair to mat against her forehead, and she lays there panting, eyes wide and full of fear, humiliated that he's witnessed it all. She is the one to turn her back on him this time, though she shakes uncontrollably not from the cold, but with the idea that he can sneak up on her at any time.

The train back to District 12 takes two days, and cooped up on that train without the immediate fear of facing the families of the ones they've killed, both grow restless and seemingly annoyed with one another. When they're locked in the room again, they growl and bite, releasing their energy unto each other. He takes her against the wall that night, pushing her even further than oblivion, and with his hands gripping her thighs and suspending her against the hard wall, the only thing to muffle her screams is his own lips.

And still, tests the next day with Effie by her side confirm she is not yet carrying a child.

---

What crafty, cunning torture, to dangle last words from her beloved sister in a Cornucopia of death. Through the bushes, she spies the parcel with her district number sitting in the mouth of the metal horn. All the other remaining tributes – both from 2, Foxface from 5, Thresh from 11 – are certainly not stupid enough to be lured into such an obvious trap. No doubt they are watching for her now, spears and knives at the ready.

She tiptoes out into the open.

She doesn't get very far before the red-headed tribute leaps out of the Cornucopia, grabs her parcel, and sprints across the meadow to safety. Katniss watches in amazement, wondering why she couldn't have been so clever as to hide there. But then, moving quickly through the forest after the fox-faced girl is the boy from 2, sword in hand.

His back is turned. This is her chance.

Otherwise so cautious, she takes it and runs.

---

After the increasingly lavish celebrations provided by the richer districts, Katniss is almost embarrassed by the modest feast thrown by her home district during the Harvest Festival. But then she reminds herself that she has nothing to be ashamed of – why should she and Cato be celebrated for murdering twenty-two other kids? She knows District 12 is simply too poor to afford more of a television-worthy event, but she convinces herself that it's their own way of standing behind her defiance.

She could swear that Cato doesn't mind, either, that the festivities are not prolonged and drawn out. They dine at the mayor's house with Mayor Undersee himself and other important figures, and when nothing exciting happens for the cameras, the mayor toasts them and they're asked to kiss. They've certainly been playing up the romance angle until now, but never have they kissed for the cameras.

She can't dispute the logic – if, someday soon, she needs to announce that she is pregnant, they might as well all have the idea that she and Cato are head over heels in love. But somehow it seems cruel, asking them to break it to the nation at her home.

Katniss feels herself flush at the mayor's suggestion, and Cato raises his eyebrows at her. For the cameras, she gives him a shrug and a coy smile, and that's all the encouragement he needs to lean over and kiss her. He doesn't control her this time; rather, it's a gentle, intimate sort of kiss, with his hand cupping her cheek to hide her blush. She expects it to be quick and simple, but he lingers on her lips for show, and even though only the blandest foods are eaten in District 12, there is still a hint of spice on his tongue.

And then they break apart to an applauding crowd, and Katniss blushes furiously despite every fibre in her body willing her to keep calm. Cato puts an arm around her and laughs at her reaction, and she's reminded that he's a far better actor than her.

---

She escapes when she can to say hello to Madge, the warm, soft-spoken mayor's daughter who gifted her the mockingjay pin before the Games. Her bedroom is on the second floor of the house, and Katniss passes guest rooms as she strides along the hallway. A television is on in the study, and with no one around, Katniss sticks her head in to turn it off.

UPDATE ON DISTRICT 8, the screen reads. She frowns as she approaches, wondering what kind of television program this could be. All of a sudden, the screen flashes to a scene of a crowd – a mob, really – screaming and shouting and throwing bricks and setting things on fire.

Her eyes widen on instinct. Could this be real? District 8 – she remembers visiting it just weeks ago, and the ashen, unsatisfied faces of its citizens haunt her now. Is this an uprising? Has it begun?

There's a shuffling down the hall. Madge. Quick as lightning, Katniss turns off the television and scampers out of the room, her heart racing.

---

Her mother and Prim are permitted to visit her, and she gives them a tour of the train and delights in their amazement. Prim is especially thrilled with the giant television in the center of the lounge car, and because he's sitting there already, Cato shows her how to use the remote to flip the channels and to see into other compartments of the train and the world outside. He's polite with her mother, though neither of them pry into the other's thoughts or motives, because there is a general understanding amongst them that none of this is real. Her mother doesn't know that Snow came to visit her before the Victory Tour, that she's forced to have Cato's child, and that she wakes every night in a cold sweat, but she has enough sense to garner that there is cool distance between her daughter and Cato – that, given the choice, they would never speak to each other, never acknowledge that the other one exists.

Drunk as a skunk, Haymitch bids them goodbye and promises he'll take good care of Katniss as he sloshes around the contents of a bottle of whiskey. Cato is the first to apologize for Katniss' mentor, even before Katniss herself can do so, and she catches him sneering at Haymitch as they leave the compartment. He escorts them to the door of the train, shakes her mother's hand and tugs playfully on Prim's braid, saying it was nice to meet them. He leaves Katniss alone to say her own goodbyes, which she does quickly to avoid sentimentalities. Even if the Victory Tour is almost over, the thought of being away from Prim and under the watchful eyes of Snow is enough to choke her up.

Cato is still in the same spot she left him when she re-enters the train, and she wonders if he was watching her exchange with her family from the window. She doesn't particularly care – not really, until he asks, "Where's your dad?"

She freezes. It might be the first question he's ever asked her about her personal life, and she shouldn't have to answer it, especially not since he's so unwilling to tell her anything about himself.

Not that she asks.

Still, she looks him in the eye and answers blankly, "He's dead."

She assumed he knew, though she's not sure why. How could he know? He must know scarcely more about her than she does of him, and that's almost nothing. It's strange, she thinks, that from watching them on television and seeing the interviews of their families when they were in the Games, all of Panem probably knows more details about their personal lives than they do of each other's. Unless he's re-watched the Games on his own. She hasn't. She never will.

"Oh," he says, unapologetic but gentle. "How?"

She gulps. "A mine explosion." Not knowing why, she feels compelled to add, "When I was twelve."

"Oh," he says again. It would be awkward if it was anyone else, but Cato is nothing if not sure of himself. "Your mom took care of you two?"

Annoyance boils in her chest. He has no idea the hardships she's been through. No idea what her life has been like. She could never explain it to him, either, because no one who grew up with two parents and a full belly in 2 would ever understand.

"Actually, I did," she replies. "My mother lost her way for a while."

She's still lost, Katniss thinks to herself.

"How did you do it?"

"I hunted."

"Ah," he says, and his lips curve into a half-smile. "Of course. Illegal, isn't it?"

With narrowed eyes, she replies curtly, "You do what you need to survive."

He nods slowly, his magnetic eyes never wavering from hers. With thoughtful quietness, he says, "I know you do… Fire Girl."

And then there's nothing left to do but stare at each other, make sense of one another, and hang in a fragile balance between contempt and uneasy tolerance.

He's the first to break their stare, looking to the window again. Unsurprised, he points outside and remarks, "You have another visitor."

A visitor? Who would be visiting now, as the train's engines are beginning to spit?

As soon as she looks out the window, she sees Gale racing toward the train, sooty from the mines just as he was before. He hops the platform and she races to the door to meet him.

"It'll just be a second," she says, as if she owes any sort of explanation to Cato. Unperturbed, he nods and turns on his feet to leave the car.

She slips silently out, closing the door behind her and sticking out her arm to inform Gale, yards away, that she is here. He'd been frantically searching the windows of the train about four compartments down, and sighs with relief at the sight of her before jogging over.

"You didn't have to come," she says as he approaches.

"I wanted to," he replies breathlessly. "I had to see you."

He's close – too close – and, looking down at her with a smudge of dirt across his cheek, he cups her elbows in his hands.

"Why?" asks Katniss, craning her neck to meet his gaze. Cato is tall, but Gale must have at least two inches on him.

"Because," he says, frowning, "I had to know if it's true."

"What?"

"You and him, that… monster from 2. The hand-holding, the kisses on the cheek… that's not you, Catnip."

It kills her to know that he's been following the Victory Tour on television; that he's seen her acting with Cato and wondered how it could be.

The engines get louder, and she grips his forearms, saying, "I can't explain it all right now."

"I just need to know if it's real."

At a loss for words, she shakes her head. "I can't… there's too much; it's not as simple as that."

She tries to let him go, but he has a firm grip on her. "Katniss," he says, and she knows he intends her to take him seriously by his use of her real name, "are you okay?"

Taken aback by his question, her smoky eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head again, furiously squeezing her eyes shut in an effort to contain herself.

"You're just doing this for them," he says over the noise of the train as it revs up. "When you come home, you're done. And I'll be waiting for you."

I won't be done! she wants to scream. It will never be over!

He leans down to kiss her then, but she sees it coming and turns her head, pushing him away. She can't – not again, not when she must belong to someone else. She can't hurt Gale – or herself – this way.

But rejection hurts him, too, and she feels dreadful as he releases his grip on her elbows and takes a step back.

"You still wish he was dead," Gale says, and she can barely hear him now over the train. "I know you. I see it every time you look at him. And whatever you're still doing here… you don't have to. We can fight it, Catnip."

I'm here for you, she calls out in her mind.

But there's no fight left in her. Pushing him away took all the strength she had in reserve.

With a shake of her head and a sob that bursts from her before she can suppress it, she boards the train without another glance. Covering her mouth with her hand, she watches him from the window as the train speeds away, running a hand through his hair and hanging his head.

She wipes furiously at her eyes while she stalks through the cars, ignoring a concerned Effie, a drunken Haymitch, and especially a straight-faced Cato. She shuts herself in her bedroom and spends the next several minutes breathing in and out as she stares out the window, willing herself to calm down. It wasn't fair of Gale to see her off. It wasn't fair for him to say those things. And it isn't fair that she'll never get to know what it's like to be with him; that he'll hate her when she comes home with her announcement of pregnancy.

There's a muffled argument taking place outside of her room, and from the sounds of it, it's an insistent Brutus, a furious Cato and a man-in-the-middle, Effie Trinket. She can't make out their exact words as she watches the world fly by, but she gathers that Brutus is trying to coax Cato, who would rather be anywhere else in the world, inside her room, and Effie is mediating while doing some coaxing of her own. They're all under strict orders from the Capitol to produce a baby from her, it seems, and she burns with anger and humiliation.

Cato is indignant too, and she hopes he's won when their voices fade to another compartment. She cries only for a minute or two, and then she commands herself to stop, changing into pajamas and brushing her teeth. She soaks a cloth in warm water, wrings it out and holds it to her face, breathing in and out to calm herself with the soothing heat.

When she exits the bathroom, Cato is there – he must have snuck in when she had the tap running. He sits on the narrow loveseat along the wall facing the bed, bent over with his elbows on his knees. He doesn't look up as she emerges, doesn't even give her a passing glance as she steps around him. She thought he'd won; she'd have a night alone. How foolish of her to be so naive. She feels the tears returning and wishes she had spent just one more minute with that warm cloth pressed to her face.

Eyes fixated on her knees, she waits for him sitting next to the nightstand, her hands on either side of her gripping the edge of the bed. It's difficult to decide whether or not she regrets pushing Gale away minutes ago. On one hand, it would make everything so much harder, so much more unbearable. On the other, she'd have a lover's kiss to dream about instead of Cato's roughness. She can't even remember what Gale tastes like anymore or what his hands felt like on her skin – their kiss was so long ago. If he were to kiss her again, she imagines it would feel like the kiss she shared with Cato at the feast earlier that day. Tender and warm.

Cato stands and makes his way across the room. She tenses involuntarily, her eyes trained elsewhere, for if she looks into those cold blue eyes – so different from Gale's hazy grey – she knows she'll fall to pieces.

He stops in front of her, and she feels her heart speed up as he leans over.

"Cato…" she trails off, not sure what she means to say.

"I know," he says, his voice deep and thick. Confused, she lifts her head and meets eyes that are icy, but not entirely unkind. He leans across her and opens the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out his earplugs. He holds them out as if to prove that's all he meant to retrieve.

"Know what?" asks Katniss, her voice uneven.

He stands straight. "I wouldn't have come, but they made me." Holding out his earplugs to her as if to prove that's all he meant to retrieve, he takes a step back. "I'll take the couch."

She watches him retreat, pulling an extra blanket from the closet for himself. Fully dressed, he sits on the loveseat again, which must be just over half his length. It will be an uncomfortable night for him, and she almost offers to share the bed. Almost.

Katniss turns out the light and crawls to the corner of the bed – even though it's hers, she's accustomed to sharing it with Cato, and to her, there will always be a boundary line down the middle. From across the room, she can't hear his breathing, so she'll have no way of knowing when he's fast asleep. It's actually more disconcerting to have him so far away. She likes him where she can see him and know exactly what he's doing. In their current positions, he has a clear view of her, but she sees nothing of him.

Maybe he likes it that way.

Or maybe, forgetting his better judgment, he's simply showing compassion.

---

She's not surprised that Clove from 2 was waiting for her. She's not even surprised that the girl is vindictive, planning to take her time in killing her to ensure it's slow and painful – a show for the folks in the Capitol.

What does surprise her is Thresh who saves her, cracking Clove's skull and saying, "Just this once, 12. For Rue."

And then he runs off with his pack and she is left there with the nearly-lifeless Clove, whose parcel still sits untouched in the Cornucopia.

As she flees, she hears the boy from 2. His cry of anguish resonates in the arena as he realizes he arrived too late. Clove can't be saved.

From high above nature's floor in a treetop, she watches him mourn his district partner as her life slowly slips away, and when she's gone, he shuts her eyes with his fingers and screams with rage. With wide, fearful eyes, she watches him tear up the parcel meant for District 2, throwing it into the Cornucopia in defiance.

Maybe he's psychotic, she thinks, or maybe he's strong enough to choose not to be mocked and tortured by the ones he may never see again.

All she knows, as she sits in the tree and carefully opens her parcel, is that everyone – except, perhaps, the vicious one from 2 – has someone to go home to.

---

The train will arrive in District 2 in the middle of the second night. Katniss is finished feeling sorry for herself by then and opens the door for Cato on his second round of knocking. It's she who is the rough, eager one this time, pushing him around and taking control – and what's surprising is that he lets her. Perhaps he, just as well as she, knows that they only have a few more nights. And neither of them wants to think of what might happen if they cannot produce a child.

She rolls off him and they both struggle to catch their breath.

"I'm not taking the couch again," he says between pants. "It's hard as fuck."

"Fine," she replies airily, used to his curses by now.

They both settle in to their separate corners of the bed, with that boundary line thicker than ever. He retrieves his earplugs from the nightstand and looks over his shoulder at her as she slips on her pajama top.

"Fire Girl…" he trails off, and she sees he's struggling to decide whether to roll toward her or to keep his back turned.

"What?" she prompts him.

He opens his mouth and then closes it, thinking better of it. "Nothing," he mutters.

Then he inserts his earplugs and keeps his back to her once and for all, and she is left wondering what he might have said.

His nightmare is what wakes her that night, and even though he jolts in his sleep and kicks violently, she's too afraid to wake him – too afraid to have to be the one to tell him he was dreaming, that the girl he called for – Caia – might just be gone forever.

---

Katniss is with Cinna and her prep team in the morning, and they dress her in something pretty and doll up her face. It scares her that she's used to makeup now; she no longer looks foreign to herself in the mirror. If anything, it just makes her own natural features more visible, especially her grey eyes.

"Are you nervous?" Cinna asks her once they're alone. He pins the gold mockingjay token just above her breast as he never forgets to do. She never forgets, either – without it, she feels unlike herself in the sometimes outlandish outfits.

Katniss shrugs. She's now done the same old thing in eleven other districts. The only thing she's nervous about these days is a barren womb.

"You're braver than him, then," Cinna remarks, and Katniss has a hunch he's speaking of Cato. With a wink, he adds, "But I already knew that."

"What do you mean?"

"Nerissa told me he was nervous going into your district," Cinna answers. "Thought everyone would boo him because he's the one who stole your full victory from you. And he felt a lot of guilt having to meet your family, too, after… well, you know."

With a slight frown, Katniss realizes that Cinna might have a wealth of information on Cato simply passed through the grapevine by Cato's stylist. He's never told her anything before now; certainly not about the victor's fears or feelings.

And she forgot. She forgot, until now, that District 2 isn't just another district – it's Cato's home.

"Well, now I'm nervous," she mutters.

Cinna chuckles, straightening her outfit and staring down at her with a smile. "No need to be, Katniss. You look radiant."

He must have done a particularly good job with her today, for Effie compliments her as soon as she emerges in the lounge car and Haymitch gives her an approving nod. Even Brutus gives her a number of double-takes and, feeling self-conscious, she decides to take her breakfast to another car.

Cato seems to have the same idea, except he's not eating – he's merely staring out the window at the city before him in the calm of the morning. He looks over at Katniss as she enters, unabashedly letting his eyes travel from her forehead to her toes and then back again. She blushes, but tries to ignore him – and after he's had his fill of her with his eyes, he looks away.

She considers moving to another car to eat her breakfast, but it's too much effort, and Cato would know she's doing it because she's uncomfortable in his presence. She decides that he's not entitled to that satisfaction, so she stays.

Halfway through what's on her plate, Cato turns, leaning against the windowsill and folding his arms across his chest. With her mouth full, she looks up, slowing her chewing.

"Hey," Cato says.

Normally they don't bother with greetings, so she raises an eyebrow and replies with a cautious, "Hey."

"I figure there are some things I should tell you," he says, "before we go out there today."

She swallows. "Okay."

She sits on the edge of her seat, because frankly, she's intrigued by Cato – what used to be an irrationally angry boy has turned into a calm, complacent, reserved man with anger management issues as a side. She knows nothing of his past and, after he shared her bed so many nights, she's dying to learn anything about him, no matter how small – but too proud to ask.

"First is that I didn't tell anybody back home about… this," he says, gesturing to the space between them.

"Neither did I."

"I know," he replies. "And since I didn't mention anything to your mother or sister – or that cousin of yours – I'm feeling that you owe me the same."

She frowns at this. Does he really think so little of her that he'd assume she'd blab such a thing to his family? This is her secret, too, and if he goes down, she goes with him. With that said, she dislikes that he is hanging otherwise invisible debts over her head. The idea of accepting favours – and paying them back – is something she dodges with intention.

"I don't owe you anything," she says stubbornly.

His eyes darken. "I really don't think that's true. Because where would you be if I didn't go along with all of this?"

"Where would you be?" she retorts. "What are you defending?"

His lips are a thin line and he flares his nostrils as he struggles to keep his cool. She's tested his patience again, and he could fly off the handle – but if he does, she has something to hold against him.

He knows that. He knows, in this moment, that he can't let his emotions get the best of him; he must react rationally to receive the best response from her.

"That's the other thing," he says. "There's a reason I agreed to this… this thing with you. There's someone I have to look out for. She needs me. And I can't let her…"

He trails off, unable to find the words. Before he gets the chance to finish, Effie bursts into the compartment and swings into action, followed closely by Brutus and Haymitch.

"Up, up, up!" she cries to Katniss, who still hasn't finished her breakfast. "We must get going; there's a big, big, big day ahead!"

As he's shuffled out of the train by a frantic Effie, Cato looks over his shoulder at Katniss, his expression dark but readable – we're not finished yet, read his eyes.

She follows him out by Haymitch's side and squints in the bright sunlight. It will be interesting, she muses, to meet the girl who possesses Cato's heart. He's so cold and unaffectionate, so competitive and sadistic. The girl who loves him must be exactly the same or exactly the opposite.

And suddenly, Katniss fears acting in love, because it's not just Gale she's hurting. It's Cato's girl, too: Caia, she suspects, from the name he called out in his sleep.

She squeezes her eyes shut in the light of day, praying that they will not be asked to kiss again.

---

District 2 is small in area but large in population. When she comments on its wealth, Brutus assures her there are slum areas, but all she's seen are large, well-maintained houses with decent lots lined evenly along paved streets. People are different here than in District 12; she knows that from the start. They walk with an air of surety, talk like they have nothing to be afraid of. Still, she notices that when peacekeepers step into view, everyone suddenly goes silent and immerses themselves in their own business.

"They train them here," Effie says matter-of-factly as if she's conducting a tour. "Peacekeepers, that is. They're sent here from the Capitol and then onto the districts."

Katniss didn't know that before, but now that Effie mentions it, there appear to be a great number of peacekeepers milling around – much more than in the other districts, even given their high-security Victory Tour.

They meet in the District Circle and are introduced to the crowd. They give their pre-written speeches and wave. The crowd cheers wildly, especially for Cato. He smiles for them, but up close, Katniss sees that the lines of his jaw are tense. She wonders why – this is what he fought for, presumably. To bring pride to his district. And now that they are proud, he's reluctant to accept it.

There's a day planned for them: a parade through the District Circle, a strings, woodwind and brass concert in a shaded park, a re-enactment of the 74th Annual Hunger Games by a classroom of ten-year-olds in a school – this is particularly difficult for Katniss to watch – an hour for autographs and pictures, and then a feast. It's a long day, and Cato doesn't seem thrilled by it, either, for it means they must find new and original ways to display their love for one another all day long. It helps that the district eats their romance right up. The mood here is lighter than the other districts. She senses that, even though the population is under strict control, they reap such benefits from their wealth and such close proximity to the Capitol that they are almost like them, in a way.

And it makes sense, looking at characters such as Cato and Brutus. Two men eager to play the Hunger Games, because they are not about death or vengeance or tyranny, but glory and honour and celebrity.

She learns only minutes prior to their entrance to the feast that Cato's family will be sharing the head table with them. The camera crew thinks it will be an excellent opportunity for Panem to see her bonding with his family.

"Did you know about this?" Katniss hisses to Haymitch. He shrugs. Furious, she adds, "Someone could have told me!"

"What does it matter?"

"I don't know what to expect!"

"Sweetheart, they're not going to eat you," her mentor replies in a condescending tone. She rolls her eyes.

"Out we go!" Effie announces, shooing them all through the door of the banquet hall. A voice over a loudspeaker announces their entry, and in all the hustle and bustle, Cato materializes beside her and grabs a hold of her hand.

"I didn't know—"

"Neither did I," he interrupts her, staring straight ahead as they walk into the crowd. Before they emerge in the bright lights, he adds, "It'll be fine."

She's not sure if he's comforting her or himself, but either way, she latches onto those words and mutters them to herself as they walk out hand-in-hand.

Her eyes are on the head table long before they reach it. With all cameras on them, they stop and wave again to the guests before the triumphant music ceases and the familial introductions.

"This is my mom," he says, releasing Katniss' hand so she can hold it out to shake – but Cato's mother, a slim, tall woman, pulls her in for a hug. She has light hair and light eyes, just like Cato, and while their facial features are quite similar, Katniss sees much more friendliness in the woman than in her son.

"My dad," Cato continues, gesturing to a balding man. His hair is a darker blond, almost brown, and what he lacks in hair on his head is certainly growing in a beard along his jaw and chin. His eyes are sunken in and his suit and tie barely conceal his bulging belly. Though his eyes are a dark brown and his features less defined than his son's, Katniss sees where Cato gets his seriousness. Their brows furrow in almost exactly the same way.

"And this," he says, leaving her side to walk around the table and put his hand on the shoulder of a young girl, "is my sister."

A younger sister. Katniss conceals her surprise as she watches Cato lean down to hug the blonde-haired girl around her shoulders – she might be fourteen, or fifteen at most, just barely older than Prim.

All this time, she never pictured him with a sister.

Katniss approaches the girl, smiling in genuine as she holds out her hand. "Nice to meet you," she says. "I'm Katniss."

The girl returns the smile and the handshake, replying, "I'm Caia."

She raises her eyebrows. Caia. It clicks. The girl Cato protects… it's his sister.

But protects from what?

It's then that Haymitch and Effie, Raynor and Brutus make their rounds of introduction, and Caia pulls herself away from the table in order to properly shake their hands.

Katniss meets Cato's eyes. He's watching her expectantly, seeing how she'll react to this.

Caia is in a wheelchair.

---

Something tells her Haymitch knew about this, for he displays no shock whatsoever in meeting the members of Cato's family and must have watched his family's interviews during the Games. She stares daggers at him at random intervals throughout the feast, hoping that he'll at least show a sliver of remorse. She's not so successful.

Effie eagerly engages anyone she can in conversation, taking a particular liking to Cato's mother, June, who is almost as upbeat as Effie herself. Whatever her family lacks in lust for life, June seems to be compensating for. After studying her for a while, Katniss wonders if her happiness is real. Behind her light eyes and bright smile, there seems to be a sagging weight. A darkness within her that she's suppressing.

Caia is fairly friendly, and Katniss takes a liking to her as soon as she asks in earnest if Effie Trinket is hopped up on stimulants and Brutus on steroids. Cato is just as amused and stuffs a forkful in his mouth to hide his smile. Caia has interesting questions to ask, like what the ocean looks like in District 4 and if District 10, the livestock district, reeks of manure. She hasn't been asked those kinds of questions before, and Katniss feels relief that Caia is so easy to talk to.

Preferring to monitor his family's conversations, Cato remains silent for most of the meal, only chiming in when directly asked a question. He laughs when a joke is told and nods when someone tells a story, but Katniss notices that for the most part, his expression is void of emotion. She expects him to be watching her intently, afraid she'll spill the beans of their secret deal with Snow, but instead she finds that he's more interested in keeping an eye on his father.

Rufus Embry is an outspoken man with a large opinion – one that, luckily for his family, seems to coincide with the views of the Capitol. He holds out his glass for refills whenever a server passes, and by the time dessert is delivered, Katniss reckons he's drunker than Haymitch. The more he drinks, the more he spews his opinion, and the more rigid Cato grows beside her. Caia, too, seems to lose her friendly nature and retreats into herself, becoming more sullen as the evening wears on.

She thinks Cato will just grit his teeth and bear it until the adults get on the subject of the Hunger Games. Their Hunger Games, to be exact. They discuss some of the fallen tributes – their favourite deaths, for of course Brutus and Rufus would have them – and then, with a moustache wet with whiskey, Rufus points drunkenly to Katniss and blurts out, "That starved little Seam girl had him beat. Could've killed him if they hadn't stopped her." His glossed eyes shift to Cato, and he adds, "There's nothing worse than coming in second when victory could have been yours. What is she, eighty pounds soaking wet?"

She freezes, terrified of Cato's reaction. Instead of bursting with rage, he finishes chewing and glares at his father through hooded eyes. Even Effie Trinket knows to keep her mouth shut, but for some reason, Cato's mother keeps smiling, as if that's all the encouragement anyone needs to simmer down.

"I didn't expect the mutts," Cato mutters.

"And that's why you would have died in there," Rufus points out, finishing the dregs of his glass. "Prepare for the worst. Your arrogance got the best of you, and you'd be six feet under if it weren't for some spineless twist of fate."

Katniss flinches at his crassness. How can he say such a thing to his son? Next to Rufus, she begins to wonder if she prefers her mother's shallow indifference to her upbringing.

She looks to Cato. He refuses to meet her gaze, his jaw line hard and the veins in his forearms protruding. If it weren't for the cameras, he would have his hands around his father's neck.

That, or another hole in the wall.

---

Katniss nearly weeps with relief when the day is over. Outside the banquet hall, she bids goodbye to the Embrys, giving Cato's mother another hug, a smile and a thank-you to Caia, and a handshake to the drunken Rufus.

"Do yourself a favour," he spits through his strawlike beard, "find yourself a man who can defend himself. A true victor. You don't want to have to look after him."

She can almost feel Cato's icy glare searing through her skull and into his father's chest. But she is sick of this beefy man with his spewing Capitolistic opinions, and despite her better judgment, she replies haughtily, "Thank you, but I'm satisfied with my own choices."

"I don't care how you won," Caia says to Cato as Katniss walks away, leaving him to say his own goodbyes. "All I care about is that you came home."

Rufus' deep voice mutters another low blow to which Cato does not respond. Katniss feels herself shaking with anger. Horrible man. Disgusting lowlife with the nerve to call her a weak little Seam girl. Given up the respect of his son to be consumed by the drink.

Suddenly, it dawns on her why Cato has such a passionate hatred for Haymitch. Haymitch may not be so vocal or Capitol-friendly, but he is uncouth and incontrollable and absolutely drunk most of the time. She knows now why he refuses wine at every event; why he ignores Brutus when he breaks into the liquor cabinet on the train.

He doesn't want to be like his father. He wants to be someone better. For Caia, probably.

It disturbs her to her core, knowing that they are from two different worlds, but they are not so unlike one another after all.

---

She's just brushed her teeth and is about to change into her pajamas when there's a knock on her door. It startles her – she didn't expect he'd visit her tonight, not even under all the pressure in the world. She assumed he'd want to be alone with his thoughts, just as she'd wanted after visiting her home district.

"Come in."

He does, stepping inside without a word and closing the door behind him. He tests it – it's already locked from the outside.

Her breath catches in her throat at his appearance. Normally, he doesn't bother to change out of the day's outfit, but tonight, he wears a pair of loose pants with a drawstring at the waist and no shirt. She can't help but admire the sculpted muscles on his abdomen and the broadness of his chest, even if she also imagines how easily he could crush her. His hair is flat against his head and un-styled, and the tips are wet. He probably just came out of the shower.

A million questions wrack her brain, but she can't find the words to utter any of them.

Cato steps into the center of the room, only a few feet from her, stoic and guarded.

"You know what Snow said to me, when he got me to agree to this?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

With a derisive chuckle, he answers, "Reel her in. Tame her."

Tame. She's heard that word before – Snow asked her to do the same to Cato, and from the look in his eyes, he knows it. Tame each other, like they're both animals entering a zoo.

Her stubbornness wins over, and she says defiantly, "I don't need to be tamed."

"Neither do I," he says gruffly. "We're the wild ones, you and me. They wanted us to break each other. I think they should be afraid of what they've done."

His words send shivers up her spine, and as he closes the gap between them and stares down at her, it's all she can do to lose herself in his never-ending blue eyes. He brings up a hand and cups it behind her neck.

"I didn't mean to say that to your father," she blurts out. "I wasn't thinking. It just upset me, the way he—"

Cato shakes his head as she speaks, finally silencing her by capturing her lips in a deep kiss. She shuts her eyes and gives in to the heat that almost instantly populates below her navel. When his free hand reaches around and fiddles with the zipper of her dress, she grabs a hold of his wrist near her neck.

"We don't have to," she says, breathless.

The tips of their noses mere centimetres apart, he replies in a low voice, "You know we do."

He kisses her again, successfully undoing the zip on her dress. While she shrugs out of it, she says, "Caia."

He pauses, clearly not expecting her to bring up his sister at a time like this.

But Katniss has to know. "She's the one you're looking out for."

He nods, pulling her closer to reattach their lips.

"What does she need?" Katniss asks as he looks over her shoulder to unclasp her bra. "What would he do to her?"

Cato ignores her, sliding the straps over her shoulders and letting the item of clothing fall to the ground.

Dodging another kiss, she demands, "How did he threaten you?"

"Stop!" Cato cries, holding her upper arms firmly in his grasp.

"He threatened my sister, too," she says quietly.

Annoyed, he shakes his head. "Just shut up. Stop it. No more words."

"But—"

"Katniss," he interrupts her, staring unwaveringly into her eyes.

She hardens her gaze, ready to challenge him – but something stops her. The desperation in his face, maybe. The emotion that's gathered just underneath his rough exterior.

"Okay," she finally surrenders.

He breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay," he repeats.

When he kisses her again, she doesn't back away. She moans when his hands cup the small mounds on her chest and lets him lead her to the bed. He's gentle but insistent, and she allows him control not because Snow told her to, but because he needs it – needs to know he still has a hold over something. And when she hands over the reins so willingly, she finds with surprise that he wields power without dictatorship, encouraging her to move with him and pushing her over an edge she never even knew was there.

Disoriented butterflies are still twirling in her belly even after they've broken apart and she's caught her breath. Cato lays on his back beside her, unmoving. At first, she thinks he's fallen asleep, but his earplugs remain in the drawer and she knows well enough that he won't so much as doze without them.

He seems to sense that she is awake, too, for after a long period of silence, his voice cracks, "He said if I didn't do this, he'd send her into the Games."

Katniss snaps to attention, turning her head toward him on the pillow. "Caia?"

He nods.

"But she—"

"I know," he interrupts her, and not for the first time, she wonders how he knew what she was about to say. "She'd last all of two seconds. Kid in a wheelchair? Sentenced to death and never even given a chance."

Handicapped kids had been reaped before, but their disabilities were much less severe than Caia's – they could walk, that is, whether they be hindered by an arm or a club foot. Even the Capitol wouldn't support a wheelchair-ridden child in the Games – it would ruin the challenge for the other tributes, being too easy to kill and so very anticlimactic. The Games is as much an entertainment show as it is punishment.

"How did it happen?" Katniss asks.

Cato sighs. "She followed me everywhere when we were younger. She's like me – always needs to impress. One day I was at the swimming hole with some friends and she showed up with some of hers. They were only eight or nine. She tried to show off by diving in… hit her head on a rock at the bottom. That's all it took. Paraplegic."

Katniss lets it sink in, imagining a younger Cato laughing at the girls with his buddies only to watch his little sister float lifelessly to the surface on her stomach. She shudders, picturing the smile vanishing from his face.

"There must be something they can do…" she reasons.

"For a price," he adds venomously. "She was in the hospital for weeks. They literally had to bring her back to life. And afterwards, with the wheelchair and the physiotherapy and the home care, it was either spend what was left until we had nothing or use it to send me into training."

She watches him intently though he refuses to meet her gaze. His muscles clench and he gulps, continuing, "It was only supposed to be me who won the Games. If it was just me, they would have let me go home and use the money on her surgery. And if they couldn't fix her, they could replace what was broken. Artificial legs, whatever, so she could walk again. Because when she can walk, she can run. And if she can run, she can run away."

Katniss frowns.

"Your problem is that they'll kill everyone you love," Cato says in conclusion. "Mine is that they'll keep my family together forever."

She wets her lips, noting the way his blond hair curls around his ears and at the nape of his neck when untouched by gels or other styling products.

"Would that be so bad?"

He rolls his eyes, letting his head loll on its side so he can give her a pointed stare. "Nobody asked me if I wanted to be in the Games, Fire Girl," he says, his voice reclaiming its usual superior edge. "My dad just told me that's what I'd have to do. And while I was in training twelve hours a day, six days a week, they either went without dinner or he went without drink. You can guess who got the brunt of the blame for diving into that damn river. Haymitch is a drunk, too, but at least he only hurts himself."

Katniss pauses, bringing the sheets up to her chin as she considers this. "Did it… does he hit her?"

She tries to imagine Prim getting smacked around by her mother, but she can't. Her mother is too gentle, and even when she was far removed from reality, she still loved her daughters.

He grinds his teeth, looking away. "I got almost everything from my mom," he says, "but what I inherited from my dad? Strength. Anger. Violence."

That says it all.

When he glances at her again, he scowls. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" She stares at the mattress then, as if it proves she's not interested.

"Like that," he spits. "I don't need that from you. I'm not here for therapy. I'm here because I have to be."

With a frustrated sigh, she retorts, "So am I."

"Fine," he concludes. He tries, but he can't smother the annoyance in his voice as he adds before rolling over, "And thank you – for keeping your mouth shut today like I asked."

With his back to her, he can't see her rolling her eyes. In a small voice, she answers, "I wouldn't have said anything anyway."

There's a pause. Reluctantly, he admits, "I know."

Those are the last words they exchange, and she falls asleep with his taste on her lips. That night, she dreams of an alternate ending to the Games – one where Cato falls to the mutts and she is left screaming for him atop the Cornucopia, and when she visits District 2 on the Victory Tour, Caia stares up at her from her wheelchair, tears streaking down her battered and bruised face, her legs crippled for life and chaining her in place.

She wakes with a jolt, and as her eyes fly open, she sees him startle as well. He sucks in a sharp breath and, as her heart rate slows, she monitors his breathing – shallow and uneven. He's awake, just as she is.

But he does not roll over, and she does not make a sound.

---

The Capitol is just as upside-down as she remembers – perhaps even more so, now that she isn't concerned about being thrown into an arena for slaughter. Then again, the last time she was in the Capitol, she never imagined she would have another victor by her side, an impending uprising on her shoulders and a baby to conceive.

This is their last chance. Not only for the baby, but to convince the districts that they are madly in love, that it was the Games that brought them together, that the Capitol is truly merciful and good for allowing them both to live.

Back in the Training Center, while Cinna makes alterations to her gown and her prep team flutters around her, she stares at herself in the mirror. Her stomach, in particular. It's flat and narrow. What will it look like curvy and swollen? She imagines a watermelon sitting there and balks at the thought. Once it's out, it will be even worse.

When her prep team is done and Cinna leaves to finish the final touches, she joins the mentors, escorts, and Cato in the lounge, although she seems to have missed an important discussion. Haymitch looks annoyed, Brutus is exasperated, Cato is furious beyond belief, and Effie is beside herself with joy. A conversation to have this kind of widespread and dramatic effect is not something Katniss should have missed.

As soon as she sits down, Cato flies up from his chair and sends it crashing to the ground before stalking away. She jumps at the loud noise, bewildered.

"What happened?" she asks.

"It's a big, big, big—" Effie begins, but Haymitch holds up his hand to silence her.

"He needs to be alone, sweetheart," he says. "Now that you're here, we can discuss how you're going to present yourself for the interview with Caesar this evening."

Katniss nods distractedly, glancing in Cato's direction, but he's long gone, vanished into a bedroom to release his rage into a pillow, or maybe another wall. She snickers at the thought of Effie's overblown reaction if he were to destroy a piece of furniture or designer decoration.

The rest of the day is spent with Haymitch. He attempts to coach her into upping her likeability factor but finally gives up, instructing her just to do whatever she did last time she was onstage, except try not to stir up a goddamn rebellion this time, sweetheart.

With those scintillating words of confidence, she isn't given a moment to rest before she's whisked away to be dressed for the interview and after-party, held in the mansion of Snow himself. Venia and Octavia style her hair in the most elaborate up-do she's ever seen, and with long, thick hair like hers, she already feels her neck weakening from the weight. Cinna dresses her in a startling blue number, and she can't help thinking it's just the colour of Cato's eyes.

Cinna and Nerissa have been collaborating, apparently, because when Cato appears, his tie is exactly the shade of her dress. He gives her a stony stare as they meet backstage, hands fiddling in his pockets. He's clearly in a rotten mood – but even with his dark demeanour, so infuriatingly handsome – and she can only hope that he'll pull it together for their last public appearance on their Victory Tour.

"Haymitch thinks it would be best if we left the mockingjay out of your ensemble for tonight," Cinna says. "Personally, I'd go for it… but I was outvoted."

With the golden pin in his hand, he curls it into his fist.

"Wear it," comes Cato's quiet voice.

Her head snaps up, unaware that he was listening. "What?"

"You should wear it," he says, pushing himself away from the wall and approaching her. "Everyone knows it's your token. It can't hurt."

Haymitch spots them from across the room and strolls over to input his two cents. "It's your last ditch effort to prove that rebellion was never on your mind."

"And we're trying like hell," Cato snaps. "She's been wearing the pin the whole time. If she doesn't wear it tonight, they'll notice. They'll think they forced her to take it off."

"Or they'll think she was never wearing it as a symbol," Haymitch argues.

Katniss watches the altercation take place in front of her eyes, not realizing that her pin had had such an effect on the population. Did it really mean that much? Cato didn't seem to think so. Or if he did, he didn't care.

"After tonight, they'll have no choice but to believe what we're putting out there," Cato says to Haymitch, stuffing his hands once again into his pockets. "Who's gonna care about a stupid pin?"

Deciding to ignore the young victor, Haymitch looks pointedly at Katniss and says, "No pin."

She looks helplessly at Cinna, who rolls his golden-lined eyes at Haymitch's insistence. With a small smile, she gives his hand a squeeze before she's instructed by the production crew to prepare to take the stage.

"Sixty seconds," one announces.

They're led down a dark, narrow corridor and up a set of stairs to wait for their introduction from Caesar Flickerman. As she walks, a hand grabs her wrist and spins her around. Cato takes a step toward her and unfurls his fist to reveal the pin. When she frowns in confusion, he puts his index finger to his lips.

Baffled, she stands still so that he can secure the pin to her dress. While he focuses on the pin, she stares inquisitively into his blank expression.

"Why?" she manages to ask.

"Thirty seconds," declares one of the backstage crew.

"I want them to remember," he says, letting his hands fall back into his pockets, "that you're the Girl on Fire."

"What if it hurts us?"

"Then fuck them," he says, keeping his voice low. "If a pin can hurt us, we have no chance no matter what we do."

It's not the pin, she wants to say, it's what the pin represents. But he knows. He knows, and something has pushed him toward this. Otherwise so acquiescent, he's finally had enough.

Thirty minutes later, she discovers what has had him fiddling in his pockets; what has angered him to the point of throwing it all away. With the crowd applauding and cheering for their victory and romance, Caesar asks them what their future holds. That's when Cato gets down on one knee, and from his pocket, he produces a ring.

He asks for her hand in marriage.

The audience gasps and screams, yet there is no one more surprised than Katniss herself. Somehow, she feels she should have seen this coming – not just today, but long, long ago. She can't conceal the furious blush on her cheeks or her absolute astonishment, and she realizes almost instantly that Haymitch wanted it that way. She's a poor actor, and he wanted a genuine reaction.

She has half a mind to slap Cato across the face and publicly deny him. It would serve Haymitch right for being so despicably sneaky, and Cato for agreeing to it. But it's true: it's their last shot at peace, and they must try everything they can. His mask is sure and expectant, but underneath and up close, she sees the apprehension and desperation in his eyes.

He's not doing this to hurt her or to save himself. He's doing this for Caia.

And even though she hates him with fires she's never before known existed within her, she has to accept.

He slides the ring onto her finger and pulls her in for a glorious kiss. It's done. Settled.

She prolongs the kiss to allow herself a moment to swallow her tears, for all she can imagine is a broken Gale sitting in front of the television at home.

---

Haymitch's apologetic and grim expression does nothing to calm her fury when she finds him backstage. While the Capitol continues to cheer for the betrothed victors, imagining them holding hands and whispering sweet words to one another backstage, Katniss marches straight up to her mentor and slams him into a wall.

"How dare you!" she cries, uncaring that glitter falls from her hair onto his shirt. She grips his collar in her fist and pushes him back when he tries to gain control. "How dare you arrange this behind my back! You're supposed to be helping me, and instead you made me look like a… like a…"

"Peaceful teenager in love?" Haymitch suggests.

She's about to slam him again when someone grips her arms from behind, pulling her back. She whips around to Cato restraining her, his jaw rigid and eyes fraught with unrest.

"It was the only way," he says. "The last option. Can't you see that?"

Seething, she breathes, "You. How could you agree to this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you're a shitty actress and would have ruined it onstage," he bites back.

"I wouldn't have let it happen!" she argues.

With a smirk, he replies with satisfaction, "You really think you have a choice, princess?"

Her hand swings forward on instinct, but before it can collide with his cheek, he catches her wrist. His blue eyes have never looked so dangerous.

"I wouldn't," he says, his voice low.

She glares back at him, yanking her arm free of his grasp. "I hate you," is her venomous reply.

It's true. She absolutely hates him. Hates him for his cockiness, his coldness, his insane and terrifying anger. And she hates herself for lowering her bow when Claudius Templesmith spoke in the arena. She should have killed him in there. She could have, and she blew it. She'd be dead now, of course, with her mother and Prim and maybe even Gale, but at least it would all be over.

Katniss gathers her dress in her hands and stalks away from them, the traitors who orchestrated the total destruction of the rest of her life. This wasn't something she could take back. This wasn't just a temporary show. This was something she would have to live with forever. Herself and her mother and Prim and Gale. The mere thought of his name hurts her heart.

Her only intention is to lock herself in her room and burst into tears, but as she storms away, it's Cinna who catches up with her and, in a collected, even tone, reminds her of the Capitol ball in their honour. Hers and Cato's.

And it starts right now.

---

The ball is held in President Snow's glorious mansion, and it appears that all of the most notable names in the Capitol have been invited. A strings band plays lovely music for the mingling guests, who gather to celebrate the victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games and are eager to see them enter arm-in-arm, engaged to be married.

It's quite the unexpected turn of events, and even through the closed door to the hall, Katniss can hear the noisy and excited chatter.

She waits with Cato, whose hands are stuffed in his pockets and whose steely expression makes her want to punch the arrogance right out of his face. Haymitch and Brutus and the others have already entered, but the victors are meant to be announced. A grand entrance is in store, as always.

Katniss consoles herself with the thought that this is the last one. It's the last stop on the Victory Tour. If she gets through tonight on good behaviour, it will all be behind her.

Except for the marriage, of course. That will loom ever-so-heavily ahead of her.

When they're announced through the wooden doors, she slides her arm stiffly through Cato's and they each take a breath, readying their faux smiles and exuberance. Radiate happiness, Brutus had instructed them.

The hall is like nothing Katniss has ever seen before, and she's not acting when her eyes widen and she gazes at the room in wonder and awe. The musicians she heard from the lobby are floating on little clouds above the guests, just underneath the ceiling, which has been transformed into a night sky with thousands of dazzling stars. Islands of food – enormous platters of colourful, juicy, extravagant food – are scattered amongst the room. In the center of the floor, there is a large square of marble flooring for performers and, later, dancing. With amusement, Katniss thinks that it's the first time she's not drawn to the oddities of Capitol wardrobes. Everyone is dressed in ridiculous fashion, as usual, but she finds she's not at all interested in their style of dress. She just wants to eat.

So she does. Everything from tender duck marinated in an orange cream to strange fish from District 4 dipped in spicy sauce to fresh sweetbread glazed in icing. She's sampled barely a quarter of the available dishes when her stomach threatens to explode, and then she regrets not taking tinier portions. Though she's never at a loss for company, as there's always a new Capitol personality who seeks out her attention and demands her feigned pleasantries, she does take a moment to find Cinna and thank him for dressing her without a cinched waist and corset today. She's certain that she's expanded at least an inch or two since entering the banquet.

Food, drink and guests keep her busy and distracted for a large chunk of the evening, but since most of her conversational partners ask about her engagement and wedding, she's grudgingly unable to forget that somewhere within the banquet hall, Cato is answering the same kinds of questions.

And just when she internally remarks that she's happy they've been so swarmed that they haven't had to spend a lick of time together, he approaches her from behind and whispers that their mentors want them to dance.

I don't give a damn what they want, screams the retort on the tip of her tongue. It never does leave her lips, as she's whisked away from her group of fans with an apology and onto the dance floor. Fear seizes her instantly, for she only knows the kind of dancing prevalent in District 12, and even then she doesn't know much. Effie tried to teach her and Cato on the train a few days ago, but Cato simply walked away and Haymitch proved to be a horrible dance partner.

Now she wishes that she had paid more attention, because this music is nothing like the fiddle-crazy romps in District 12 and the partnered guests seem to glide effortlessly on the marble floor. She can move without sound in the woods on a hunt, but Katniss certainly can't glide.

With her nerves on edge, she freezes as Cato places a hand on her waist and draws her close to him.

"I can't dance," she whispers.

"It's easy," he replies with a scoff. Most times, she abhors his arrogance, but right then she wishes it was hers.

He takes her left hand in his, and as soon as she places her right hand on his shoulder, he begins to move. At first, she's uncertain, stepping twice as much as necessary and dragging her feet, but his confident movements have a calming effect on her and she settles into a rhythm, willing to give him the lead. It's just like swaying, really, and not very stimulating at all. What's more nerve-wracking to her is having her chest pressed against Cato's, his hand resting on the small of her back, his breath tickling her ear. Dancing in the Capitol is barely moving at all, which is why she's surprised to feel her heart beating as if she's just run a marathon, not at all helped by Cato intertwining their fingers.

She turns her head away from his shoulder and watches the other guests, offering them smiles when they glance her way. She's glad that Cato doesn't speak to her. It's almost dreamy, floating across the dance floor this way, and though she has a bone to pick with him, she'd rather do it later. For now, the quiet suits her.

It's tempting to rest her chin on his shoulder as they move in tandem, but his interest in her ring finger prevents her from doing so. With their hands connected, she feels him toying with the jewel on her finger.

Bringing her head away from his chest, she looks first to their hands and then to him, curious.

"If it were my idea, I would have picked out something less flashy," he muses, marvelling at the size of the diamond.

"When would it ever have been your idea?" she challenges.

He shrugs, unaffected by her cutting question. "It must weigh a ton," he continues, more to himself than to her.

"I'm strong. I'll handle it."

"Mm hmm," he hums, sounding agreeable rather than condescending.

With a sigh, she turns her head again, only to have his low voice thrumming pleasantly in her ear.

"Do you think we did it? Convinced them?"

She wishes he wouldn't talk about it now, but the room is too busy for anyone to be eavesdropping. "It seems like it in here," is her quiet reply, "but these were never the ones we had to convince."

He doesn't know about District 8, and she's not going to be the one to break it to him.

His tortured sigh is hot against her neck. At that moment, a large, bubbly man approaches and asks to cut in, promising not to run away with Cato's blushing bride.

Katniss fights the urge to roll her eyes. Cato merely laughs, releasing his grip on her and handing her over like she's a toy.

As soon as he walks away, she wishes he hadn't. She had felt safe and secure in his arms, knowing that he wouldn't allow her to embarrass herself, but with this new man whose belly is large and whose fingers are sausages, she feels that there might just be an embarrassing moment ahead. His hold on her is flimsy, and they are two separate dancers instead of one as they move clumsily on the floor. She cringes as his hand finds the small of her back, still warm from Cato's touch, for even after Cinna and the prep teams, she's not accustomed to the touch of others. She's learned to bear it with Cato, but with a stranger, it's uncomfortable and alarming.

The man is Plutarch Heavensbee, whom Katniss knows to be the new Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane was disposed of for his sentimentality during her Games. Plutarch has picked an excellent year to rise up the gamemaker ladder, for it's approaching the Quarter Quell, which only happens once every twenty-five years and features new, sickening twists to the already horrifying Games.

They make small talk for a few minutes as they dance. Normally, Katniss would wonder why someone had approached her when they didn't have anything of substance to say, but it seems to be the flavour of the evening. Everyone wants just a moment in the victor's presence, even the Head Gamemaker.

It's only when Plutarch says he must be getting to a gamemakers' meeting – at the stroke of midnight on the night of the feast – that Katniss begins to wonder his motives. With a puzzled expression, she's almost certain she sees the image of a mockingjay embedded in the face of his pocket watch. She may have imagined it, because he snaps it shut as quickly as it was opened and declares that he must be on his way.

Odd, she thinks. Without a partner, she's free to leave the dance floor, and she does so quickly before another can sweep her up.

"We're on the train at one," Haymitch tells her, and at the mention of the time, exhaustion overcomes her. "Best gather your things from the Training Center."

She's still furious with him for orchestrating her engagement behind her back, but she can't deny that those are the best words she's heard all day. With Haymitch by her side, she bids farewell to the guests as she passes, plastering a cheery smile on her face as she thanks President Snow for his generosity and support.

He nods back at her with snakelike eyes. Eyes that read not of generosity, but of cruelty. And rimmed around the cruelty is nothing but disappointment – for as of this moment, she has failed him.

---

Her belongings have mostly been packed for her, but she finishes up quickly and, with the extra time on her hands, ventures up to the roof. The last time she was there, Peeta was with her, promising with gritty determination that he wouldn't be another piece in their Games. She didn't quite understand him then. She does now, having been played as a pawn all across the board.

Peeta, she thinks, and the name is a knife twisting in her gut. She hates him for betraying her, hates him for pretending to love her, but the hatred is null next to her overwhelming gratitude. What would it be like if he had lived instead of her? Nothing, probably. Peeta would be clever enough not to inspire a revolution and would avoid the Capitol, its politics and its devious ways with ease. He was too good for that.

It's solemn up here, just as she remembers, even with the noise and excitement of the Capitol bustling below in the late hours of night. Truly alone for the first time in weeks, Katniss lets her mind wander over the events of the day, absently twirling the ring on her finger as she thinks of Peeta and Prim and the hurt, infuriated expression that's sure to be on Gale's face when she steps off of the train in her district.

It's impossible to predict how things would have turned out if it weren't for the Games. Gale still would have had to work in the mines, and Katniss would have had to take over the daily snare run and hunt for both of their families all the same. Would he have kissed her that day in the woods? Would he have even be tempted? She never really wanted to marry, not even to him – though perhaps she would have wanted to kiss him at one point. To feel his strong arms around her, holding her tight and promising her they'd make it through together.

But it doesn't matter now. It will never be.

She's transfixed by the glittering diamond and the way it reflects when spun in the light of the moon and doesn't realize she's crying until her vision blurs and a droplet falls on her wrist. She feels so helpless and so used, but what kills her is that she chose all of this. She chose it the day she volunteered for Prim, and no matter how she reasons it in her mind, she knows there was no other path for her. Even in an alternate universe, she would have volunteered to save her sister.

"Are you thinking of him?"

A deep voice cuts through her tears, and she sniffles as her head snaps up, wondering how Cato knew she was up here and why he cared to join her.

"Your cousin," he adds, as if he needs to clarify. He's removed his blazer and loosened his tie and stands just a few feet away with hands in his pockets. It's almost possible to pretend that he gives off an aura of humility.

Almost.

"What does it matter?" she asks.

He shrugs.

She can't resist adding haughtily, "You know he's not my cousin."

"Boyfriend?" he suggests.

She grits her teeth and doesn't offer a reply. He produces a tissue from his pocket and offers it to her. She grabs it from his outstretched hand and dabs her watering eyes.

"You can say it," he continues, taking a step toward her. "You don't owe me anything. I have to say I'm surprised, though – in the arena, we all thought it was Lover Boy."

She lunges at him without a second thought, but he's quick to react for the second time that day, grabbing both of her wrists in his hands and deflecting a kick.

"You keep forgetting that out of the two of us, I'm the one who spent years in training," he says in amusement.

"And you keep forgetting that I could have killed you in there," she retorts. His blue eyes darken, humour lost. "You killed him," she spits. "How will I ever know if what he said was true? How will I ever be able to pay him back or figure out how I could have felt about him?"

This seems to annoy Cato, and he releases her wrists with a light shove. "It's the Hunger Games, Katniss – what about that don't you understand? Everyone dies. Except for us."

"But you killed him."

"Like you killed Marvel and Glimmer," Cato counters, referencing his Career allies. "Like Thresh killed Clove. What's the difference?"

"You didn't love Clove." She says it with certainty, even as she recalls his crumpled, broken form mourning over Clove's dead body.

He laughs at this, a snide, derisive laugh that sends a cold shiver down her spine. "No, I didn't, Katniss," he says matter-of-factly, "because I'm not a fucking idiot. Love in the arena – how stupid can you be? What do they teach you in 12?"

"Apparently compassion," is her smooth reply.

"Says the girl who took out two kids by purposely cutting down a tracker jacker nest."

"That was self-preservation. You would have killed me."

"Yeah, I would have," he agrees without a hint of emotion, "and you would have done the same in the end, if they hadn't told you to stop."

Fuming, she whips her head around to stare over the ledge of the roof at the lights and noise below. Softly, she finishes, "But they did."

"But they did," he repeats. "And now we're bound to each other, so everything Lover Boy said and everything your 'cousin' is to you can't matter anymore. You don't find love in the arena, Fire Girl. If you live, it's with hate and resentment and anger."

If she only had her bow, she'd shoot him then and there. As it is, her gown restricts her movements. She'd kill him if it weren't for that – she hates him that much.

"They teach you that in training?" she asks him.

He narrows his eyes. "No, Katniss," he says slowly, offering a tight-lipped smile. "They conveniently left that part out."

---

Immediately after boarding the train, Katniss marches to her bedroom and shuts herself in. She spends a few minutes determining how to lock the door from the inside – as it otherwise locks from the outside, she's never had to worry about it – but she figures it out and moves the latch into place.

It's only ten minutes before he's there, knocking for her. The faucet in the bathroom is running as she brushes her teeth, so she doesn't hear the soft rapping at first. She only notices when, from the bathroom, she sees the doorknob twist. He tries it a few times and then knocks again, this time louder.

She turns off the tap and tiptoes to bed.

"Let me in, Fire Girl," he says threateningly.

She'll do no such thing. She's done it enough, and every time, they've been unsuccessful. If they're doomed to fail, then she won't spend another night with him. She stubbornly refuses to allow her body to betray her again.

His fist bangs on the door as his temper rises, and each time it connects, she's jarred.

"Katniss!" he calls. "Let me in!"

She knows what he's thinking. This is their last shot. In the morning, he'll be dropped off in District 2, and who knows when they'll see each other again. It could be months. And in months' time, her stomach is expected to be blooming with a fresh baby born of threats and lies and hatred.

Cato continues to bang on the door, demanding that she unlock it for him, and she curls into a ball and shuts her eyes, apologizing to the ones she loves for failing to do what was asked of her. It's not for lack of trying, she offers as an excuse. But our bodies weren't made for one another. We couldn't make a child together.

He gives up and leaves, but not without a cry of fury and a curse thrown in her direction. She is left alone in the darkness, to sleep on her bed however she pleases. But she still finds herself gravitating to the corner, and though she's absolutely exhausted, she imagines Cato hiding somewhere in the room and doesn't sleep a wink.

It's an odd feeling, to be so relieved while so on edge.

---

He hunts down Foxface first. Her image is projected into the sky that evening, and Katniss uses the light it gives off to reread her note from Prim for the hundredth time.

Please don't give up, it says. You're so close. I need you. Peeta would've wanted you to try.

The boy with the bread, speaking to her even beyond the grave. The burden of her debt makes her shoulders sag.

The following night, it's Thresh's face in the sky. She feels pity, for he saved her life, too. But Cato has his own score to settle, and if it weren't for Thresh, Clove might still be alive. But Thresh was stronger. Bigger. The only asset of Cato's is his pure madness.

And then there's only two. She'll be next on his hit list; the girl he intended to murder first.

She evades him all day, but when night falls – hours early, this time, as the gamemakers want this to end – the mutts rise from the ground. They charge at her, and before she can gather her wits and run, she sees Glimmer in one's eyes. The mighty Thresh in another. And in the one on her heels, Rue.

She's certain one wouldn't be able to tell from behind a television screen, and that's how she knows this cruel trick is intended just for her. To haunt her forever, however long forever takes – just a few more minutes, maybe.

She races across the meadow and climbs onto the Cornucopia, her feet slipping on the metal as the mutts growl and nip at her heels. The boy with the steel blue eyes is already there, panting wildly and asking through gasps if they can climb.

They catch their breath in silence, and from the panic in his blue irises, she knows he sees it too – he knows that these mutts are the fallen tributes. So many of them, he killed personally. How horrific it must be, for looking into the eyes of the one who is supposed to be Marvel from 1, whom she killed for Rue, induces a nauseating flip in her stomach. Is Peeta amongst these mutts? Will he rip her apart? Then will they be even?

With their breathing slowed, they lock eyes from just feet apart. A slice of understanding is exchanged. No matter who comes out, this is the end.

Cato lunges for her, the calm in his eyes replaced by rabid fury. She falls back on the Cornucopia with a painful thump. The force of the fall has spilled arrows from her quiver, so while he brandishes his sword, she reaches for an arrow. Before he can bring the weapon crashing down, she stabs him in the side.

He howls in pain, and she rolls out from under his crumpled form and gathers what she can of the arrows. It's not long before he pulls the weapon from his side and forces himself up.

She has an arrow aimed straight at his heart.

"It would have been you," she says calmly, the bow steady in her hands, "but I have my sister to go home to."

He shakes his head amidst gasps, a crazy smile on his face. "Fire Girl," he spits, contempt oozing from every breath, "you think you're the only one."

Confused, she takes a moment to pause. What does he mean, with those cryptic words?

He drops his sword, holding up his hands in surrender as he looks to the sky. "I'm sorry," he says, loud enough for them to hear.

She studies him curiously. Once, with berries in hand, those were her last words, too. To whom is he speaking? Who awaits his return back in District 2?

"Stop," Claudius Templesmith's voice booms over the loudspeaker.

Both tributes snap up their heads, looking around as if he's somewhere to be found in the arena.

"Drop your bow."

She does no such thing, but lowers it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he speaks to Panem, "I give you, the victors of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Cato Embry and Katniss Everdeen!"

The trumpets sound.

She looks to Cato. His eyes bore into hers.

And then, above them, a hovercraft materializes to take them out.

---

Katniss doesn't feel any different, at first, but back in District 12, her mother performs a series of tests on her and determines that she is, in fact, pregnant.

Even though it's what she'd been hoping for with fierce and almost insane will, the news still hits her like a blow to the gut. Frozen in fear and disbelief, she can't even blubber through half of the explanation to a baffled and furious Mrs. Everdeen before she's told to stop, just stop. The words aren't coming out right. Her jaw seems to have slackened. Her legs won't stop shaking. Her heart can't cease its rapid beat even though she's resting in place. And all of that is nothing compared to the turmoil in her brain, the roiling in her stomach. A shadow of darkness envelops her with crooked, unyielding claws.

Her mother sends her to bed with a cup of hot water and lemon, but she does not sleep for a long time. Her hand slides purposefully over the smooth skin of her stomach, and she's careful not to press down too hard. She tries to feel movement, but of course it's too early. Still, she feels different, somehow – horribly different. Like the Capitol and the Games have not only altered and damaged her present and future, but have also penetrated deep inside her to a place she thought they couldn't touch. Her body is not her own anymore. They have taken it from her.

Something lives within her now – something that is not her own. Cato lives within her now. And that piece of him will only grow. Soon, it will hear and eat and think. She imagines it ripping apart the walls of her stomach or kicking a hole right through her skin in a fit of rage.

She understands, now, what Snow was saying to her all those months ago after the Hunger Games. What he meant when he told her she would belong to Cato. It's clear, now, that the other victor owns her in a way that no one else ever will. His body has joined with hers and changed it in a deep, irreversible way.

She hates it. She hates the child. It's hers, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels foreign and cruel and invasive. She never asked for it. She never wanted it.

Her hand flies away from her stomach. Even in her dark, quiet bedroom, she has a sinking feeling that she is no longer alone, and never will she be alone again.

---

Remnants of a long-forgotten cabin by a lake are nestled deep in the woods outside of the district, unbeknownst to civilization. Katniss is certain that only she and her late father know of its existence, and she leaves a trail through the forest for Gale to find her there. If he comes at all, that is. It's her first Sunday back in the district. Her sparkling engagement ring sits far away in the top drawer of her dresser at home, never to be worn here.

Her teeth chatter even after she builds a fire. She so badly hopes that Gale still cares enough to find her, but so badly fears the moment he appears in the doorway, for she'll have to tell him everything. He'll be angry no matter what, but she clings to the hope that it will be the kind of anger that joins them together; not the kind of anger that tears them apart forever.

Because she can't lose him. No matter how selfish it is, she can't bear for him to hate her.

When he arrives, his eyes smouldering and nostrils flaring, he simply stands there, refusing to take even one more step toward her.

She can't really blame him. With a sigh, she says, "I guess there's no point in asking whether you missed my interview with Caesar last week."

He grimaces, and she wishes she'd treaded with lighter footing. "Nope," he answers curtly. "And even if I had, it's been on a twenty-four hour rerun ever since."

It's her turn to cringe. She could go through every detail to explain how it came to be, but instead, all she offers is, "He was going to kill you."

"Your fiancé?"

The word sounds so ugly and contemptuous as it slides from his lips. She's glad to say, "No. Snow."

Gale's grey eyes narrow into a frown. "Kill me? That I find hard to believe. What threat does the poorest kid from the poorest district pose to Snow?"

"None," she snaps. "It's not what you could do to him; it's what the threat can do to me. He knows how much I—" She stops herself, correcting quietly, "He knows how important you are to me. What I would do to keep you alive."

"What would you do, Katniss?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest at the challenge. A wild turkey dangles lifelessly from his belt.

"Anything," she admits, breaking their stare.

"Marry a beast?"

"And worse," she affirms, the news of her pregnancy stuck in her throat.

Gale steps into the room, keeping a cool distance from her. "I can hold my own," he mutters. "I never asked you to defend me."

"It wasn't just you. It was Prim, my mother, Posy, your brothers – everyone we love. Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same?"

"Can you honestly say you've thought about what this means?" he counters. "Katniss, do you think he's gonna move here and you'll set up house right next to Prim? You think everything will go on as it always has except you'll have someone sharing your bed? No! The moment you say 'I do' is the moment you say goodbye to 12 forever. What good is keeping all of us alive if you never see us again?"

"Because you'll be alive. And alive is better than dead."

He snorts. "Is it?"

She frowns, his words stinging. "Don't say that."

"What do you want me to say?" he cries. "That it thrilled me to watch you prance around onscreen with the guy who tried to kill you? That I'm throwing you a wedding shower?"

She stands, hoping to persuade him to see reason. "Gale—"

"You know as well as I did that it was gonna be you and me," he says, pointing angrily at her. "We'd never be rich or fat or accomplished, but god damnit, we'd be happy." He grits his teeth. "If the Games never happened—"

"But the Games did happen," she interrupts him, hating to think of what could have been. "And now all I am is afraid. It's the only feeling I have time for. And after I heard about the uprising in 8, it's even more important that I—"

She cuts herself off again, alarmed at the light in his eyes. Mentioning the uprising was not a good idea.

"Uprising in 8?" he asks for clarification. Reluctantly, she nods. "Have there been others?"

"I don't know," she says with a sigh. "Snow said there might be if Cato and I didn't convince the districts we were in love."

Gale's eyes wander the cracked, crumbling walls of the cabin, lost in thought. "An uprising…" he says to himself. His eyes find hers once more, determined and edgy. "Don't you see? An uprising, Catnip. A way out."

It's her turn to be short with him. "If the districts rebel, he'll kill everyone I love."

Grey eyes shining with excitement, he replies, "Not if we kill him first."

---

She doesn't tell him about the baby. Every time he's near she can't find the words, and every time she screws her courage to the sticking place, it only takes one mental image of his broken, battered body tied to that wooden stake outside of the Justice Building to reel her secret back in. The whipping happened just hours after their rendez-vous in the woods that day. Gale wandered into town with a turkey to barter, and he happened to run into the wrong peacekeeper.

And the wrong peacekeeper made the wrong move, for after Katniss found him and jumped in front of his body to deflect yet another wound, Haymitch ensured that he was removed from the district. How dare he inflict a flesh wound on the cheek of Capitol's most beloved bride?

Gale lays unconscious at her house for several hours, and for many conscious days after that. Her mother takes great care of him, but Katniss sees in his eyes that he'd rather not be near her. Not after she refused his kiss again in the woods. The resolve in his eyes after being whipped by a Capitol mercenary terrifies her. More than ever, he's determined to rebel. Not just for her anymore, but for the district itself. When he's finally well enough to go home, she knows it will be the last she sees of him for a while.

She continues to hunt, for whether or not Gale is giving her the silent treatment, his family still needs to eat. Alone in the woods is where she encounters two runaways from District 8 who present her with her mockingjay baked into flatbreadand who say they're headed to 13, the obliterated district from the Dark Days. She's wary to believe them. Everything she's ever known tells her 13 no longer exists.

The wiring around the outskirts of the district is reactivated on a hunt, and to avoid getting caught, she sprains her ankle in climbing up a tree and dropping down from a great height. She's bedridden for days as her mother fusses over her, scolding her that this is no way to go about a pregnancy.

With nothing to do but sit in bed, she begins to notice that her stomach has ballooned. Some may mistake it for the excess food on her plate now that she's a victor, but it's unmistakeable to her: inside the bulge sits a child. The spawn of Cato; the weapon of Snow.

Gale visits her one Sunday evening, much to her surprise. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she can smell the fresh pine on his clothes and the dried sweat from a day's hunt. How he dodged the electrical fence, she may never know. You do what you must to keep your family alive.

"I'm sorry," she says, the first to break the silence. "I can't hunt anymore. They're always watching me. But I have food, Gale. More than enough for yours and mine. Please, just… let me…"

He shakes his head, watching her blankly as her lip quivers. He's slipping through her fingers so fast that her heart stings of rope burn.

His eyes dip from her lips to her belly, hidden only by a thin shirt in the spring weather.

"It was never just the marriage," he asks slowly, carefully. "Was it?"

Her eyes squeeze shut, an involuntary tear slipping out. Holding in a breath, she shakes her head.

When she opens her eyes again, he is gone. Her bed is empty once more.

---

On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.

Prim begins to cry as soon as the words are uttered, and Katniss' mother lets out a shriek of horror. As for Katniss herself, it takes much longer for the message to sink in. Existing pool of victors. That means her. And there are no other females in District 12 who have won.

She stumbles out of her house on instinct, unsure where to go but knowing it has to be anywhere but here. The Victor's Village is deadly silent, and as she marches along the path to another house, another refuge, she has to make a stop on the side of the road as a wave of nausea overcomes her. It might be the pregnancy, although she thought she conquered the morning sickness months ago. It's far from morning, anyway.

Must be the Quell.

It leaves her shaking, and as she climbs into the basement of another empty victor's house to be alone with her thoughts, she can't help reminding herself that she is not alone. Not at all.

When she goes back into the arena, she'll be taking the baby with her.

All of a sudden, she recalls what Snow said to her so many months ago, when she asked if her child would one day be reaped for the Games.

To be honest, Miss Everdeen, I hadn't thought that far ahead.

There was no lie in those words, but a much deeper meaning that she had been too foolish to grasp. It was Snow's plan all along to send her back into the arena. It was his plan to have her unborn child go with her. The mercy on her life to date has only been spared for the most grotesque display of power ever shown by the Capitol. Not only will she die for her defiance, but so will a child conceived by two wild cards. It is Snow's greatest plan, to quash the present problem and a problem of the future all in one.

The Quarter Quells have been written for decades now, ever since the Games was devised after the Dark Days. Everyone will assume it's just unfortunate coincidence. With her hand caressing the time bomb in her stomach, she knows without a doubt that it's no coincidence at all. Snow planned this from the moment she and Cato emerged from the arena together. Even if their love-stricken act had fooled each and every district, he had a different plan right from the beginning.

They say it's mercy, two victors coming out of the Games alive. She knows differently.

It's the most vengeful act ever taken.

---

They're lucky they didn't lose any limbs or have their faces mutilated in the arena – not because of the physical disfigurement and psychological effects, but because it means that their victory interview can be held just a day after their removal from the arena. Never mind the mental and emotional trauma they've just lived through. Never mind that they're both still in the mindset that the other one must die in order to be safe themselves.

There is no empathy in the Capitol. No mercy or comfort. There is only entertainment, and the Capitol citizens demand it.

Her prep team dresses her in a light, frilly number that Cinna has designed to capture her feminine, innocent and harmless nature. They're not happy with her, Haymitch has warned her. She was a target from the moment she volunteered, but Peeta's profession of love and unexpected martyrdom coupled with her stunt with the berries and tribute to Rue have garnered an unwanted reaction from audiences across Panem. People are beginning to think that the Games can be defeated. That if a little wisp of a girl from 12 can show up the Capitol, there's no telling what hundreds of thousands of them could do together.

And that's dangerous. That's very, very dangerous.

Backstage before the interview is the first time she sets sights on her victory partner. With a fresh shower and clean, dressy clothing, he looks very different from how she remembers him, but no less threatening. Those icy blue eyes cut through her like a knife, violent and jarring, and she fears him even when he looks away and focuses on the instructions relayed by his mentor.

Beside him onstage is even worse, for they must link hands upon entering and raise them in triumph. He is rigid and cold and so very, very tense. Peeta might comfort her, if it was him instead of Cato. He might whisper reassuring words to her and give her hand a squeeze. And she wouldn't worry with him, for he was so good with words that he would have the Capitol wrapped around his finger.

Cato, she's not so sure about. His aim was, and still is, to be the sole victor. Given the chance, he can throw her under the bus. Declare her treasonous. He has no reason not to.

Despite the imminent danger of her exposure, Katniss lights up when Caesar asks her questions, doing exactly as Haymitch instructed: everything she did, she did to get home to her sister. Pulling out the berries to commit suicide is another story, but to her surprise, Caesar doesn't mention it. It seems that it's something the Capitol is trying to make everyone forget.

"Cato, I think we'd all like to dive into your mind for a few minutes tonight," Caesar says at another point. "What were you thinking in the moments after Clove's death, when you threw the parcel from your district back into the Cornucopia?"

She's glad he asked – she wants to know, too.

Cato has an answer for everything, and when he speaks with flowing ease, she suspects his mentor may have told him to expect this. "I wasn't thinking," he admits. "I let my emotions get the best of me. It's hard not to, with so many things happening in the arena…"

"Of course, of course," Caesar agrees with a nod of faux-sympathy.

"… but I'm worse than most. I'm impulsive. It's what we worked on in training in the days leading up to the Games. Guess it didn't help much."

The audience laughs. On their cue, Katniss laughs, too, as if the whole thing is a jolly affair. But she's suspicious. Curious, even. Cato certainly had an anger problem and was driven by emotion, but impulsive was not what she saw in him. She felt a more calculated frigidity in his presence.

"And how did you feel – the both of you – when you learned that you had both won the Games?" Caesar asks, leaning forward and staring at them imploringly.

They exchange a glance, though their eyes communicate nothing to one another. It's merely for show. Even if he's trying to tell her something, she can't read him. He's indiscernible.

"Relieved," Katniss says, though her tendons are stiff with tension to be so close to him.

"Grateful," Cato adds, though his hands flex as if they're aching to be wrapped around her neck.

"It was very kind," Katniss finishes, "for the Capitol to show such mercy."

It's what they told her to say, and she complies because Haymitch's warnings have unnerved her. Cato nods in agreement, and she wonders what could have frightened the frightening one.

She doesn't know why there are two. There has always been just one. It could have been her.

Whatever the reason, she knows with absolute certainty that it is a far, far cry from mercy.

---

"You had a phone call last night," her mother says to her after she wakes in the middle of the afternoon, tears dried and crusted on her cheeks. With a disapproving eye, she adds, "And this morning."

She frowns. Only the most privileged in the district possess a phone, and Katniss makes a point to avoid all of them, except possibly Madge. Who would phone her?

She doesn't have to wait long to find out, for the caller tries again just before supper.

"Hello?" she asks into the receiver, hating how cold it feels against her ear.

"Katniss," says the voice, deep and knowing. She recognizes it instantly: it's Cato on the other end of the line. Cato, whom she hasn't spoken to since they met on the roof of the Training Center. He's much calmer now than he was that night, much less insane as he states, "You're going back in there."

If there's any reason to go crazy, this is it, and she resents him for the even tones of his voice. "Thank you for the quick math," she snaps. "I hadn't quite gotten there yet."

He ignores her sarcasm, huffing in exasperation. "Is it true?" he asks after a long pause. "Are you pregnant?"

With the phone held to her ear, she makes him wait a long time, toiling over her response. Absently, her free hand runs over her stomach, the small bump hard under her touch.

"Tell me, Katniss. I deserve to know."

She drags her teeth over her lower lip. "Yes," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

It doesn't matter. He's heard her, loud and clear.

A curse flies from his mouth, uttered under his breath and filled with rage.

"I think I should count for two tributes, don't you?"

Even though he's so far away, she can imagine his wild blue eyes fixating on her with intensity. "This isn't funny, Katniss."

"No," she agrees quietly. "It isn't."

Snow didn't tell him about the pregnancy, she realizes. The president kept him cruelly in the dark about his own child. The entire time Katniss lived in fear of uprisings and birth and the loss of Gale's respect and friendship, Cato lived in fear that he had failed. That any moment, his family would be stolen from him.

There's nothing to say to each other after that, so they hang up the phone with stiff goodbyes. She wonders if it matters – if, instead of Caia's death, he might once have a nightmare about their baby entering the arena.

Probably not.

The baby was not meant to be loved or wanted. It was meant to be sacrificed.

You're a fool, Katniss Everdeen. A fool for thinking anything could ever be saved when it was so clearly bent for destruction.