A/N: If anyone was wondering, my chapter titles are coming from Samson and Delilah by Shirley Manson because it is a frickin' AWESOME song and it reminds me of Katniss. x)

Review Replies:
GoddessofSouls: Actually, it's a little more complicated than that. Rue will come up later, so I won't spoil it for you. x) But I'm glad you're enjoying and thanks so much for the review!
Bree: Well, it's less that he's ignoring her, and more that they're both in shock so they're not really interacting. As for the whole not holding her hand thing, well, there's a reason for that, too. Madge doesn't have a huge roll (at least, not in what I have written, though we'll see since they story isn't finished yet), but she definitely has an important part and there should be more interaction between them. So yeah, thanks supermuch for the review!
KatnissMellark: Squee! Thank you so much! :) I love getting compliments on style since that's a real compliment to me, not just the awesometastical Hunger Games novels (which I obviously do not own xP) and I'll try to update frequently! (I can do so now since I have so much written at the moment) Thanks again!
micmic022:
Thanks for reading! Hope you stick around :)
iam97: Thanks so much! Glad to have you on board!

CHAPTER 3: SAMSON AND THE LION

"We're going to train you separately," was the first thing out of Katniss' mouth that morning. Before sleep was rubbed from eyes or yawns were finished or breakfast even started, she was thinking of the Games.

Four years ago, a young, scared Katniss had stood as ferocious as a lion, clasping the hand of a fifteen-year-old boy that was her male Tribute. They were the first and only tributes to ever appear as a team. After their heart-wrenching story, no one could bear to see the hands of tributes gripped in solidarity again.

It was no surprise they would be trained separately.

Still, Peeta frowned, not liking how quickly things were going. He wanted more... moments with Katniss. He felt like he hadn't gotten any at all yet and already he and Madge were being separated in what surely would be teams that included Madge and Katniss, then Haymitch and—

"Peeta," she addressed him brusquely. "We'd better get started." With gray eyes that didn't water or show any sort of sadness, she focused on Madge. With a curt nod, Katniss turned away, taking quick steps towards an adjoining room where she and Peeta, not Madge, would eat breakfast and discuss strategy.

With an irritated sound, Katniss huffed, "Are you coming, kid? Or am I going to have to drag you by your baby-fluff?"

Peeta turned and saw her waiting at the door in what was almost anger. He didn't understand. If she didn't want him, why didn't she pick Madge...?

With a quick glance to Madge, who offered a small smile which he only barely managed to return, he got up from the table and followed Katniss into the next room. One final look back was directed at Haymitch who was slumped in his chair, head lolled back, and snoring loudly. Madge was staring at him, too, and there was desperation in her eyes...

In the adjoining room, Katniss was standing off to the side speaking with Cinna, Madge's lead stylist. A recollection of Katniss riding across the stage in a chariot, on fire and smiling at the crowd so dazzling that no one could take their eyes off of her, reminded Peeta that Cinna had been Katniss' stylist, too.

They were speaking furtively, in low tones, that abruptly stopped once Cinna realized Peeta was in the room. With an affectionate hug for Katniss and a small wave at Peeta, Cinna left the room.

Katniss sat at the table and offered no explanation. Peeta decided not to ask for one.

For several minutes, there was no speaking. Peeta ate ravenously, thankful Effie Trinket was busy adoring Madge instead of him. Katniss ate a little here and there, but was far more sparing than he. Which half made sense. After all, she wasn't going into the Games.

Not again, anyway.

When he slowed to a manageable pace where he could actually start tasting the food he was shoveling into his mouth, Katniss began to speak.

"We're going to have to come up with a strategy," she told him, picking at a crescent roll on her plate. It was familiar, but definitely not something they sold in Twelve. "Go through your skills and figure out the best way to use them."

He frowned; he had no skills.

"Can't be sure what the arena will be," she continued, ignoring the dejection evident on his face. "But they'll give you something to work with, they always do. It's too boring when they don't."

She spoke so matter-of-factly, hardly a care beyond what had become her "business." It was his mother talking cakes. She had never liked her job either.

"So pay attention at training today. Take a good, hard look at what the stations are, 'cause they're going to give you clues about the arena. Effie'll take care of your star power—" she was talking about the interview stage. "—and Haymitch will go over what you're going to say, though I doubt you'll need much help. Either way he'll be more use than I will at that."

She kept going, telling him what to expect in a rapid-fire voice that left no room for arguments or questions. She explained that she would help him with skills, training, go over strategy and what to show the Game Makers when it was time for his personal skills test. She would be there every step of the way, up until the final day. From there, she would be on the outside looking in, helping him to get sponsors and sending what she could.

"Just understand that it's gotta be sparingly," she said seriously. "I'm not just going to send you water, even if you've got sponsors lined up. You've gotta do this on your own, because the longer you're in the Game, the more expensive stuff gets. If you can last, then I can get you something more useful in the long run. So think smart. Smart gets you a helluva lot farther than relying on sponsors does."

It was endearing that she was planning that far ahead, as though he somehow had a chance. He was sure she had absolutely no idea how much that sentiment meant to him.

She paused in her rant, staring at him, studying him. The urge to squirm beneath her scrutiny was strong and he struggled not to fidget. His appetite finally dropped and he stopped eating.

"Do you want allies?" she finally asked, uncertain about something, the confusion written on her young face.

Peeta shrugged. He hadn't thought this far yet. It was only breakfast on the first day, he didn't even know any tributes beyond Madge and himself.

"I don't know," he told her honestly. "I think me and Madge might—"

But she cut him off with a scowl, maybe he had known she would. "Forget Madge, you're not allying with her."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she just forged ahead.

"We can't ally you with anyone who you might get attached to." He thought of Gale, of the little whisp of a girl with a spear through her chest. "Besides, they're usually the weakest links anyway. If you're going to ally with weak links, you might as well not ally yourself at all. There's something to be said for going it alone."

He swallowed hard, feeling like some of his breakfast was lodged in his throat or at least planning a return trip up. She was being so cold, so emotionless, so uncaring about his life. About Madge's life. And while he knew that she couldn't care about every tribute whose name was announced at the Reaping, just to watch them die every year, he couldn't help the heavy desire that she care because it was him.

But she never would. Gale Hawthorne announced his undying love for her on national television for all of Panem to witness. And she had said nothing. He told her again in the Games, that he had loved her since that day in the Hob, but still she hadn't responded. Conflict showed on her face, but she never offered him a return of love.

In one of the last days of their Game, he accused her to be unable to love someone.

She didn't cry, didn't yell at him, didn't defend herself. She just looked broken, lost, hopeless. It was enough to make Peeta wish more than anything that he had been the one to enter those Games with her if only to wrap her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be alright.

Which was exactly what Gale did not do. Angry, he had turned from her and stomped off back to their camp. After several long moments, Katniss finally followed.

That was the last conversation to pass between them before the Tracker Jacker venom warped their entire world. Before Cato's death. Before Katniss' arrow. Before the end of the Games and Katniss' victory.

The last thing that he, the boy who supposedly loved her, said was, "You'll never love anyone, Katniss. You can't."

Because of that, Peeta couldn't bring himself to confess his feelings to Katniss, not even during his last days. She would never believe him.

"Maybe we're going about this the wrong way," Peeta finally forced out.

Katniss raised an eyebrow in question, arms folding across her chest. She wasn't necessarily shooting him down, but she was definitely skeptical. He forged ahead.

"Maybe we shouldn't be thinking about... about who would be my weak link," he said. "Maybe we should instead focus our efforts."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and he wondered if she's figured out where he's going with this. Probably, because she did NOT look pleased.

"I mean, Madge..." he trailed off.

"No," she told him shortly. "Forget it. That's not how it works."

Feeling frustrated—that she won't let him finish, that she won't even bother to see it his way, that she won't take what he wants into consideration—he argued. "Think about it. Everyone's going to expect me to be a bigger target than Madge," she's shaking her head, anger rising. "I can help her to—"

"I said no!" she yelled at him, getting up from her chair and slamming her fists down on the table so hard that the dishes shook. "We set things up like this for a reason, Peeta! We set it up so that we can't do things like that anymore! So that we don't start estimating whose life is worth more, or offer one tribute more favor just because we think they have a better chance of winning! We do this because, damnit, if we have to play, we're not going to lose everything!"

Equally angry—because it was safer than being scared, Katniss would respond better to anger—Peeta rose from his own chair so fast that it fell back behind him with a crash."

"I don't understand!" he yelled back, shaking his head. "I thought you and Madge were friends?"

For a long moment, they stared at one another, challenging. They were breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping through their veins, preparing for a fight. It took a long while for Katniss to calm down enough to answer him seriously.

"There are no friends in the Games." She may have been sharing worthwhile wisdom that in a scant few days might just keep him alive... but he wasn't in the Games yet.

She seemed to notice her answer was unsatisfactory.

Sighing, she met his crystal blue eyes with her haunted gray ones and said, "We are. She asked for Haymitch."

Peeta never got the chance to do more than let shock register on his face before Katniss gave him a strained smile that spoke volumes—about pain and betrayal and loss and guilt and brokenness and failure; he couldn't tell which emotion was caused by which person in her life—and said, "Lets get to the training room, kid. Don't want to be late."

She moved away from the table to the elevator and he was left to follow, thinking, We're the same age, Katniss.


A/N: I have no beta, so I'm sorry if there are lots of mistakes hanging around.