A/n: As promised - new day, new chapter. Are you excited? I am, even though you're probably all going to hate me after this. Just remember it's all part of a greater plan...

Oh, and I'd be lying if I said no pun intended with the chapter title.

Katniss watches with her heart in her throat as Gale enters the stage, last in the line but yet the only one in her line of vision. With single-minded obsession, she notices every little detail of his appearance. How have they changed him already, before the whole ordeal of killing and starvation has even begun?

His hair is a little longer and shinier, tamed and carefully laid in a style that controversially suggests he cares not a whit about it. Only someone who knew him would know he didn't just come out of a gust of wind, or a fight, looking like that. His face is prettied up only a little, smoothed out to cover a few premature worry wrinkles that Katniss knows should be visible. But apart from that, his eyes are his own deep grey, his features unblemished by make-up or colours. It takes her a moment to realise what he's wearing, only because at first, she does not react to it. They've put him in a soft cotton work shirt, a washed out beige colour without flourish or flare, that looks like a perfect copy of clothes he wears every day, hand-me-downs from his father. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and one button is left undone, just like always.

Katniss stares in fascination, and feels her heart clench longingly against her will. He's not some overworked Capitol version of Gale, or boosting some obvious angle, like some of the other tributes. He's himself - no more and no less. Her Gale.

"I want Gale to be here," pouts his little sister, her tiny face set in a deep frown and her clear grey eyes sad like only a child can be. "Not in the stupid television," she continues in her high, sing-song voice. For a four-year old, Posy talks unbelievably well, but thankfully does not grasp the full implication of her beloved brother being showed on the TV-screen.

Katniss has been granted a seat on the sofa this time, squeezed in between the other two girls, while Rory is taking up the spot on the floor instead. Posy leans her curly head against Katniss' arm, and she can't help but to lean her cheek against the younger girl's hair and mumble in return, hopefully too low for any one else in the room to hear:

"I know, Posy. I do too."

If he were here, she would clutch him so close that no one could ever… Katniss stops herself with a start. What is she thinking? It must be the sheer relief of seeing him alive and looking well on the TV that is playing tricks with her mind, surely. She can understand without trouble what they are trying to pull off by giving him a natural look. It's genius really, letting the audience see how no fire, synthetic or real, could ever be as intense as the fire burning naturally inside him, in his spirit and eyes. The stubborn set of his jaw and the watchful edge to his scanning gaze, the straight stance in his muscular shoulders, are all signs of the fact that he won't go down easily. Add to that a handsome enough face, and Gale doesn't need a fancy outfit to stand out among the tributes for these interviews. Katniss is very pleased that his stylist has realised as much.

Once again, she is forced to sit through the painful review of all the other tributes, these kids soon to be competing to death for the sole prize of retaining their life. She wonders how Gale is stomaching it, if he can even sleep while knowing they will all have to die in order for him to survive. She frowns deeply at the thought, thinking that this year everything about the Games feels so much more personal, now that she has a stake in its outcome. These children are not her friends, and they're not her problem, but she feels strangely guilty for them, for wishing them all dead with inevitable certainty.

Most of them are easy enough to disregard, either too done up in their outfits to look completely human, or too stuck up in their quest for glory to be considered worthy of any compassion. It's the ones that come across as normal people that are really troubling. There's a boy who looks scared out of his wits, talking only about home despite the interviewer's best efforts to steer him off the tragic subject. Then there's a small girl, dressed like an angelic creature in white gossamer wings, who floats up to the podium and straight into Katniss heart with her resemblance to her precious sister. Prim turns her head to look at her when she feels the squeeze of her hand, and their eyes meet in sad helplessness. At least they still have each other.

The girls of each district go before their male counterparts, so when the turn comes at last to Twelve, it's Madge who takes the stage first. She looks absolutely gorgeous in a full-length dress of some shiny, white-yellow material, inlaid with orange and pale red gemstone towards the hem that sparkle brightly in the stage lights. When she confidentially walks up to take the centre of the stage, flickers run up the length of the dress like illusions of fire, or glowing coals at its very centre, as dangerous as it is alluring. A thin golden circlet is holding back her yellow hair from her forehead, and altogether, she looks royal; like a goddess of fire again, just like in the opening ceremony. Probably, her stylist wanted to make sure no one can forget where she comes from, that money and influence run deep in her blood and will not be ignored. It'll get her sponsors, for sure. Beauty and a respectable background always do, at least for the careers. Could she possibly mean to come off like one of them? For someone from District 12, that's a rather bold move, since it means being instantly disliked by everyone back home.

Caesar Flickerman, the ever-present host of the tribute interviews each year, pretends to faint at the very sight of her, eliciting a second round of applause for Madge as he comments on her striking appearance.

"Oh my goodness- or I mean, goddess, is it, perhaps?" he blabbers, and the blond girl smiles indulgently, but holds her head slightly too high, fixes him with her stare slightly too self-assuredly for it to seem like she's really going along with his nonsense.

"You could always pray for my goodness, I suppose," she answers with a smirk, keeping her large green eyes fixed on her host. Through the lens of the multiple cameras, she is aloof, regarding the scene before her and the audience from another level of consciousness and wisdom.

Caesar, in turn, straightens a little in his seat, raises an eyebrow at her as if to say if you want to play it that way, sure. In his usual resourceful way, he turns more serious, less over-the-top, to match her persona better. He asks her questions about the Capitol, about her life back home, about her potential secret weapons to win the Games. Through it all, she comes off as clever, never missing a beat when it comes to well-measured answers and chances to win the audience over. There's also a certain aura of mystery around her, a pronounced but unidentifiable edge to her smile and her words that hint at things unsaid. It makes the onlooker hang at her every breath, puzzle over the true meaning of each soft-spoken sentence out of her mouth, and it makes her impossible to forget. When she finishes the interview by standing up and letting go of her secretive mask for a second, to swirl around girlishly in her long gown, she has them all won over. The dress sparkles like unearthly flames, and Madge is glowing like pure gold from within when she finally strides off stage, her pleased little smirk still in place.

Katniss has to relent that she is mightily impressed by her sort-of friend. She's sure part of it, at least, must have been acting, but still, where has that glowing girl been hiding within Madge's normal, rather dull persona in school? Perhaps she's been doing just that; hiding. She never seemed like the kind of girl to be unable to make friends – she just didn't want any of them. From the few times the two girls have actually spoken to each other, Katniss has picked up on a calm, matter-of-fact sort of mind, slightly absorbed in her own thoughts, but always very much aware of everything going on around her. Suddenly, she feels her chest constrict painfully at the thought of this girl dying, her brilliance wasted for some ancient purpose of revenge. They could have been great friends.

But then the atmosphere in the little all-purpose room in the Seam tenses, and she feels Prim's body stiffen against her own. Rory sits up straight from his prior slouch on the floor, and she can hear Hazelle drumming her finger together in a restless gesture. Outside, a clash of thunder – by now passing close enough for discomfort – crackles loudly and then rumbles in a slow, deep aftermath, resonating through her whole body long after it's over. Against the windowpanes, a furious clatter of rain begins suddenly, loud enough for Rory to reach over to the television and adjust the volume up.

Just in time, too.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our last, but certainly not least fiery, tribute for this evening- Gale Hawthorne!"

The cheering from the audience is predominantly female and shrill, and Katniss can't help but to grin at how much her best friend would scowl at that, were he his normal self. If he feels any discomfort now, he's not showing it, but fires off the odd smile as he nods his head to the galleries on his way up. Quite contrary, he looks as comfortable in his own skin as ever, radiating confidence as he shakes Caesar's hand and sits down on the stool in the centre of the stage. Katniss is absolutely certain that if it were her, she would be shaking like a leaf and stutter like an idiot.

The Capitol host starts off with some light chatter, cracking a joke about how it suddenly got hot in here ("right, ladies?"), and Gale flashes a rather stretched smile while waiting for the shrieks die down again, reaches up to scratch at his neck the way he always does when feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable. Caesar notices, and switches the subject.

"So, let's talk about that scoring. Eleven, huh?" he says empathically, stressing the last sentence to bring another round of reactions from the crowd.

Gale only grins, smugly twitching his eyebrows. "Well, there's still some room for improvement there."

The blue-haired host laughs outrageously, clasping his shoulder, and asks him for details that he isn't granted.

"I don't think I'm supposed to tell," says Gale, clearly enjoying getting to keep secrets.

"Oh, just freaking spill the beans already," mutters Katniss, and gets an approving grunt from his mother, who looks just as annoyed as she is over not knowing.

On the TV, they can only see a man in the audience, wearing the ridiculous long robe of the Gamemakers, furiously shaking his head with a bashful expression.

"Alright, alright," Caesar cuts in, "we'll let you keep your secret tricks, for now. Let's step this up a few notches, and talk about that day at the Reaping instead…"

Gale's face only barely changes, takes on a slightly harder edge. Back home, Rory squirms and stares up in the ceiling, but Katniss can't help but think that this is necessary. Talking about that day will certainly bring out his most fierce and fiery side, the one that the people watching need to see.

"Gale, I will never forget that moment when you volunteered for you little brother; I think we were all quite touched. Can you tell us about him?"

Sure enough, there's a long moment when his eyes glaze over with heat, and he tenses up in anger barely contained. Gale crosses his arms defensively across his chest, all his angles and muscles jutting out in the right tone of defiance, and stares Caesar right in the eyes.

"His name is Rory," he says eventually, through gritted teeth. "He's only twelve."

The auditorium has fallen silent, every eye in Panem focused and hanging by his words.

"And," he continues, "if anyone - anyone, ever tried to lay so much as a finger on him, I would end them."

The cold fire burns in his steely eyes, and a collective shudder visibly passes through the audience, but Katniss only smiles, pleased. Sure, it's a bit risky to insinuate taking down the Capitol if they ever tried to pick out Rory for the Games again, but she can't help but like this piece of the old Gale coming through all the way from that stage.

Caesar clears his throat, and his eyes flicker nervously once back and forth between cameras before he focuses Gale with a charming smile again.

"So, one last question, Gale." His grin stretches meaningfully. "A handsome young man like you, the girls back home must be rather taken? They sure are here, anyway…"

Katniss rolls her eyes at the thought of every single girl in the District sitting up straight in attention, wishing for a wild declaration of endless love. Gale would never do such a thing, and besides… No, no, she won't go there.

Gale loses a little bit of his normal self-assured attitude, and sits up a little straighter, runs a hand through his hair while clearing his throat and smiling quickly, in the passing.

"You mean except for my baby sister?"

Beside her on the couch, Posy bounces excitedly up and down, squealing happily and looking extremely pleased with her big brother. Caesar laughs aloud, but won't let the subject drop.

"Yes, more like, a special someone?" he presses on, a knowing glitter in his overly vivid blue eyes. "Perhaps that girl we saw you unable to take your eyes off at the Reaping…?"

Katniss has the good sense to blush, but tries her best to glare and ignore the teetering, snide chuckles around her in the cramped living room. She refuses to acknowledge how she's really hanging by the admission unfolding on that stage, how her heart has suddenly picked up pace and is swelling with an unquenchable sense of hope.

Gale coughs out a very unintended choke masked as a laugh, and for a split second, there's a flash of something in his eyes, too fast to catch the meaning of, except that it's something dark… Then he regains control over his face, and there's an uncharacteristically soft smile adorning his features.

"Well, that's easy. There's only one girl for me." Gale's neck is bent solemnly to the floor, his eyes no longer strictly controlled as the words slowly tumble out of him. In them, clouds gather and disperse all at the same time.

Katniss doesn't know whether to stare straight at him, or flick her eyes around the room fretfully. Surely he's not… Not on television?

He continues: "But I've always acted the wrong way around her, as long as we've known each other." His voice is remorseful, and he looks almost nervous, a very strange expression on his handsome face.

What does he mean by that? Around her, there are knowing little titters, and she can hear Rory snort a sniggering laugh, before he receives a smack on the arm from Prim to shut him up.

Caesar gives him a sympathetic eye, and says reassuringly, "Well, my boy, I tell you what. You win this, and then when you come home, how could she possibly resist you?"

The audience swoons in one voice, and her little sister giggles, but Katniss barely hears them, as her mind fills with nothing but him, and the thought of him coming back here. She has just enough time to think that perhaps, when he comes home, she might just him kiss her again, before…

His face scrunched up in something that could be interpreted as anguish, Gale says in a low voice; "I don't think winning would help me there, Caesar."

"Why ever not?" The television host has the look of one big, exaggerated, blue question mark.

"Because…" Gale draws in a deep breath, and tears his gaze up to stare straight at the other man on stage. His eyes are strangely detached. "Because… she came here with me."

The silence in the centre square of the Capitol matches the absolute stillness in the living room back in Twelve, where the two families gathered together freeze. Surprise widens their eyes almost comically, but Katniss doesn't notice any of it, feels only her blood rushing to colour every inch of her skin, and her perception of the world in freefall.

With confusion, she stares at her dear friend up there on the stage, miles away suddenly in spirit as well as in physical distance. The cameras linger on him long enough to show him close his eyes and straighten out an insistent tiny crinkle in his brows, before it snaps over to display Madge. The blond girl's reaction is prime television material - the way she starts violently at hearing the words, and how gradually, her face melts from unbelieving surprise to wonder. A perfect rosy blush spreads across her fine cheekbones, and her golden green eyes swim with unhindered emotion, and overall, she's a perfect picture as she looks over to Gale like she's seeing the sun rising after the longest of nights.

Katniss wishes heatedly that she were alone in the room right this moment, not so much in order to react in whatever way she would like to, but more for a chance to escape the sudden tense atmosphere. The air is thick with the fact that they all know what's wrong but pretend not to, their eyes trained pointedly on anything but her, frozen in place on the lumpy old couch. She tries to hide her suddenly furiously red cheeks behind a curtain of thick hair that has fallen out of her braid, but to no success. Through the fingers of her hand held up to fidget with her eyebrows, she watches the stirring on screen as all the tributes stand and Caesar Flickerman tries to regain control over his show, while the cameras are still very much favouring shots of Gale walking back to stand at Madge's side, and how her eyes are still hopelessly glued to his face, like she has forgotten anything else exists in the whole world. Gale stares fixedly on the floor in front of him, his eyes unfocused, with a rather solemn look on his face. He doesn't let another thought show on the outside, but Katniss can see the muscles in his jaw flex and uncurl over and over. The tributes stand honour for the anthem, and then troop out in reverse order, while the audience cheer and clap fervently.

On the television, the volume naturally quietens as they switch over to the Game Studio, and to the giddy commentators ready to tear into every single movement and comment made by each of the tributes. Hazelle firmly walks up to shut off the old device, which goes dark with a loud zip. Instead, the smattering of rain against the windows and on the roof seems to increase in volume, becomes a thundering roar.

"Kids, bedtime," she announces in that voice of hers that can't be contradicted. They complain in murmurs, but it seems to be a habit more than anything, because then they all collectively shuffle off the couch, over to the sink or the chest of drawers that hold their nightclothes.

Katniss keeps her head down while getting up too, and walks over to the door along with her mother and sister, who are uncharacteristically silent here, where they are technically guests and would normally keep up a pleasant chatter.

Her mother gets a hug from Hazelle, who's thanking her for dinner, and opens the door for them to step out in the humid darkness. Walking home will be an unpleasant affair, but they can't stay, either. Before Katniss can follow, Gale's mother holds her back by squeezing her hand, and pulls her close to whisper in her ear;

"Don't believe anything you see or hear from that place, Katniss."

In return, Katniss only frowns and averts her gaze, nodding once without putting any weight behind it. She knows that the Capitol is a false place and the Games little more than one long pre-scripted play. But she also knows that's exactly the kind of thing, the kind of place, that changes people.

The whole way home, she can barely feel the impact of icy rain and wind tugging at her hair, just folds her arms against the storm and lets the water rush over her face to wash away the redness in her cheeks. Her mind is blank and numb, an empty white sheet, except for one single phrase, words that are brandished forever inside:

There's only one girl for me.

And it's not her.

A/n 2: ... Soo, yeah, even critical reviews are good ones! And if it makes you feel any better, I had a bad dream that my boyfriend broke up with me last night... ;)