A/N: It has come to my attention that some of you guys have Tumblrs. I have two: Significationary, which is my main one, and Signifanfictionary for my fanfics. If you have any questions, concerns, curiosity, or anything, feel free to contact me through Tumblr! I'm on there several times a day.

The Cato chapter has gone over quite well, so I'm definitely going to do another one, but the 100 review mark is no longer going to fit. You magnificent bastards are handing out input left and right, which I LOVE. So I'll set it like this: three more chapters, then you'll get your Cato fix again.

A small observation – I've been posting these chapters in longer chunks, to avoid terrible cliffhangers and mid-conversation cutoffs. So while I may have had a dozen chapters roughed out at my previous shorter length, it's only like six now. The tl;dr version: my writing may soon slow down. But I still love you, and I'm going to keep working super-hard.

Haymitch finds us like that in the morning – afternoon, really, because he's hungover as all hell. That doesn't stop him from being loudly and abrasive as usual, though. I wake up when Haymitch shoves Cato's shoulder, jostling me. We both jerk awake at the same time, hands tightening on each other. For a second, I panic, and then it registers that I'm looking at Haymitch's tired, angry face.

"Oh. Hi, Haymitch," I say, doing my very best to sound calm.

"The hell are you doing?" he demands, taking a swig of beer.

"Me? What about you, you're the one drinking before lunch," I point out. I'm not sure if he's scared or just quiet, but Cato doesn't say or do anything.

Haymitch points at me sternly. "This is to help me wake up. Don't turn this around. Now come on, what's going on here? Is this what kids do these days?"

"We didn't do anything," Cato speaks up, then adds respectfully, "sir." He almost sounds scared of Haymitch, which I don't understand.

"Not talking to you," he swings his finger over to Cato, then points back to me. "Explain yourself."

"I don't have to do a damn thing," I say stubbornly.

He looks at me for a second, takes another drink. "Alright," he nods. "Okay. Whatever you need." He sounds remarkably serious and sober, and the way he looks at me couldn't be more sympathetic and understanding. For the first time since coming out of the arena, I realize that he's been through this, this exactly, except he didn't have someone that came out of there with him.

By the time I work through that in my head, he's walking away. "Wait, Haymitch," I say quickly. He turns back to look at me. "I need your advice," I tell him.

His lips twitch up into a smile, which he quickly corrects into a frown. "Sure you do." He comes back and leans against the other side of the window frame, then looks at me kindly. "What is it?"

"We need a plan."

"We? You and me, or you two," he says suspiciously, motioning at Cato and me.

"Us two. We don't have a believable story about why we didn't kill each other. We faked it through the interview yesterday, but we need a better answer."

Haymitch sucks in his cheeks and looks at the two of us for a second. "Okay. Well, like I said, you've gotta give them something to root for. You actually laid a good foundation for that," he admitted, nodding at Cato. "With the 'respect each other' thing, and that 'right now'. That was good, nice work."

"You're welcome?" Cato says, unsure.

"Eh," Haymitch grunts, taking another drink of beer.

"So we're going to be like, best friends or something? Is that's what's going on?" I ask.

Haymitch snorts. "No. Not even a little bit. They don't root for friends."

"You've got to be kidding," Cato says flatly.

"Nope. You two are falling in love," Haymitch states.

I am horrified. "Absolutely not," I say, just as Cato says,

"No."

Haymitch shrugs. "Fine. Suit yourselves. But that's my advice." He looks at both of us again. "And you two get along, at least. Think about it. I'm giving you a way to survive here, and you're not even going to think about it? C'mon, Katniss, use that brain."

"But how am I supposed to act like I'm falling in love again when the first person I did that to died? Because of me," I add pointedly.

He looks at me for a second, tapping his beer bottle against his thigh. "Alright. Fair point," he finally decides. "Say something about connecting over your mutual heartache, play up the sympathy points. Bring up that you knew him, loved him. Along those lines. Can you do that?" he asks me. "Because if you don't, Snow's going to have a major fit."

I bite my lip. "Fit?"

"Yeah, he's already convinced you want to start a rebellion. Right now, you can play your move off as two love-sick teenagers, but if you wait to get that ball rolling much longer, you're going to miss your chance." He sounds very insistent, but not in a mean way, in a concerned about my welfare way.

He did his job – more than did it, because he got two of us out, for the first time in the history of the games – so I guess I have no reason not to trust him. I just don't want to.

"Sweetheart, listen to me," Haymitch says gently. "I get it. But you're not going to kill this one. The games are over. And you need to figure out how you can go back to your life. That's what you want, right?"

"Yeah." He knows me so well.

"Right. And you, you've got a whole different deal going on to figure out," he says to Cato, raising his eyebrows. "Don't envy Enobaria one bit. I wouldn't wish your guys' situation on anybody. Even her. Well…" he adds uncertainly then shrugs.

"Well, it's just my situation," Cato says. "She told me I was on my own."

"Seriously?" Haymitch frowns. "She's not even going to try?"

"Are you surprised?" Cato says, somewhat bitterly. "I'm pretty much a lost cause at home."

"You are," Haymitch nods thoughtfully. "Well, if we're going to pull this off, then you're going to be a part of this, so I guess I can give you a few pieces of my valuable input."

"Yeah?" Cato sounds surprised.

"On the couch, you two," Haymitch directs in a no-nonsense manner. Both of us jump up to obey, and leave Peeta's blankets on the windowsill. Maybe it's symbolic. I need to change, move on. Maybe I'm over-thinking things, as usual.

"Alright," Haymitch sighs, plopping down on the chair across from us. "Here's what you're going to do."

We lay out a basic plan. I'm not exactly comfortable with it, but Haymitch is right – at least I'm doing it with someone who stayed up late to hold me while I cried, someone who saved my life and vice versa. And at least it's just friendship right now. I can't exactly tell what Cato thinks about the plan; his face is impressively blank as usual. He seems willing enough, though, and by the end of that talk, Haymitch doesn't glare at him whenever he has to speak to him anymore.

"Okay," Haymitch says at the end, standing. "So you two need to be seen together all the time. Don't start anything romantic, but hand-holding, blushing, the teenage things, you know," he finishes vaguely.

"No, I don't," Cato and I say at exactly the same time.

"Yes, you do," Haymitch makes a face at us and points at each of us in turn. "Just like that. Do things like that, what you just did." He walks away, chuckling. "That was good," he says over his shoulder. "Very good."

I look awkwardly at Cato. "I don't know if we can plan that," I say to him.

"Definitely not. We'll just have to wing it," he agrees.

"He tried to kill you and everyone you love," Haymitch observes from the dining room.

I feel an uncomfortable twist of guilt in my stomach, which I cover with anger. "Why would you say that?" I demand.

"Somebody had to. The two of you are going to act like you're falling in love, you can't just ignore this," he says reasonably. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he asks Cato.

"She tried to kill me, too. It was part of the game."

"But outside of those games, you have other parts of your personality?" Haymitch pushes. "She's a Seam girl, a black-market hunter, she's taken care of her family, she practically raised her sister. Her father worked in the mines. Her mother heals. She sings."

"How'd you know that?" I ask suspiciously.

"Did my research," he shrugs, then turns to Cato. "So. How about you?"

Cato doesn't answer, looking down at the floor. For a second, I feel cold with fright.

"Come on," I say softly. "Say something."

"What do you want me to say?" he asks me angrily. "I trained my whole life for this. There was no other part of me, alright? What do you want?" Want me to be sorry? Okay, I'm sorry. I can't change my entire life."

There's a very long silence after he says that. Then Haymitch speaks up again. "This is gonna work out great," he says and claps his hands, suddenly jovial.

"Why in the world would you say that now?" I ask him in bewilderment.

He chugs a bunch of liquor from a crystal bottle on a sideboard. "He's being honest," he finally says. "And that's more important than you two liking each other."

It makes sense, of course. Haymitch is good at playing this game; he's seen it all. But I don't like it. "Fine," I say. "Let's do this, then."

"Alright. You, go downstairs and make sure people see you wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Putz around for while, do whatever you guys do down there, then come back up here in a few hours. Bring your victory parade clothes, so you two arrive there together. C'mon, basic stuff. You should figure this out for yourselves, kids." He looks at the two of us, and I see his face twitch in pain for a second. "I'll be in my room," he mutters, and walks away, carrying two big bottles.

"How the hell did he get you through alive?" Cato mumbles.

"He played smart."

"Didn't know he could do that."

"Stop," I glare at him. "He's smart. Or haven't you heard how he won?"

"No, I heard. The forcefield thing, he got lucky. He's an idiot."

"He is smart," I say emphatically.

Cato doesn't say anything for a second. "Okay," he nods, pressing his lips together tightly. "Sorry. He's doing a pretty good job, I guess. Better than my mentor."

"Yeah. Well. I'll see you in a few hours," I mumble, looking away from him. I didn't think things could get more awkward than crying hysterically in someone's arms that you barely know, but they officially have.

"Okay." He stands up and heads toward the door, then stops and turns back around. "I am sorry," he tells me. "But I didn't have any other choice."

"Neither did I. It's fine," I say. Then, impulsively, I get up and walk over to him. I don't know how to approach this, so I just put my arms out. He smiles slightly, and hugs me, leaning down so I don't end up hugging his waist. I feel his arms tighten briefly, then he pulls back.

"See you in a few hours," he says.

"Okay." I fold my arms against myself and watch him leave, shutting the door behind him.

The moment he's gone, I go to Haymitch's room. I knock on his closed door loudly and open it without waiting. "Get out of here," he mutters, glancing up at me from his seat on his rumpled, unmade bed.

I ignore him. "Did you know the people from twelve your year?"

"One of them."

Right, his year was the one where four tributes came from each district. "Were you there when they died?"

He sighs deeply. "Yeah, I was there when she died, what do you want?" he asks, faking annoyance very convincingly.

"No one's going to understand me when I go back," I say quietly.

He looks at the wall for a long time, then takes a long pull from one of the bottles in his hands. "No one but me," he says heavily. "I get it. Alright, sweetheart. C'mere." He swings one arm out towards me.

I walk to his bed and get in it, sitting against his headboard next to him. I reach for one of the bottles, but he holds it out of my reach. "No," he says firmly. "Not for you. You're too young for this. You still have your family and friends."

"Don't you?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Dead." He takes an especially long drink from the other bottle. "So you can't be stupid and take chances like that. You'll hurt everybody you love. Take it from me."

"You were a great mentor." It's all I can think of to say to him that isn't either grossly inappropriate or way too sad.

"Thanks, darling. You were the best mentee. No matter what that idiot in office says." He pauses for a very long time. "They wanted to change you."

"Change me how?"

"Surgical enhancements, like Enobaria."

"Why would they sharpen my teeth?" I frown.

"No, no they wanted to mess with your nose and eyes, lighten your bones out. You climbed a tree; they thought you should be a bird." He shrugs. "I had to fight with them, since you didn't care. Except for those scars." His words are starting to slur together.

"Thanks," I say after a second. "For fighting for me."

"You're all… welcome. You're welcome." We sit there and look at the wall of his bedroom, and I actually don't mind how the bed smells like booze. Reminds me of my father, how he smelled on nights after weddings or holidays. It's almost comforting. "You could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve him, if he were still alive," he announces.

"I know. He was the superior one out of the two of us. Three of us."

"I'll drink to that." He raises his bottle.

"You'll drink to anything."

Haymitch laughs harshly. "That too." He takes a drink. "Y'know, you're right. Nobody's gonna understand the decisions you made. But you've gotta believe that you did the right thing, alright? Don't let them take that away from you." He turns to me and takes my chin in his hand. "Look at me. Listen. You did the right thing in there. No matter what you did, it was the right thing. Living's no good if you can't live with yourself."

I'll always defend him against the doubters, the Catos of the world, and it's for moments like this. He knows me, and he doesn't judge me for any of the terrible things I've done since I got reaped, because he's done worse. "Thanks," I murmur. "And what about you, can you live with yourself?"

"What do you think?" he asks, waving the bottle in his hand in front of my face.

"Right."

"You should go," he says. "Shouldn't see me like this."

"As long as you promise you'll be coherent for the parade. I need you."

"Of course, sweetheart." He leans over and kisses the side of my head. "Now get out. Go watch what they're saying about you or something."

I take his advice. It's not hard to find coverage or recaps of the games I just co-won, so I have my choice. I go to Caesar's channel, because he does the least editorializing, and the last thing I need is subtle, pointed commentary on my every move.

After a couple hours of research, I've decided; Haymitch was totally right. Even Caesar is speculating wildly on Cato's and my relationship, wondering if there might be more than just respect. He goes through every instance of Cato and me appearing within the same camera shot and analyzes us, looking for any sign of something more. He spins a few possible stories, talks to a few viewers about their opinions, and generally makes me feel more self-conscious than I've ever been in my life.

A few hours into my watching, Cinna comes in with my team and a new dress. This one's black, too, but textured like coal. It's a one-shouldered dress, and the single strap has a knot of fabric that looks like a chunk of coal. While my team bustles around, getting me ready, Cinna informs me that the knot will light on fire like our suits before the games. Also, he tells me he did a little work on Cato's clothes, so they'll look good with mine, and that Cato will be coming up here to get dressed, as per Haymitch's suggestions.

He's barely finished filling me in when Cato knocks on the door and comes in. He says an uncomfortable hello to Cinna and nods at me. "Hey."

"Hi," I say. Venia scolds me for ruining the eyeliner she's applying, so I don't talk after that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cinna unveil his alterations to Cato's suit. It's copper-colored and metallic, but that's all I can see before Flavius scolds me for turning my head.

Cato goes into another room to change and get ready – his team of three files through the living room to work on him and leaves very quickly. I guess that's the difference between a career guy and a Seam girl. Since I got started first, though, we get done at about the same time.

When I'm done, I get out of my chair, turn, and catch him looking at me. He's dressed in a blazer and pants that look like they're woven out of copper thread. "How do I look?" I say to lighten some of the tension. Behind me, I notice that Cinna, Flavius, Octavia, and Venia have all stopped talking and are watching us talk.

"You're going to be on fire again," he observes, deadpan.

"Yep. And you're going to be… copper," I answer after a second. "And we're going to be great friends," I finish with faked false excitement.

For a second, Cato just stares at me, and I'm worried he doesn't understand that I'm joking, or trying to, at least. Then he smiles and ducks his head. "I mean, I guess. If we have to," he says, sounding very serious.

I break into a smile then, partially out of nervous energy, and luckily, he smiles back. "So are we ready to be seen in public together?" I ask Cinna.

"Absolutely," he nods. "Make sure he's standing on your left, the side with the fire."

I don't question his directions anymore. "Okay."

He walks up to me, smooths a piece of my hair down, and says, "You're gonna do great. You can smile, but don't wave. Be more stoic."

I nod – I can do stoic.

"Same goes for you," Cinna says to Cato, who also nods. "I'll be watching. Don't worry, you're gonna do wonderfully. Just remember to breathe." With that, he walks out, taking both our stylist teams with him.

"He's the best one out of all the designers," Cato observes. "Clove wanted to get him, but he went to the Capitol's favorite."

"I was a favorite?" I say doubtfully.

"Sweetheart, you're so out of touch," Haymitch snorts with laughter, walking into the room. He isn't holding any bottles, and his eyes seem relatively sharp; he's kept his promise to me, which I find sweet. "You were the favorite the moment you volunteered for that little angelic sister of yours. Where'd she come from, anyways, with that blonde hair and blue eyes? She doesn't look Seam."

"She takes after my mother."

"Okay, last minute advice," Haymitch says briskly, not acknowledging my answer. "Hold hands only half the time. Whisper a little to each other. Don't kiss or anything, though, save that for later. Got it?"

Right, later. The thought of kissing someone other than Peeta makes me feel sick. Uncomfortably, Cato and I look at each other. Then he holds his hand out to me. "Our chariot's probably waiting for us."

"Great." I take his hand then look back at Haymitch. "Where will you be?"

"At the end, waiting for you. Don't worry about a thing. See you in a bit," he waves, smiling tightly, but I see the sadness in his eyes.

"See you," is all I say, though, and Cato and I walk out.

We ride the elevator down in silence. Effie is waiting with camera crews and they escort us to the chariot. I make sure he's on my left and close my eyes briefly to collect myself. "Do I look okay?" I whisper to him. I want to hold his hand, but I wait. Haymitch said only half the time.

"You look great," he assures me, glancing down at me. The flickering flames from my shoulder are reflecting off his suit jacket, lighting his face from below in a creepy way. It does look really cool, though, just like Cinna intended.

"So do you," I tell him, trying to ignore the people around us that aren't even trying to hide their staring. It's like nobody's ever seen two co-victors talking before. In fact, that's exactly it. "You ready for this?"

"Yep." He sets his jaw and looks ahead. "Are you ready to act like friends?"

"Yeah." I was kind of hoping we wouldn't have to act, but I don't say this. I don't have the time to work out anything else to say, because then the chariot starts moving, and we emerge into the bright lights of the city circle.

The crowd goes wild, cheering for us. Mostly, though, I hear them calling my name, not his, but he doesn't seem to notice. I put on a polite smile for the cameras and whisper to him, "We're friends."

"We are," he mumbles back, smiling too. "Hands now?"

We're about halfway through the circle, so I say, "Sure." He gives me his hand, and I hang on tightly, dreading the moment I'll finally have to let go. The crowd literally goes wild, screaming and throwing trinkets at us. "Just got pelted in the cheek with a ring," I say out of the corner of my mouth.

"I just got a bracelet to the crotch. Suck it up," he says back, smiling at his side of the crowd. "We get to keep these, anyways, so it's worth it."

It's kind of handy to have him around, with his encyclopedic knowledge of the games. It's funny, I never really thought about that aspect of the careers before now. Didn't have the time, I guess, but it makes sense that they'd know everything there is to know about the games. Knowledge is power or whatever.

And having him here definitely adds regality to my being there. Him standing there, tall and muscular and trained for this, makes me feel stronger. Just his presence strengthens me.

It's hard for me to accept this, though. As Haymitch is so fond of bringing up, Cato tried to kill me. He was my biggest competitor. He was brutal, vicious, blood-thirsty, and he terrified me. Yet now, here I am, holding onto his hand for dear life, sharing semi-witty banter. I feel like a fraud, and I hate myself a little for it.

"Smile," Cato reminds me, glancing over at me.

I force my lips up into a tight smile, trying my best to look serene and victorious.

"What's wrong?" he asks when we're getting out of the chariot and climbing the steps to the balcony where President Snow is waiting for us.

"Nothing," I smile. "Don't worry about it."

Peeta would've kept asking me. He could never take no for an answer. But Cato can.

Probably has something to do with the fact that I almost killed him.

We finally reach the balcony. The only emotional reaction I can manage is just happiness that I didn't trip on my skirt. President Snow comes between us and takes our hands in his, then turns to the crowd, raising all of our hands. Then, we stand back as he makes some kind of speech about the symbolic meaning of the two of us winning together. Whatever. I'm not listening.

I look out at the crowd, at their smiling and excited faces. They don't even know how sick and wrong this whole thing is. It's like they're incapable of understanding how terrible it is to kill children for sport. Maybe I wouldn't know either, if I'd grown up here, but it's hard for me to believe that. If I could, I guess I wouldn't hate them that much.

Nah, I probably still would. I'm not forgiving.

Except for Cato, for some reason.

So instead of listening, I think about that. Why, out of all people, have I chosen him to forgive him? HIM. I have the most reasons to hate him forever, out of everybody I've ever known. I mean, we were pushed together by the games, true, and saving each others' lives multiple times changes things. But in my gut, just on an instinctual level, I can't understand how we've gotten here. How he went from the most terrifying person in my life to the only thing that can make me feel safe.

I'm pretty sure most of that's the result of the insane, life-threatening situations we were put into, and the fact that I'm accused of starting a rebellion. I'll die if we don't act like friends, which leaves me very little time to figure out how I feel about everything. I have to take advantage of opportunities like this, between smiles and "heartfelt" speeches.

And then Snow is in front of me, placing a golden crown on my head. He doesn't say anything mean, but his eyes are hard in a frightening way. "Congratulations," he says.

"Thank you," I say carefully, meeting his eyes with my chin up.

Then he moves on to Cato, putting an identical crown on his head. That's who the crown belongs on. Cato. He wears it like a true victor, proud and strong. I almost feel like I shouldn't even be here. On the other hand, though, he was the one everyone thought would die. Neither of us should be here.

Peeta should be here.

Somehow, I hold it together throughout the whole ceremony. I make it down the steps without tripping, fire flickering on my shoulder. On one of the many screens around the City Circle I catch a glimpse of myself. The fire makes my crown glitter and throws shadows on my face. I look impressive. I guess I can see why everybody keeps mistaking me for a victor, but I still don't feel like it.

Cato takes my hand partway through the Circle, and I don't care. I let him, let him squeeze tighter when I don't respond, and let him raise our hands victoriously. And I do the whole smile thing, looking out on the crowd with dignity, but I just feel hollow inside.

Haymitch is waiting for us where the carriage stops. He pushes away everybody else that swarms around me and helps me down himself. "You did great, darling," he assures me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, frowning suspiciously at the flames. "Fantastic."

Cinna comes up to us and puts out the fire. "Can I take that crown for you?" he asks.

"Sure," I say listlessly. I don't even care. "You can melt it down, if you want."

"No, no you don't mean that," Haymitch mutters to me, then says to Cinna, "She doesn't mean that. She's…" He doesn't finish that sentence, just escorts me away to the elevators. Effie's trailing behind us, tiny high heels clicking on the floor, and she's jabbering away, but Haymitch and I aren't paying attention. "You have got to calm down," he tells me.

"I am calm," I say, voice shaking.

"No, sweetheart, you're not," he shakes his head as we get in the elevator. Cato and Effie get in with us, but I barely notice it. Haymitch makes me look him straight in the eyes, and he holds me at arms length. "Listen," he says. "Okay? Listen to me."

"We can talk later-" I start, glancing at the other two people.

"No, we're talking now. Them, they don't matter," he says dismissively, waving his hand towards them. Effie squeaks indignantly, but we both ignore it. "What matters right now is you, Katniss. Okay, you saved his life. You tried to save that little girl. You volunteered for your sister, and you sacrificed your own victory to try to save Peeta. Is that all true?"

I nod, unable to speak.

"Of course it is. So you've got to start taking care of yourself, now. You've gotta deal with these things before they get out of hand, before you're drinking away your problems and you can't sleep at night. Alright?"

He's talking about himself, and that would kind of break my heart, if I could feel anything at all. Instead, I settle for crying, and sort of falling into him limply, letting him hold me. "Okay," I nod into his shoulder.

"Okay. So here's what you're going to do. We'll be going back in about three days, they want to get as much of you as they can, and when you're not doing interviews, you're going to stay in your rooms. Alright? And you can go shopping for your family with your winnings, you can sit alone and cry if you want, whatever you want."

"I don't want to do anything," I mumble into him.

"Then you don't have to. It's all about you, sweetheart, all about you. Okay?" he says slowly, pulling back so he can look at me. "Let me take care of everything. I'll schedule the interviews, get you all packed up, everything. Don't even worry."

"I don't deserve to be here. He does," I say, rubbing my eyes. None of it comes off – Cinna must have had them use waterproof stuff again.

"Peeta?" he says gently.

"Yeah…"

"That's true." He doesn't even try to lie. "He was a great boy, but he's dead now. So you've gotta stop thinking about that. You can't change what happened."

"I should, though."

"No. You shouldn't. Come on." He leads me out of the elevator into our rooms. "Go get comfortable or whatever," he says, pushing me gently towards my bedroom. I kind of stumble in that general direction. Vaguely, I hear him talking to somebody, but I don't pay any attention. I make my way to my room and end up hunched over on the side of my bed, too distraught to move, tears dripping off my face onto my beautiful coal dress.

"Katniss," someone says at the door.

I don't answer. I'm too absolutely miserable to try talking right now. I'm almost too miserable to live, except then, I think of my family, Gale, everybody at home.

"Do you need anything?"

I turn to check who it is, because I can't exactly believe my ears. But sure enough, it is Cato, standing there uncomfortably in his copper clothes. Closing my eyes, I turn back away from him. I can't answer him, because I'm crying. The amount of times I've cried in front of him is unbelievable. If I had more self-awareness, I might get embarrassed.

"Can I come in?" he asks after a very long silence.

I kind of shrug, and then my shoulders shake with harder sobs.

He does come in then, sitting down next to me on the bed, about a foot away. "Can I do anything?" he asks quietly.

"N-n-no," I finally get out. It's hard to talk, or even breathe because of how hard I'm crying.

"Are you sure?"

"No," I mumble, not moving my lips.

He takes off his suit jacket then, putting it over my shoulders. "Okay," he says. "Well, let me know."

I nod, doing my best not to shake and completely failing. The inside of the jacket is unbelievably soft, though I don't know why I'm surprised. It is one of Cinna's designs.

So he gets up and starts to walk out, but then he stops. "You did what you had to," he says without looking at me. "You shouldn't feel bad about that."

'It's not that easy," I shake my head, wiping my tears off on the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm not made like that. And he was… he saved my life."

"That happens a lot in there," he starts to say.

"No. No, I mean before, before any of this started. My dad died and my mom couldn't handle it and me and my sister almost died, but Peeta saved us. Gave us bread. And I killed him." Saying it out loud is worse. I thought it might make me feel better, but it doesn't at all.

"It wasn't your fault," he tells me after a second. "He fell. You just stopped him from dying really slowly and painfully."

True, but "If it wasn't for me-"

He doesn't let me finish that statement. "If it wasn't for you, somebody else would've killed him in a terrible way."

"You, maybe," I say without thinking.

That makes him pause. "Yeah," he nods. "Probably would've been me. And you wouldn't want that. Trust me. I would know."

After some more crying because I'm thinking about the terrible ways Peeta could've died, I realize Cato's joking. Morbidly, but he's joking. I do this weird combination of a laugh and a sob, then sniff loudly. "Yeah," I say, breathing very unsteadily. "That would've been bad."

A long pause. "So do you want me to leave?" he asks seriously.

"No," I admit sadly. "I don't." That sets me off crying again, and he comes back and sits next to me, but at a distance. Which is sensitive and kind of him, and that's weird.

"Why aren't you scared of me?" he asks.

"W-what?" I sniff, wiping my eyes again so I can see his expression. He's just deadpan, though, as usual, so no help there. "Why do you…"

"I mean, I just wanted to know. You should be scared, probably. I tried to kill you," he says, trying to sound very casual. This whole thing is much more important than he's trying to act like it is; even the way I am, I can tell that from his carefully controlled tone of voice.

"You did," I nod, getting control of myself enough to speak. "You did," I repeat more clearly. "But I'm starting to think that maybe those things shouldn't count. The games, they're… crazy. And I did things in there that I'd never do again. So…"

"I don't know if I can say that, though," he says after a second. "I've never done anything else. That's who I am."

"So you're going to try to kill me soon?"

"No."

"Then that isn't who you are," I say, looking into his eyes. For a second, I'm the strong one.

"Is that why you're not scared?" he asks. I can sense this is important to him.

"I don't know. I don't know." I shake my head helplessly, so we just sit there. "I'm gonna get dressed now I think."

"Okay."

"Haymitch could find you something, if you want…"

"Okay,' he says again, and leaves.

I have to take off his jacket to get the dress off, but I put it back on after I get into pajama pants and a tank top. It almost feels like I'm wearing my dad's old leather jacket – it's comforting in the same kind of way, at least, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. Besides comforted, obviously.

So I pulled out my hair from its complicated knots and put it in its usual braid, wipe off every trace of makeup, and hold a really cold, wet towel to my face for about a minute, trying to make my eyes and nose less red and gross. Then I go back out into the main room shrugging the blazer back on.

Haymitch is in the dining room, pouring himself a drink. When he sees that I have Cato's jacket on, he narrows his eyes suspiciously. "You cold?" he asks.

"No," I say stubbornly.

He shrugs. "Whatever you say." He drains a glass of scotch. "You can bring home things for your family," he says casually. "Or things to trade at the Hob."

"Yeah? Like what?" I ask.

"Go sit on the couch, sweetheart," he sighs. "You've got a helluva lot to learn."

So I sit down, and he comes over and joins me with only one bottle of hard liquor. Then, he walks me through the process of shopping with the TV. It's amazing, impressive, and kind of completely superfluous. I almost am disgusted with myself; if the people at home could see me, shopping from a couch, spending tons of money on mostly really useless things, they'd be disgusted.

I don't by the useless things, though. I skip the extravagant food that lights up or the clothes that seem to defy gravity and get the most down-to-earth things I can find; fur-lined gloves for Gale, pretty pastel dresses for Prim and my mother, bags and sacks made out of some mysterious super-strong material. To fill those, Haymitch also helps me pick out pounds and pounds of food – fruits and vegetables, milk that doesn't go bed, and bags of super-nutritious granola.

"You're a practical kind of gal, aren't ya," Haymitch observes after the first few minutes.

"Guess so. You know how it is. You grew up Seam," I say as Cato comes over. He sits on the other end of the couch, but I say, "You can sit over here." So he gets up and sits on my other side, leaving space between us and only glancing at his jacket on me twice.

I'm beginning to think that maybe he's a considerate person. Maybe that's part of this personality he claims not to have.

"Yeah, I guess I did. But I'm not sure if I still am. Spent half the past 24 years in the Capitol. That's not really Seam," he says, shrugging.

I shrug, screwing up my face. "I always thought it was a lifetime deal."

"Let me fill you in on something, darling. After a few years, once they start to resent you for having more than they do, I'm pretty sure you lose the privilege of calling yourself Seam," he says, frowning. "Oh, get that, it's good." He points to a small thing on the screen that I can't really make out.

"It's not that good," Cato speaks up from my other side. "Don't get it. Go down more."

Haymitch leans forward to glare suspiciously at him. "What are you, nuts? It's great, travels well, good for that skinny sister of yours. Get it, babe, ignore him."

So I select it and see that it's the bread from District 11. Bread like Rue's sponsors gave me. Immediately, my breath catches in my chest, throat tightens up. It is good, I know it is, and that's because Rue died. Her death is still a raw wound inside of me, and this brings up everything, all at once.

Haymitch senses that I've tensed up, and he looks over at me. Understanding flashes in his eyes. "Actually there's a better one," he says gruffly, taking the controller from me and getting the image off the screen as fast as possible.

Cato's hand closes over mine where it lies on the couch and hesitantly, he squeezes once. And I don't know what to do because he knew, he knew before I did that this would hurt me, probably make me cry. I'm not sure if it's more meaningful that he noticed enough to know this or that he cared enough to try to stop me from seeing it.

"No, this is good bread," I say, gritting my teeth and forcing myself to sound calm. "Let's get a bunch of it. I'm sure Prim will love it." Rue looked so much like Prim; I remember this for maybe the thousandth time, only this time, it doesn't hurt so much.

"You sure?" Haymitch asks.

"Yeah." I take a deep breath and hold Cato's hand tightly. "Yep. I'm sure."

So we buy some of those, too. Everything we order will be put on the train home, Haymitch tells me, and Peacekeepers are going to help me carry it to my new house in the Victor's Village. "Will it be next to your house?" I ask.

"Do you want it to be?" Haymitch raises one eyebrow. I don't answer, suddenly realizing how pathetic I'd sound if I admit how much I'm gonna need him. "Okay," he says after a slight pause. "I'll see what I can do about it."

"Are you two the only ones there?" Cato asks.

"Yep," Haymitch says shortly. "Not like in yours. Every house still filled?"

"Yeah, um, some of the victors have chosen to live in the Capitol, instead," Cato says. He sounds very uncomfortable.

"Like Enobaria," Haymitch mutters, taking another drink. "We don't have that problem." Unsteadily, he works his way to his feet. "I'm gonna go take care of those damn TV crews," he says unhappily.

"Thanks," I smile winningly at him. "Cuz you know, you did promise that to me."

"I know," he sighs.

"And I might cry if you try to make me do anything." I am mostly joking.

Haymitch levels an unimpressed look at me. "Don't try to pull that. I was there while we figured out a persona for you. You don't do hysterical well."

"I'm learning new skills."

"I'll bet you are," Haymitch snorts and walks away, leaving Cato and me on the couch, holding hands.