Katniss tugged at the hem of her dress when she felt another gust of wind sweep passed her. Cinna had selected the yellow sundress special from his private collection, and it was quite lovely in both its color and modest style. Katniss however, was surrounded by a sea of wealthy studio executives, all of whom seemed to appraise her with a dark hunger in their eyes, leaving her feeling exposed and on edge.
Across the garden party, she spotted Clove as she giggled falsely at some silver haired man's story, placing her hand to his forearm in a startlingly intimate gesture. Katniss grimaced and looked away, lifting a hand to gain a waiter's attention to freshen her drink, she'd need a lot of them to survive this afternoon. She stepped over the perfectly shaped hedges that lined the cobblestone walkway to meet the server, and reached for one of the champagne flutes on his tray.
"Hold on, miss," the red head said, adjusting his pink bow tie. "I don't think I can serve you. How about a lemonade?"
Katniss frowned and reluctantly plucked a tall, sugar rimmed glass from his tray. Darius – she read off the name tag that he wore – had been serving her all afternoon. She had thought he was on her side. Traitor.
Lifting the black straw to her lips, she took a long sip from her drink as she let her eyes drift across the crowd. It had been a while since she had seen Peeta, which was odd, since he rarely left her alone for long at these sorts of functions. He was usually at her side, his mouth poised closely to her ear, while they singled out particularly interesting looking party guests from the bunch. Then he would make up a story for them, murmuring it in her ear.
On this day, Mister Snow, the president of Panem Pictures, was hosting a picnic for all of his employees. Since The Mockingjay was one of the studios' productions, she and the other finalists had been invited to attend. Peeta, being a part of the Archie cast, was also on the guest list. They had been engaged in their usual routine when Effie had swept him away with the promise of a "big, big, big" networking opportunity, leaving Katniss on her own to stand awkwardly amongst strangers she had no interest in meeting.
Katniss ducked beneath the shade of a palm tree and leaned against the ridged trunk. Cinna had also provided her with a gorgeous, brown leather handbag that she had tucked her sunglasses in, a move she now regretted as she fished through the bag's contents in search of them. She gracelessly allowed the strap to slip to the crook of her elbow, causing her to nearly drop her drink in the process and she darted forward to prevent it from spilling.
"Need a hand?"
She jumped in startle and swept a hand through her hair to regain her composure.
"I'm fine, thank you," she said breathlessly. Pulling her purse back over her shoulder, she resigned from her hunt and met the eye of her aide.
She didn't immediately recognize him, but she knew he was someone with whom she was familiar with. Her mind raked through all the important people she had met in search of his name. This man with the slicked back hair, round nose, and thick framed glasses – he was a producer for the show, she recalled. "Mister Heavensbee," she said with a satisfied grin.
"Katniss," he replied, his voice warm. "How are you? Well I hope."
"Yes," she said. She wasn't sure why, but she found herself looking over his shoulder, looking for an escape.
"We're so happy to have you on the show this season," he said. "You're quite talented."
She smiled tightly. "Thank you," she said.
"Often we think the arena we provide may be too small for some of our contestants," he said. "Every year we try to think of new ways to challenge our most promising stars."
"I'm just grateful for the opportunity," Katniss said. She narrowed her eyes curiously at Plutarch's tone and shifted her weight uneasily beneath his pressuring gaze.
"I'm not sure if you've noticed," he lowered his voice, "in fact we don't advertise this, but every season we have an underlying theme." Katniss arched a curious brow and Plutarch continued. "This year it's time."
"How so?" She asked, intrigued.
"Twenty four contestants, twenty four hours in a day. I prefer a twelve hour clock myself," he said and retrieved a small gold pocket watch from his jacket. He displayed the delicate face, marked with golden Roman numerals "Which is ironic I guess, because I do so much prefer the thirteenth hour."
"Thirteen?" Katniss said, her eyes darting between the watch in his hand and his imploring eyes.
"Would you look at that?" Heavensbee said. "It's nearly one. I've got an important meeting."
"And miss this lovely picnic?" She questioned and gestured her hand towards the festivities.
"Oh there are far more interesting events on the horizon," he said with a wink before he excused himself and walked away.
Katniss watched after him, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine. She couldn't pinpoint exactly, what made her so suspicious of Plutarch Heavensbee, but she knew he was hiding something. Her anxiety was piqued when she felt a crunch by her ear.
She turned her head to meet Finnick Odair's sea green eyes. "Sugar cube?" He said and extended his hand to present a cube of sugar. "They have them out for the coffee and tea," he said. "Who knew they still served it that way?" He popped the cube in his mouth when she didn't reach for it. "What's wrong with you?" He asked, puckering his lips obnoxiously.
"Have you seen Peeta?" She said, unamused.
Finnick smirked and his eyes lit up. Leaning forward, he paused when their lips were mere inches apart. "What? Worried he'll get jealous?"
Unintentionally, her gaze dropped to his lips, but she didn't loose her composure in the way most women would at this proximity to Finnick Odair. "Hardly," she laughed. "Maybe I miss him."
"Do you now?" His eyebrows lifted and his forehead crinkled in result. "Could have fooled me." He eased away and slipped another block of sugar between his teeth. "I think I saw him with Maureen Sexto, sneaking off towards the servants' quarters."
Katniss frowned. "Who is Maureen Sexto?" She asked.
"His beloved leading lady of course," he said with an amused chuckle. "Or former, I suppose, you being the current. These things can be hard to follow at times."
"I thought she was in rehab," she said, trying to sound disinterested as she lifted her straw back to her lips.
"She's out now," he said.
"Has it been thirty days already?"
"Maybe. Probably not. Who knows?" Finnick chuckled. "Nobody pays attention to such details."
Katniss drained her glass and was able to swap it for a flute of champagne when the next server passed, her eyes settled on the door that the waiters filed in and out of, as if it may suddenly become transparent and offer her a glimpse. "Were they close?" She asked over the rim of her glass.
Finnick had taken a glass as well, and his eyes turned teasing as he took a sip. "Didn't you read the papers?" He said, his voice incredulous although it was obvious he was only pretending. "They were mad for one another. One time they were even photographed smiling near the other."
"So they weren't actually..." she trailed off, unable to finish her thought. She shrugged her shoulders as if it implied the rest of her inquiry.
Finnick grinned, and his sea green eyes sparkled. "I'm not following," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.
"Don't be obtuse Finnick," she said with a roll of her eyes.
"I always thought you found me at least a little acute," he winked.
"You know what I mean."
He placed a hand on his chest and took a step back. "Are you jealous?" He said.
Katniss scoffed at the thought, because Katniss wasn't the jealous type. Sure, she had scowled a few times at women who had puckered their lips or pushed their cleavage towards Gale when he was tending bar, but that didn't make her a jealous person. She was more curious as to how the resurgence of Peeta's last love interest would affect their current arrangement. She assumed that a beloved starlet would probably trump her on the desirable suitress totem pole. In fact, for all she knew, they were in the kitchen right now ironing out a new contract.
"No," she answered shortly. "Just curious."
"Peeta would never kick you to the curb," he said and wrapped an arm around her shoulder to draw her close. Katniss held her hand to his chest to distance herself from him, but made no move to leave. "You must have noticed this by now."
"He is loyal," she said. "But he made his deal with Maureen first."
Finnick's face turned unreadable and she worried that she had said too much. She assumed that Finnick was in on these charades and had most likely participated in a few himself. He had just been teasing her over Peeta's past romance after all. She tried to think of a way to excuse her words, to twist them so that they seemed genuine.
"You know, matters of the heart," she added quickly.
"I wouldn't worry," he said. "He seems to like you better. Even if Effie made a recommendation, I'm sure he'd choose you. You know," he added coyly, "if the heart wanted that way. Independent of one's career and all."
She caught on to what Finnick was implying, and felt confident that he too was in on the secret. "Are you and Peeta truly friends? Or is that just for show as well?"
"Many things in this town aren't truly as they seem," Finnick said, and took a sip from his drink while his eyes settled on where most of the party guests had gathered. "Peeta Mellark is not one of them."
"I don't think that's true," Katniss said. "He always knows what to say to the cameras or how to carry himself."
"True," he nodded. "But with the people he's told to interact with like you and me and Maureen and Johanna, he genuinely grows to care for us, and you can't help but feel the same in return." Finnick withdrew his arm from Katniss's shoulder and took her empty champagne flute from her to pass off to a server. "You and me, we're the same. We think with our heads. Right?" She nodded. "Peeta's an optimist, he let's his heart get in the way. It's a comfort to have around at times, but it can also be a lot of pressure. Heart of stone versus heart of glass, I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere that could be awfully poetic."
Katniss found herself feeling unsettled as she turned her attention back to the kitchen doors. Peeta had grown to be a comfort to her, but she only looked at their relationship from a selfish vantage point. When she looked to him, she saw how he could advance her career, or how his presence could comfort her through slumber, or how his kindness could inspire her to survive. Finnick was right, people like she were dangerous to those like Peeta Mellark.
Peeta traced random patterns against the cool, slate counter top, his eyes occasionally flitting towards the chefs as they frantically piled various hors d'oeuvres onto polished silver platters. His companion lifted herself onto the counter and crossed her legs.
"You look well," he said, not bothering to look up from the path of his fingers.
"Thank you," she said in the same disinterested tone.
"How was your stay?" He noticed that his drawing was leaving smudges along the black surface and used the back of his arm to wipe it clean.
"Lovely," she said. "In the oft chance Hollywood's golden boy ever looses his way, I highly recommend it." She leaned back against her hands, placing them flat on the counter behind her. Lifting her chin to look at the vaulted ceiling, she continued. "I hear we broke up," she said. "The studio was very unhappy with my behavior, I shouldn't be surprised."
Peeta kept his head bowed and was unable to meet her eye. He felt a sudden surge of guilt for so easily leaving her behind, especially since in a way, he did care for her.
"The new girl seems just darling," she said. Her sunglasses had been balanced on top of her head like a headband and she slipped them back down to cover her eyes. "Where did you even manage to find someone so clueless?"
"We went to high school together," he said.
"Interesting," Maureen said, the ends of her pin straight hair grazing the counter's surface. "Last time we spoke, you seemed to think you were above arranged, public romances. A hollow existence, I believe you called it."
"That was different," he reasoned. He was mainly above his colleagues acting all tortured and feeling sorry for themselves all the time. "I was tired of pretending and being miserable, all to sell some movie tickets. I'd prefer to use my notoriety for good, and I'm doing that now. The studio didn't pick Katniss, I did. She had a real hard time growing up. She deserves the free exposure."
"That's cute," she said and abruptly began to laugh. "You think you've taken control, don't you? That you've beaten the system." She shifted all of her weight onto one hand so that she could dip her sunglasses down her nose and stare at him directly with her chocolate eyes. "Little Peeta Mellark on his sturdy white horse, taking on the heartless movie executives, and saving his damsel in the process. I swear, your idealism is vastly entertaining."
Peeta ran a frustrated hand through his hair, knowing that he couldn't leave this well enough alone. Maureen always had a way of pushing his buttons, thinking she was clever while Peeta was too naïve to function.
"Your negativity is irritating," he said, pushing off the counter top to stand up straight.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she said sweetly, although it was obvious she didn't give a damn. She reached out to take his hand in hers and gave it a light squeeze. "I just worry about you."
He snatched his hand away as if it burned, and stepped back until he was stopped by the kitchen island.
"No," he said, holding up an accusing finger. "You're trying to make me feel bad about myself, so that you can make yourself feel better. Yes, I'm still playing their games, but I'm doing it on my own terms for once."
"Do you really think it's on your own terms?" She asked, but her mocking grin had been replaced with a frown of genuine concern. "Have you looked at yourself?" Peeta narrowed his eyes, but didn't bother to respond. "What happened to your restaurant? You were so excited about it."
He'd barely thought about it in weeks. "The restaurant was stupid," he said with a resigned sigh. "Carbs in Los Angeles? They've been extinct for years."
"Why is your hair still red?" She countered. "Production has been finished for months now. It doesn't look like you're letting it grow out."
He touched a hand to his copper curls in spite of himself. He had asked Effie a similar question a few weeks ago, when he saw that his biweekly hair appointments hadn't been removed from his schedule. "The studio wants me to keep it until the premiere," he said.
"You're the studio's greatest marketing tool," Effie had explained. "When potential audience members see Peeta Mellark, they should instantly think Archie Andrews. How could they possibly do that with a blond mop of hair on your head?"
Personally, he would have liked to give his fans more credit, but he wasn't about to start another argument with Effie, she'd yet to forgive him for the Katniss situation, and he wasn't going to push his limits.
Maureen hopped off the counter and reached out her hand, her fingers curling into his hair as she inspected the strands closely. "There's a very delicate balance," she said. "Nobody pulls far from their leash. Look at what happened to me." Peeta looked up into her sympathetic eyes. "You want to fall in love, I know, but at what cost?"
His eyes darted away. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Isn't that what you wanted before?" She said. Peeta looked passed her shoulder to watch the chef carve a leg of lamb into delicate strips. "You seemed determined to create something genuine with me, even though we were awful together. I assumed you were growing sentimental and trying to find a worthy mate. Isn't that why you handpicked your high school sweetheart?" She lifted his chin and forced him to look at her. "You love her, don't you. And now that you have her, you're afraid that they'll take her away from you if you mess up."
He briefly entertained the thought without giving her too much credit. In the past few weeks he had been more diligent in the studio's requests than usual. It wasn't an extreme change, but he was starting to take once seemingly ridiculous tasks far too seriously. Just the other day he had worked in five different product placements in a single outing, (juggling a Subway sandwich and a Marc Ecko shopping bag, while wearing a Mockingjay tee shirt as he headed towards the shitty Fiat 500 he was being paid to drive, that he had purposefully parked in front of a some overpriced art gallery that was looking for some exposure.) He and Finnick used to make it into a competition, a game in jest, to see who could get snapped by the paparazzi in what could be considered the "most valuable photo." This time he was genuinely trying to complete the list of promotions that Effie had handed him without a hint of irony.
"That seems awfully ominous," he said with a nervous laugh. "Who would take her away exactly? The only person who has objected is Effie, and that's because the number of magazine covers I land directly affects her holiday bonus."
Maureen began to absently open the pristine white cabinets, barely even glancing at the contents before closing the door.
"Effie Trinket doesn't have an actual opinion," she said, slamming a cabinet shut. "Everything that woman says is a direct request from the higher ups. She's like a moderately sympathetic robot." She paused and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know why you worry really. If Panem Pictures grows tired of your current infatuation and calls for a recast, you can always just pull a Finnick and keep your precious love out of the public eye."
"I could," he said, but he was unable to hide his uncertainty, a fact that Maureen was quickly attuned to.
"Oh Peeta, no," she said, and touched a hand to his cheek. "You'll lose yourself completely if you play that game." She kissed the corner of his mouth with gentle lips. "You're one of the good ones, Peeta Mellark. Remember that, all right?"
With that, she seemingly floated from the room, her long maxi dress obscuring her feet as she walked away. Peeta felt unsettled in her wake – as he usually did – and tried to calm himself by tapping his finger against the slate counter. Taking a deep breath, he noticed the time on the oven display and realized he had left Katniss alone for nearly an hour.
She was out in the garden, engaged in a conversation with Finnick and some suits he didn't recognize. Her smile was easy and her eyes were bright as she spoke. She had blended so easily into this world, he realized, that it seemed silly she would ever need to rely on his company to get by.
She was aware of his presence and lifted her hand in a small wave to acknowledge him. He grinned back as best he could and approached her. Almost naturally, she slipped her hand into his when he reached her. "Are you okay?" She whispered into his ear, a concerned frown creasing her lips.
"Fine," he said with a short nod.
Her eyes lingered on him, and he couldn't help but notice. He dismissed any thoughts of this quickly and let her hand slip from his, covering it by introducing himself to the other men in the conversation.
"Do we have to be here much longer?" She asked, placing a hand on his arm to gain his attention.
"No, not at all. Did you need a ride back to your hotel?"
"Please," she said. They excused themselves and Peeta escorted her across the garden, her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow. He helped her into his car, noting the photographers busily shooting pictures from the edge of the driveway.
"Finnick and I were talking about you," Katniss said as he pulled the car out of the lot.
He lifted a hand to acknowledge the paps as they passed, and the bright flashes they used to peer into the tinted windows left him temporarily blinded, forcing him to shield his eyes. "Oh yeah?" He said, his head still bowed. "That's never how you want to hear a conversation start."
"We were talking about your first movie," she explained. "I admitted I'd never seen it."
"Really?" He said. "I thought the premier was required viewing in Pittsburgh."
"I was distracted with other things," was all she had to say for him to understand. There was a brief silence. "What was it about?"
He paused to remember. "Deadbeat mom trying to overcome drug addiction and abusive relationships. It was pretty depressing," he said. "I played her son. We could watch it sometime if you'd like."
"How about now?" She said. "I don't have anywhere else to be."
He eyed her suspiciously and nodded. "Better time than any," he agreed.
Instead of pulling off onto the highway that would lead them to the center of Los Angeles, Peeta turned down a residential street that would eventually lead to his neighborhood. His house wasn't nearly as extravagant as Mister Snow's, in fact it was quite modest for the price tag, but he knew of all the guests he had invited to his home, Katniss was the least interested in silly showings of status.
For such a petite girl, Katniss managed to stretch her body across the full length of his leather couch, and Peeta elected to drop a few pillows on the floor, positioning himself between the sofa and the coffee table so that he could share in the bowl of popcorn that Katniss kept cradled against her.
It had been some time since he had sat down and watched Beningo Numine, and he found himself excitedly recalling the story behind every scene. "That's my bike," he pointed out. "And we didn't have a wardrobe department so we just wore our street clothes."
"I recognize that hoodie," Katniss said, and he found himself smiling at the knowledge that she had noticed him, when often in high school, she treated him like he didn't exist.
By the time the credits rolled, Peeta was feeling a strange amount of nostalgia, that only amplified the somberness that Maureen had caused him to feel earlier. He was no longer the kid that shot that film all those years ago, and he could barely feel a connection to him. He was happy then, that he could remember, he only wished he could feel that again. He frowned, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"So, what'd you think?" He asked, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found her wrapped around a pillow, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as she slept. "Sorry to bore you," he said lightly, climbing to his feet and placing his hands on his hips.
She stirred, her limbs unfolding from her curled position as she woke. "No, it was good. I just closed my eyes, I swear," she murmured.
"Can I drive you home?" He asked, and held out a hand to help her up.
"That's not necessary," she said with a yawn. "It's so late and the hotel is at least a half an hour away."
"It's no trouble," he insisted. "I could call you a cab, if you'd prefer."
She sat up on the sofa and tucked her legs beneath her. Her loose curls framed her face, her large gray eyes looking up at him shyly. "Or I could stay here," she reasoned.
"Sure," he said, his dumb nodding a clear indicator as to how nervous he suddenly felt. He forced himself to stop and smiled tightly. "I'm sure I have some clothes you could borrow."
She smiled warmly at him and he couldn't help but be fooled into thinking that her fondness was genuine. That even if it weren't for the show, she would want to be here with him. It was with those foolish thoughts that he followed her up the stairs and didn't correct her when she settled in his bedroom instead of the guest room down the hall.
As always, thank you for all the lovely reviews. Your feedback is always incredible and puts the biggest smile on my face! Sorry that this chapter was a little fillerish, it actually wasn't in my initial outline but there were a few plot points I wanted to address (*cough Peeta's hair cough*) and I kind of missed Maureen. Things are about to pick up soon I promise *insert ominous laugh here* And any questions or concerns, feel free to send em to me at my tumblr (absnow)
