A/N: Okay, as usual, I have to thank all of you for your awesomeness. Almost at 600! Dudes, this is awesome. Like, super-crazy-I-cannot-believe-this awesome.

So . . . all of you are looking forward to a wonderful convo between PK and Haymitch (hopefully) . . . but, alas, the true gem of this chapter all revolves around PK. So, just to tease you guys, think of every single romantic thing Peeta has ever said, multiply by 1000, and you can get a sense of how awesome he is this chapter. Just wait and smile and giggle. ;)

Okay! Movie quote of the day is from Iron Man.

Random Disclaimer: I do not own CF, though I do own a rather fantastic fedora; "Think you used enough dynamite there, Butch?"; "Why is the rum always gone?"; "Why so serious?"; "I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!"; "I am Asneeze, father of Achoo."; "Dobby did not mean to kill . . . only to maim . . . or seriously injure."; "My precious!"; "Puny god"; "So that's what it feels like"; "Yeah, I can fly."

Chapter 10

Almost a second after the shot is fired, the Peacekeepers descend upon us, their weapons held length-wise as they corral Peeta and I back into the Justice Building. They're rather rough about it though, and when one Peacekeeper shoves me forward, Peeta has had enough. "We're going!" he says as he shoves the Peacekeeper away from me. "We get it, alright? Back off." His arm wraps around my waist and I lean into him, still shocked about the execution of the old man.

The moment we're through the doors, the Peacekeepers return back to the crowd, leaving Peeta and I in a room of the Justice Building. Our entrance is met with four anxious gazes—Cinna, Portia, Effie, and Haymitch. All of them are huddled under a now static-filled television screen, and I can tell that they'd been watching intently until the screen cut out.

"What happened?" Effie asks as she hurries over to us. "We lost the feed just after Katniss's beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard a gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!"

I can't help but glance at Haymitch, who is staring at Peeta and me intently. If I didn't know any better I'd think that there was genuine concern hidden his eyes, masked by his anger that he was managing to contain.

"Nothing happened, Effie," Peeta assures her, though even I can hear how his voice is measured. It's a wonder Effie doesn't notice. "An old truck backfired."

His lie is not helped when there are two more shots immediately after his words. I can't help but wonder who else is now dead because of me. It's all my fault. All of this. The berries. The uprisings. All of it. My fault.

It probably would have been easier on everyone if I had just died in the arena.

"Both of you," Haymitch barks. "With me."

Peeta and I don't hesitate to follow our mentor. We say nothing has he leads us up what was once a magnificently carved marble staircase that is now cracking and turning to dust. Once we ascend the stairs, we follow him through two big wooden doors that lead into a large room. The walls are covered with peeling, mildewed wallpaper depicting fruits and colors and little, fat babies with angel's wings. Our evening wear is hanging on a rack along the back wall. Apparently, this is the room we've been given to prepare for the banquet.

Haymitch only pauses long enough for Peeta and I to set our gifts down before he rips off my microphone, grabs Peeta's, and then stuffs them both under a seat cushion of the couch. Haymitch then proceeds to lead us down winding hallways and narrow staircases, gradually ascending higher and higher. As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, on his own Victory Tour nearly twenty-five years ago. I think that he must have a remarkable memory.

Finally, after climbing the ricketiest set of stairs to ever exist (I was sure my foot was going to go through every step), Haymitch pries open a trap door and when I finally climb through, a little winded by the amount of stairs I've climbed, I take a moment to look around.

The place is covered in such a thick layer of dust that I wonder how many years it's been since someone was last up here. Here, being a small, dome-shaped room at the very top of the Justice Building, filled with mildewed couches, broken tables, and old weapons. In other words, it's the perfect place to talk and not be overheard, by people or a listening device.

"What happened?" Haymitch snaps gruffly, his arms folded across his chest.

"I couldn't just not say anything," I say, my voice sounding small. "I owed it to them to say something. I didn't mean to screw everything up!"

Haymitch sighs. He looks to Peeta. "What did she do this time?"

Peeta gives Haymitch a glare. "It really wasn't her fault. No one could have known how the people were going to react." I can practically see Haymitch's patience running out, like sand in an hourglass, and apparently Peeta does too because he begins to explain. "After Katniss spoke to the families, an old man whistled Rue's song, and then . . . it was really amazing, honestly . . . everyone in the square saluted her, the same salute we use in 12. It couldn't have been spontaneous." Peeta sighs and looks at me. "I'm assuming they cut Katniss's microphone, and then the mayor wrapped up everything. We were just walking back inside, but we stopped and looked back and . . ."

"They dragged the old man up on stage and executed him," Peeta says, his voice strained. "The old man who whistled. They just hauled him up there and shot him in front of everyone."

Peeta looks away and I know that he's done talking for a while. I look up at Haymitch, wordlessly asking if there's any part of this that we can salvage. "You two are screwed."

Yeah. I thought so.

"I'd still go through with the engagement though," Haymitch says and I note that he looks more haggard than I've ever seen him. And I've seen him on one of his binges. More than one, actually. "Just on the off chance that the gods are smiling on you," he adds with his trademark sarcasm.

"It was never going to work," I say quietly. "People will believe what they want to believe, what they need to believe."

"You gave them a reason to hope," Haymitch shrugs. "What's better than young love triumphing over tyranny?"

It's the first treasonous thing Haymitch as ever said to me sober. I wonder how long he's harbored these thoughts. Knowing Haymitch and his surly, sarcastic smarts, probably since he was our age, if not younger. Haymitch has an ability to see right to the core of things. I have no doubt that it's how he won his Games. He's probably the smartest, most calculative of us all.

Even if he is a big jerk.

"We'll still keep trying," Peeta says, speaking for the first time since his explanation of the events on the veranda. "We don't have a choice. Snow threatened our families. I can't just give up."

"I wouldn't necessarily worry about them," Haymitch says, causing both Peeta and I to glare incredulously at him. He holds up his hands, a sign of surrender. "Just listen before you throw a fit. If you two don't live up to Snow's expectations, he'll come after you. You cut off the head, the rest of the body is useless."

"But he's so cruel," I say. "He wouldn't make it that easy on us."

"He doesn't have time," Haymitch replies easily. "District 11 isn't the only district that's seething underneath. His first priority is containing the uprisings, and since you two are their symbol, the easiest way to crush their hopes would be to kill you two."

"Or our deaths could just as easily incite them to act," Peeta counters evenly.

"The likelihood of that isn't too great." Haymitch pauses to take a long swig from his flask. I don't even begrudge him for it. I'd be drinking too right about now if that were how I coped. "Their hope is fragile. They, themselves, are fragile. Fragile is easy to break."

I'm shaking my head. I know a thing or two about clinging to your last hope. "No it's not," I argue, my gaze lingering on Peeta as I say, "When you grasp that final shred of hope, you hold on and never let go."

Peeta's eyes meet mine and we stare at each other for a moment before he manages a small smile. "You still don't know," he says softly. "The effect you have."

Even in our dire situation, Haymitch, as usual, whenever Peeta and I get 'love struck,' snarls. "That's enough of the googly-eyes." He practically shudders, though I know that secretly he actually cares for us. Why else would he still be helping us? "Get out of here. They're bound to be looking for us."

He's right, just not in the way I originally thought. I thought he meant Peacekeepers, but when I see Cinna and Portia coming toward us, looking harried, I can't help the burst of relief that floods me. Although, considering the events and revelations of today, I'm not too thrilled when Cinna leads me away and Portia drags Peeta in the opposite direction. I don't want to be away from him, worried that Snow might send some super assassin to kill him.

Great. My paranoia is continuing to grow in leaps and bounds.

I stand in the shower so long that my prep team actually has to come in and get me before they start prepping me. I don't even have to try to tune out their Capitol prattle as they go to work on me. My mind is still trying to comprehend the events of the past few days. In mere days, I've gone from happily waking up in bed with Peeta, to being threatened by President Snow, to basically giving more ammunition for uprisings when I'm supposed to be defusing them, and now it as all blown up in my face. How can I have caused so much trouble? I'm only one girl.

Those damn berries.

I close my eyes, focusing my mind on the conversation with Haymitch and Peeta in the dome. Basically, we all acknowledged that our mission given to us by President Snow is doomed to fail, but that we really don't have to worry about the repercussions affecting our families because it'd be smarter for Snow to just kill us and save himself the time.

Great.

But there was really no saving our task of quieting the uprising districts. As I said, people will believe what they want. Yes, you can sway them with the right words and actions, but there comes a point when desperation is at its lowest. And you look for anything that could possibly make you hope for something. I've been there. For me, I found Peeta, even though I didn't realize it that night in the rain. For the people of District 11, they saw, as Haymitch said, young love—me and Peeta—triumphing over the Capitol.

I can't help but think of one of my realizations I made in the cave, when I had discovered that I loved Peeta. I couldn't help but ponder 'love.' I quickly came to the conclusion that it was a powerful force. This fact is definitely proving to be true. Apparently, it can move nations.

Scary thought.

When I'm all made up, I look as beautiful as I always do. It's crazy how Cinna and my prep team work their magic to make me look like this. The dress I'm wearing, a floor length, pale pink strapless, is gorgeous.

"What do you think?" Cinna asks as he drapes a silver wrap around my shoulders, making sure to be wary of the multitude of ringlets that cascade down my back.

"It's lovely," I tell him sincerely, giving him a small smile. "As always."

Cinna offers me a small smile in thanks, and I wonder if he knows of the events of the day. Well, at least the part where the whistler was executed after the ceremony. It wouldn't be good for him to know of Snow's threats . . . even if I have to fight the urge to confide everything to him practically every second I'm with him.

We all meet up before we're supposed to make our entrance at the banquet. I'm immediately at Peeta's side and his hand is grasping mine in the next second. Even amidst all this chaos, he is still my rock, always there to steady me. He's always the strong one.

It's easy to see that Effie is just a little out of sorts. At the end of her quick skimming-over of the itinerary, she tosses the schedule aside and says, "And then we can get on the train and get out of here."

"Something wrong, Effie?" I ask, and she snorts delicately.

"I don't like the way we've been treated. Being stuffed into trucks and barred from the platform. And then, about an hour ago, I decided to look around the Justice Building. I'm something of an expert in architectural design, you know," she rants.

Before our silence gets too long, Portia pipes up. "Oh, yes. I do believe I heard that."

Effie nods in acknowledgment before she continues. "So, I was just having a peek around because district ruins are going to be all the rage this year, when two Peacemakers showed up and ordered me back to our quarters. One of them actually poked me with her gun!"

This is all Haymitch's fault. Not that he cares. Not that I really care, either. After Peeta and I had been ushered into the Justice Building after the fiasco outside, the Peacekeepers really didn't pay that much attention to us. And after all, why should they? We were 'safe' inside. But, naturally, they'd have to notice our absence.

I sincerely doubt that anyone could escape to our little dome room without being caught. Not after our disappearing act.

Of course, I'm not about to tell Effie this.

Instead, I say, "That's awful, Effie." I surprise myself and probably everyone else when I give her a hug. "Maybe we shouldn't go to the dinner at all." I suggest, the hopeful tinge in my voice irrefutable. "At least until they've apologized."

Effie shakes her head, though I know she feels better that I acknowledged her complaint. "No, I'll mange. It's part of my job to weather the ups and downs. And we can't let you two miss your dinner," she says. "But thank you for the offer Katniss."

I admit that even though I knew she wouldn't say, "Yes! Let's hop on the train!" I am still slightly disappointed because I have to stay for the dinner. Because honestly, like after all bad days, I just want to curl up in bed with Peeta and stay there. Or if Maya were here, I'd probably go into the woods with her. Shoot something. Make myself feel better.

But seeing as how that's not an option . . . I resign my fate to the dinner.

Effie makes sure that we're all lined up in the proper order, reminding us how many steps we each have to wait before we enter the hall. The prep teams go first, then Effie, then Cinna and Portia, Haymitch, and then last but certainly not least, Peeta and I bring up the rear.

Peeta leans down and whispers, "I know it's probably the last thing on your mind, but you look beautiful."

"It is the last thing on my mind," I say bluntly before looking up at him with a smile, a blush staining my cheeks. "But thank you."

Peeta smiles before saying tiredly, yet determinedly, "I don't know how, but somehow we're going to win this game." He squeezes my hand. "You and me. Together."

"How do you know?" I ask, unable to believe him, though I desperately want to.

"Because I've got to believe that there's still some good in this world."

I don't have a chance to reply before Peeta glances at Haymitch, who's already entered the banquet hall. "Got to go," he says before leading us forward.

This begins a process that seems never ending. We continue through the districts one by one. We parade through the streets. The mayor honors us. We say thank-you, only the Capitol scripted ones. No more personal touches that incite rebellion. Move on to the dinner. Back to the train.

And repeat.

Peeta and I still play up the love angle, really being over the top. So over the top in fact, that it's actually difficult, and at the end of the day, Peeta and I almost want nothing to do with the other, instead retreating to our separate compartments until night falls and we end up together in one of our compartments, usually his. All the affection, all the kisses, the hugs, pretending to sneak off for some alone time and purposely getting caught. All of it wasn't us. Both of us, in reality, are much more subtle. I mean, we still kissed. Peeta never lets me go a day without at least one hug. And when we actually do sneak off for alone time, we never get caught.

Like for instance, in District 4, the fishing district, Peeta and I were able to sneak away and walk along the beach. And in District 7 we were able to escape into the woods for a little while, if only to give me some semblance of normalcy.

When we finally reach the Capitol, I'm relieved, a little bit at least, simply because the end is in sight. The Capitol citizens welcome us back with open arms that quickly surround you and ruin every thought of escape. It's stifling, the energy in the air. They chant our names just as loudly and just as chaotically as they did when Peeta and I first made our fiery debut during opening ceremonies. It's an odd case of déjà vu.

As I'm being prepped for our interview with Caesar Flickerman, I hardly notice my prep team as they make me up. I'm focusing on the fact that Peeta is going to propose to me during the interview, in front of the entire nation. We have it all planned out. And it would bother me, the fact that such a personal moment, one that's only supposed to be shared between the two of us, is to be broadcast for the entirety of Panem to see. But I don't have to worry about this, because Peeta has already proposed, and I've already said 'yes.'

It was our last travel day on the train before reaching the Capitol. Peeta and I spent the entire day lounging around. We talked a little bit about everything as he absently painted on a canvas, the picture on it suspiciously beginning to look more and more like me as he continued. I did remember to ask him about his relationship with Portia, thinking of the maternal glint in the stylist's eye. Peeta admitted, somewhat embarrassed, that Portia was more like a mother to him than he'd ever known. "It's nice, you know," he said softly, though there was sadness in his tone. "To have someone to mess with your hair, remind you to eat, to fuss over making you look good for your girlfriend." He'd shrugged. "Safe to say my mother doesn't do any of those things. All she does is yell and insult and hit you when you screw up."

I really hate his mother. Intensely so.

Aside from that little bit of conversation, we'd had a fairly enjoyable day. After dinner, we'd gone back to his compartment. The painting he'd been working on all day was sitting on an easel in the corner of the room. As I'd suspected earlier, it was a picture of me. Once again, he'd painted me looking far more beautiful than I can ever be. I easily recognized the memory that he'd put to canvas. It was from our day at the lake, our first official date. After his impromptu swimming lesson, we had both laid out on the soft grass along the bank, letting the sun dry us out. He'd painted me with my hair fanned out around me, water droplets glistening in the sun. My eyes were shining brightly, looking happier than I would have thought possible.

But I barely catalogued all of this in my mind. All I could really see, all I could really focus on, were the words that he'd written in the top left hand corner.

Will you marry me?

I'd turned back to face him, only to find him down on one knee. I was practically in a daze as he took my hand, too surprised and shocked to say anything. Though, I did vaguely realize that I really wasn't supposed to say anything—yet.

Peeta smiled, looking slightly nervous. "Katniss, you are, without a doubt, the most amazing person I've ever met. You're fierce in your desire to protect what's yours. You have a strength that I will never know for myself. Your heart shines of love and compassion so brightly that it blinds me. There's an art in everything you do that I will never be able to capture on canvas. Katniss, you're simply stunning."

I wasn't aware that I was crying until I saw a tear splash on Peeta's hand that held mine.

"I've been in love with you for eleven years. And in that time I've dreamed about so many different things. First dates. First kisses. Lots of firsts. In reality, none of it happened the way I'd dreamed, and that's perfectly okay. This way was better. Our way was better. I wake up in the morning with my arms around you and I wonder if all of this is really real. If our love is just some fantastic dream that I didn't know I had the creativity to imagine. But then you wake up too, and you smile at me, and I know that it's real. What we have is real."

Peeta meets my eyes and smiles at me, unshed tears causing his blue orbs to glisten. "So, Katniss Everdeen, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Naturally, when I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out. So, I threw my arms around him kissed him, putting as much love into it as I could. When we finally pulled away, I looked deep into his eyes, and smiled, my answer easily slipping from my lips. "Yes."

And then I'd stood and picked up a paintbrush, where I also wrote a big 'YES' in all caps under his written proposal.

I'm pulled out of my memory when my prep team leaves, wishing me luck on the interview. Cinna comes in wearing a small smile. I'd told him of Peeta's proposal the night before on the train. Cinna had merely smiled, gave me a big hug, and then promptly begin muttering about designs for wedding dresses, an almost feverish, giddy look in his eye as he contemplated the possibilities. We even tossed around a few ideas.

But now Cinna unzips the garment bag and reveals my dress for the evening. I have to smile. The dress is the exact color of Peeta's eyes, a beautiful summer sky blue. "Cinna," I say softly as the silky smooth strands of the dress caress my skin. "It's wonderful."

"I thought you'd like it," he says as he hands me my shoes, strappy silver heels that look tortuous, but after taking a few steps in them, I find that they aren't all that bad.

Our interview with Caesar goes smoothly. Right when he asks Peeta and me about our plans for the future, Peeta promptly gets down on one knee and proposes to me again. He doesn't repeat anything of what he said in his real proposal and I'm grateful. It gives the real proposal more authenticity. It makes it more ours. Only Peeta and I know what words were said.

Still, his second proposal moves me to tears, which irritates me because I hate crying on camera, but I suck it up and deal with it because I know it's good for our last final attempt to assuage the uprising districts.

The crowd, of course, goes utterly ballistic when I say 'yes.' They're screaming and hollering their congratulations. I even hear some of them begging for wedding invitations. But all of this fades into the background when President Snow comes onto the stage. He grasps Peeta's hand and gives him an approving slap on the shoulder. He plants a puffy kiss on my cheek in congratulations and I control the involuntary shiver that runs through me and the intense desire to wash my face. The smell of blood and roses is nearly overwhelming as we hold each other's gazes for a moment. Asking what my lips cannot, I raise my eyebrows in question.

I'm asking him if Peeta and I were successful, if our performance was good enough, if we somehow managed to calm the districts. And even though I've known what his answer would be since practically the beginning, I still feel a crushing sense of dread drop like a weight in my stomach when he gives a minute shake of his head.

And my fleeting hope for a miracle is slain.

Yeah, I love writing marriage proposals. They're so much fun . . . especially when they come from Peeta . . .

(sighs)

Peeta, you are golden, honey. Golden.

So, there you go. And, while I'm at it, I think I'll give you a Peeta quote from the next chapter.

"Some of those guys are lucky to still be walking."

Lots of love,

AC