The non-descript black car slid up to the curb, its engine idling almost imperceptibly. The ride had been smooth, efficient, and he'd forgotten how quickly it would take for him to travel from the station to home. Tapping out the security code on his comm – a message from President Snow's office had come through practically the moment he'd stepped off the train – Peeta powered it down and slid it into his pocket. He absently glanced out the window to his building, already yearning for a 30 minute shower and a glass of something cold and alcoholic, when his jaw dropped at the sight of the people gathered on the sidewalk. There were well over 50 of them, and by the looks of the excitement on their faces at his arrival, he was what they were waiting for.

Exchanging a glance with the driver, he reached for the handle, pushing the door open quickly. A swarm of photographers, of camera crews, of pushy reporters, descended on him, and he threw an arm up to cover his face at the flash of a bulb as he fought his way through to the buildings front door.

This wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting when he signed up for this.

Peeta slid his access key into the slot, waited for the light beside it to turn green, and breathed a sigh of relief as it switched over, the door sliding open immediately. He ignored the shouting of his name, and Katniss', the salacious innuendos that followed, and leant against the door as it closed, the calm and quiet of the lobby inviting and welcome.

Hitching over his shoulder the single bag he'd grabbed as he'd left the train – the rest would be delivered later – he took the stairs up to his apartment, thankful that he at least lived in a small high-rise where he wouldn't be bombarded right at his front door. The same couldn't be said for the bakery, though, and he vaguely wondered if his family were still being harangued.

He'd spent two more days in Twelve after the interview, fully aware he'd already spent long enough out in the District. Plutarch would want to meet with him soon. And as evidenced by the promptly received message on his comm, Snow did as well. But each time he'd thought about leaving, a clenching in his gut begged him to postpone his return to the Capitol.

He knew, though, that now was not the time to plant roots in Twelve, no matter how much he wanted to.

Dropping his bag on the small sofa, he shrugged off the jacket he wore, toed off his shoes, leaving both where they fell. Curling his fingers around the hem of his shirt, he tugged it over his head, flung it onto a chair as he stepped into the small bedroom. He looked longingly at the perfectly made bed – a remnant of his childhood, before his mother had insisted they hire help - but knew he wanted the shower more. If there was one thing he had missed about the Capitol, it was their showers. As nice as the one in the house in Victors Village had been, it had nothing on the state of the art version every home in the Capitol had.

Pressing the combination of buttons that gave him the shower he preferred – using 3 out of the 5 shower heads, medium spray, 85% heat and the scent of pine he'd begun using since he'd met Katniss – he stripped off and stepped under the pulsing water. Over a week's worth of stress fell from his shoulders, a week's worth of saying one thing to Katniss, another to Plutarch, another entirely to Snow. A week's worth of worrying about being watched, about changing holo feeds, about what could happen to Katniss if things didn't work out the way they planned.

The water sluiced over his shoulders as he tried not to think about the summons he'd received from Snow's office, demanding a meeting the following morning, and instead kept his focus on the mini-fridge in his kitchen, on the bottle of purple liquor that waited for him. He had tomorrow to worry about things. Right now, he wanted nothing but to relax and pretend that he was simply waiting for Katniss to come home. He figured it was the only way he was going to get through until the next time he saw her; especially if he had to face crowds like the one on the street below every time he left his home.

On the inside he was tugging on the collar of his stone grey jacket, loosening the knot on the thin orange tie around his neck, tapping his feet to a noiseless rhythm. But to the slim lavender-haired assistant who sat at the desk across from him, her vermillion eyes occasionally glancing his way, he was stone still.

He was nervous, but Peeta didn't want President Snow - let alone his assistant - to know he was. It was all about impressions.

A slight buzzing sound came from the desk, and the woman tipped her head in the direction of the door. He'd been here enough times now that she no longer escorted him, and instead he made his own way down the carpeted hall towards the office of the President.

Stepping inside the wide wooden doors, he noted Snow was already seated at his desk, a small china pot and two delicate cups placed in front of him, fragrant steam rising like smoke trails towards the ceiling. "President Snow," Peeta greeted, waiting until he was directed towards the uncomfortable guest chair before taking a seat.

"Mr Mellark, so wonderful to see you. I much appreciate you taking the time to meet with me." He said it as though Peeta had had any say in the decision, but a directive was a directive. He gestured towards the cups, and Peeta reached for one, clasping it in between his hands. He didn't feel like drinking it, but the air in the office was cold, almost chilling him to the bone. Peeta wondered how the older man wasn't shivering in his seat.

"It's good to be back in the Capitol," Peeta replied simply.

The smile didn't reach the older man's eyes. "Ahhh, yes. Such a different...place, out in those outlying districts. It was a much longer stay for you this time than your first. And for….pleasure, this time." The slyness in his voice wasn't hard to miss, and Peeta nodded, unsure what else to say. "Tell me about your time in Twelve."

With a nod, Peeta reiterated much of what he knew he had forwarded in his daily reports. He'd had to be as transparent as possible with many things - the surveillance meant he couldn't deviate very far from the truth - and peppered little slivers of interaction between himself and Katniss into the conversation. He explained what had happened during the days following the whipping, and he ignored the glimmer of delight that showed in Snow's eyes as he described Gale's condition. He kept his voice unaffected, almost robotic in its relaying of information.

When he finished, Snow smiled slightly, tugged on the cuffs of the gloves he wore. "So...how is Panem's current victor?"

"Fine," Peeta said, leaning back in his chair and trying to convey an air of ambivalence.

"And your primary assignment isn't proving to be too strenuous?"

Peeta shrugged, knowing he had to tread carefully - and lie through his teeth. "She's an enjoyable enough pastime. Prickly and snarky, and plagued by doubt and nightmares, but easy enough on the eye for it not to be a hardship."

"And you haven't...grown attached to her?"

Peeta shook his head, sipped at his tea instead. He found the words had stuck in his throat, and knew no cajoling would draw them from him.

Snow raised his elbows onto the desk, his fingers lacing in front of him. "This is good to know. I won't lie to you, Mr Mellark, when I tell you I was concerned seeing some of the footage of the two of you together. It seemed all too easy for you, and it plagued me that you may have fallen under her spell too."

Peeta pursed his lips, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. "Well, you did want it to be convincing. I'm just doing the job that was asked of me."

The white-haired man studied him carefully, his eyes narrowed and dark. Whatever he'd been looking for, he must have found, for after a moment he nodded. "Of course you are right. I just needed to be certain."

"I assure you," Peeta said. "You need not be concerned."

"Good." Snow paused, let silence fill the room until it all but choked the breath from Peeta's lungs. "This is good news indeed, Mr Mellark, because I would have hated to have been wrong about you. Tell me, what do you really understand about Miss Everdeen?"

His heart turned painfully in his chest. "I'm sorry?"

Snow waved away his own question. "Never mind. Regardless of what you could answer, I doubt it would match to what I am about to tell you. Because I'm afraid, dear boy, that you may not be fully aware of what a threat she is to Panem, and to me, and to the very way of life you are accustomed to."

Peeta knew his perception of Katniss was vastly different to that of the President, though it was something he could never fully express. Instead, he just shrugged. "I know why you asked me to do this," he replied. "To help stop the upheaval and possible rebellion in the outlying districts, to misdirect peoples attentions."

"Well yes, of course that is correct. But I don't think you completely comprehend what I mean to say." Snow reached for the china cup, sipped lightly before placing it back on the table. His eyes turned steely, and if the room could have gotten any colder, Peeta swore it did in that moment. His voice was low, steady, and held all the threat Peeta imagined he'd used with Katniss at the mansion. "I'm telling you this because I trust you, Mr Mellark, because I have faith in you. And because I feel it is something you have the right to know. Miss Everdeen is a threat to Panem and must be stopped. I will do whatever it takes to prevent her from ruining everything."

A threat to Panem? Ruining everything? Oh, if only President Snow knew. That everything Katniss had inadvertently done, and would continue to do, would benefit the country so much. "So it's more serious than you first advised?" Peeta ventured, allowing a hint of concern to enter his voice.

Snow chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh yes, indeed it is. I don't show my cards to just anyone, Mr Mellark. You had to earn my trust, and your words today, along with the reports you provided to us while you were in Twelve, have done so. The vote of confidence I received from Plutarch Heavensbee did not go amiss either."

Peeta's eyebrows shot up in surprise because, in the grand scheme of things, he and Plutarch weren't really meant to know each other well at all.

Snow continued as though he didn't notice Peeta's reaction, although he was certain he would have. "Your employer, Cressida, speaks very highly of you, and this, in turn, has made its way to Mr Heavensbee. You're aware that he is this years Head Gamemaker, and is someone I have a lot of trust in. With my trust, comes intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the Capitol, and this is something I'm extending to you as well. People may just see you as a photographer, Mr Mellark, but I have higher hopes for you as an ally. You've proven yourself."

"I…" Peeta trailed off. "I never expected this."

"I doubt you did. The stability we've held across Panem since the Dark Days is something I don't take lightly, and I refuse to let it fall under my watch. Your commitment so far to our cause is respected, and very much appreciated. And you will continue to help me. If, of course, you're amenable to my...future plans."

Peeta swallowed heavily, certain he didn't like whatever Snow was insinuating. But he did nothing but nod, a forced smile on his face.

"Of course, President Snow. Whatever it takes."

She'd snuck down to the Meadow before dawn, staring longingly at the woods beyond the fence until the first rays of the morning sun had filtered through the trees. Katniss hadn't been beyond the fence since before the tour, and since Gale's whipping a month earlier, she'd been hesitant to even come into the Seam for more than a quick visit to the Hawthornes. But she'd woken with the aching need to be at least near the woods that had been her sanctuary for so long, and had tucked the new scarf her mother had made her around her neck, grabbed an apple and a cold chicken drumstick from the icebox and taken the long way around.

She watched as the yellow ribbons of light danced across her skin, listened as the birds continued to chitter and chirp amongst the branches, knew she didn't have long before she needed to make her way back home. But she just needed 5 minutes, 5 minutes more, and then she'd go home, probably to have another piano lesson with Madge. Not that it could even be considered a lesson when she simply sat on the floor and listened to Madge as her friend played as if she'd been born with the talent.

Running her fingers over the dewy grass, she at least appreciated the fact that the snow had finally gone. It was still cool in the mornings – hence the scarf – but by mid-morning she knew both that and her jacket would be long gone. Winter had dragged on forever, and the only respite had been Peeta here to distract her from the bitter cold, and her thoughts. But he'd been gone for weeks, and the darkness that liked to play with her mind hovered around her constantly.

Stretching out her legs for a moment before rising, Katniss took one last glance towards the woods, towards the log she knew held her bow and arrows. She missed them like she missed a limb, and she only wished she'd somehow had the foresight to retrieve them before the District was effectively shut down.

She detoured past the abandoned Hob – even after all these weeks, the unwritten rule that anyone trying to sell inside there would meet the same fate as Gale weighed heavily over the Seam. She knew, after speaking with Hazelle, that those in the Seam were struggling. The delivery from the Capitol two days before had been full of spoiled food, and even what had been edible had been quickly snapped up by those in Town. And now not even she and Gale could supplement the meagre supplies with their hunting, not when it was off-limits to them.

She wondered how long it would take before population numbers began to dwindle.

Ignoring the call of someone in the main square, she continued towards home, her eyes down and focused on the dirt path in front of her. She wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone at the moment - or ever, really, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that she didn't pay them any attention. But she was forced to when a hand clamped down on her shoulder, and her breath stole from her body.

Whirling, and ready to give the person a piece of her mind, she stopped short when she saw it was Haymitch, eyes still gritty with sleep, a paper bag under his arm.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, wrapping her arms across her chest in the hopes it would stop her racing heart. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I called out to you," he said bluntly.

"I was ignoring it."

"I figured." He yawned, scrubbed a hand across his face. "That's why I scared the shit out of you."

Katniss glared at him. "What are you doing out this early anyway? I didn't think you'd seen this time of day in the last decade."

He shrugged, began to walk towards the path that led to the Village. Katniss had no choice but to follow, as it was exactly where she'd been heading for too. He half pointed to the bag under his arm. "If I wanna get some of this, I gotta get it at the crack of dawn. And I wanted it today."

"Really?" she looked at him incredulously. "With everything that's going on, that's your priority?"

Haymitch scoffed. "Whatever works, sweetheart. You cuddle up to your little blonde prince, I cuddle up to some of Ripper's finest."

She grabbed him by the arm, pulled him to a stop. "She could get in trouble, Haymitch! You saw what happened to Gale!"

He yanked his arm away, glared at her. "I've been dealing with this longer that you've been alive," he snapped. "I know what I'm doing, and so does she. I might not be as fast on my feet anymore, but hell, girl, I know how to navigate this district like the back of my hand. I don't need you lecturing me."

Katniss clenched her jaw, hated the fact that her throat closed with a lump the size of her fist. "I...I don't mean to. I'm just worried, ok? I don't want anyone to get in trouble anymore."

Haymitch sighed. "C'mon. We don't want to be standing around out here for much longer."

He led them back to the village in silence, the only sound the scuffing of their shoes against the rocks beneath their feet. She followed him inside his house, barely managing to stop from wrinkling her nose against the stench of rotten food and stale air.

"Shit, Haymitch, it's disgusting in here. How can you live?" He shrugged, toed a couple of bottles out of the way as he made his way through to the kitchen. He went to sit, but she shook her head, headed straight out the back door. "I'm not sitting in here, regardless of whether they can't hear us."

He snorted, but dutifully followed her out, then raised an eyebrow at her as she dropped to the ground, folding her legs in front of her. "You don't expect me to sit down there, do you?"

"Stand if you want," she replied dismissively. "So what set you off this morning that you needed that so urgently?" Katniss gestured towards the bottle clutched in his hand.

"When don't I need it?" Haymitch murmured, pulling a bottle from the bag and unscrewing the lid, not taking his eyes off her. He raised it to his lips, took a pull before sighing, then grimaced as he bent his knees to lower himself to the grass. "I got a comm this morning."

"From who?"

"Who do you think? I'm not exchanging pleasantries with Snow, you know."

She couldn't help the jealousy that clenched in her stomach - she hadn't heard from Peeta in a week, and here was Haymitch getting comms from him. "That's not fair," she mumbled. "I haven't heard from him."

Haymitch snorted. "Shit, Katniss, I didn't get a love letter from your boyfriend. It was from Plutarch."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Anyway, it told me the date for the Quell announcement." Katniss felt the blood drain from her head. She'd barely been back from the tour for two months, and they were already talking about this? There really was no escaping it. Ever. "And considering the only thing I hate more than the Games is a Quell, I kinda felt like a drink this morning."

Haymitch finally looked up, and she could see the anger burning in his eyes. Of course. He'd been living with this for 25 years now, and it never got any easier.

"It, um, didn't say anything else?"

He shook his head. "Nope. They're just keeping us informed."

"So when is it?"

"Three weeks tomorrow."

Katniss nodded, swallowed heavily. "I need...I need to speak to Peeta before then. And not on the phone in my house."

"He not coming to visit again? Not gonna grace us with his blue-eyed presence?"

"I thought you liked him," Katniss snapped. "You seem chummy with him whenever you speak rebellion shit."

"I'm chummy enough with anyone when it comes to rebellion 'shit' as you call it," He retorted, and rolled his eyes. "Fine. He's a good enough kid. I just like to yank your chain more than anything, and nothing does it like that boy."

She scowled, folded her arms across her chest. "The next time he told me he'd be out here is in a month. Which is after the Quell announcement."

Haymitch took another pull from the bottle, stared back towards the house. "Fine. I'll send a comm to Plutarch, see if I can organise it. Just make sure I'm nowhere nearby when you're making kissy noises at each other."

"We will not make kissy noises at each other," Katniss huffed, and Haymitch laughed.

"Sure you won't," he replied. She glowered; he simply chuckled around the mouth of the bottle as he raised it to his lips.

And even though she knew what he was doing - making fun of her to take both of their minds of the impending announcement - she didn't acknowledge it. It was better this way. Between them, some things were better left unsaid.

Not saying something was an art they both excelled at.

The crowd was small tonight - a half dozen tables occupied, a couple of people propped up on the stools beside the fluorescent bar. The holo screen at the end of the room was showing a soap opera that no one cared about. No one paid attention to him anymore, not since he was with Katniss. Now he fit in. He was one of them. He was part of the Capitol elite.

None of that mattered. The only thing that did, and the only person he'd come to see was already here, making his way over to the usual table Peeta had snared in the corner, two mugs of frothy amber ale in two large jugs.

"Bloody hell, Finn, are we drinking them out of house and home?" Peeta commented as Finnick dumped the two glasses on the wooden table-top.

"Figured we deserved it," the bronze-haired man returned with a smile. "It's been too long since we saw each other."

"It was only on the tour," Peeta reminded him, swiping his finger across some of the condensation that had collected around the glass.

"Exactly. Too long," Finnick reiterated, and drank greedily. He leant back in his seat, and sighed as he lowered the mug from his lips. He was oblivious to the women who were eyeing his every move from the bar, but Peeta wasn't. Their lascivious gazes were hard to miss. "But lucky I was in town this weekend, hey?"

Peeta's smile dimmed, knowing exactly why Finnick was in town. "Lucky indeed. And what exciting things have happened in the life of Finnick since I saw him last?" he asked quickly, before he could dwell on it for too long.

Finnick chuckled, told him of a party he'd been to the night before, how a man had gotten so drunk he'd run naked through a street in the Garment District. Of the small birthday gathering he'd attended back in Four a week ago, a simple gathering of Mags' family for her granddaughters fifth birthday. Peeta could tell by the tone in his voice what event Finnick had preferred, and it had been a long way from the Capitol.

"How is Mags going?"

"Better every day," Finnick grinned. "I know you didn't get to see her during the tour, but she improves every day. She still isn't speaking, but I can talk enough for the two of us."

"No doubt," Peeta laughed. He picked up the mug, sipping from it slowly. "And Annie? How is she?"

"She's good," Finnick said simply. "The more she's left alone, the better she is."

"Has she…" he couldn't finish the question.

Finnick shook his head. "No. Not for a long time. The last time...the last time she cried all the way through it, and the man demanded a refund. Snow banished her to Four, with the stipulation she mentor in the next games." Finnick's eyes dropped to the ground. "I don't know if that's much better for her."

Peeta nodded, hating himself for bringing it up - but it was all he could think about. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know it's hard for you to talk about, but-"

"You want to know if there's any word about Katniss," he interrupted knowingly.

Peeta flushed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Finnick sighed. "I know I'd be worried too. But at this stage, you don't have to be. I haven't heard a thing."

Peeta's mouth dropped open in shock. He'd wanted to meet with Finnick while he was in the Capitol for multiple reasons - to take him to a rebellion meeting, to genuinely catch up as friends, but also to find out if Finnick had heard anything of Katniss being put into rotation to be sold. Finnick had been doing it long enough now to know who was being drafted in, and when, and Peeta lived on tenterhooks every day; especially after his meeting with Snow a few weeks earlier. He could only assume that the references to 'stopping' Katniss were to break her, and selling her was the only way he could see Snow being able to achieve that. It gutted him that whatever he'd done on the tour, and afterwards - and would still continue to do - wouldn't matter one bit, that her body would be given out to the highest bidder. But if what Finnick was saying was true…

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," Finnick confirmed. "This month, the only ones for sure that I know are active are Cashmere from One, Electra from Three, Olin from Six and Johanna from Seven. And me, of course."

"But no Katniss," Peeta breathed.

"No Katniss," he reiterated. "What makes you so certain I was going to say she was?"

"Just...I just think Snow is planning something, and that was the only logical answer. But if that's not it…"

"Maybe there isn't anything," Finnick said gently. "Maybe she'll be lucky enough to avoid it."

"Maybe," Peeta acquiesced, though the pit in his stomach made him sure, absolutely sure, that he had something to worry about. He just wasn't sure of what it was yet.

"Anyway," Finnick grinned, knowing they were both desperate to change the topic. "Tell me how your mother responded to the interview you did with Katniss. I'm sure she absolutely loved it."

The screen was fuzzy, static a faint hum as the connection was made. She knew it wouldn't be immediate - Haymitch had warned her that because of the precautions Plutarch and his team took, they re-routed the signal a dozen times before they would allow anything to connect. So while she waited, Katniss rested her head against the back of the metal balustrade, glanced up at the roof of the rotunda. There were a few holes here and there - time and neglect had ensured that it would never be in the condition it had once been - and slivers of sunlight slipped through, piercing the concrete ground like coloured buttons. She kept her eyes on them while she waited for the connection to finalise, studying their faint shifting as leaves overhead waved atop the roof.

"Katniss?"

The voice was tinny, and sounded miles away, but it was him. She sat up straight, held the comm in front of her face. Sure enough, Peeta smiled back at her, a plain white wall behind him.

"Hey," she replied quickly, a blush rising on her cheeks. "Thanks...thanks for this."

"Thank you. If only I'd thought of using Haymitch's comm myself, I would have done it weeks ago. I've missed you."

"I've-I've missed you too," Katniss said hesitantly. Sometimes the words she wanted to say the most were still the hardest for her to utter - or even admit to.

"Is everything ok?"

"It's fine. I just wanted to speak with you before…"

"Before?"

"The announcement."

"Ahhh." Realisation dawned on his face, and he glanced off to his left. He was quiet for a moment before continuing. "Sorry. I'm in one of the rebellion meeting houses, and someone walked past."

"That's ok."

"So you know it's happening, huh?"

"Plutarch got word to Haymitch last week. Is it normally announced this early? I asked Haymitch, but he didn't know. Said back when the last one happened, time wasn't really something he kept track of."

Peeta nodded. "Yeah, from what Plutarch told me, it's normally around now that they announce it."

"Are you - is he - does he know what's happening?"

"Not as far as I know," Peeta said. "I know he's been plenty busy with planning meetings and going out to the arena site, but he said the Quell itself comes from the cards."

"The cards," Katniss repeated, vaguely remembering a small box and a card with the number 50 on it in Haymitch's video.

"Yeah. How they determine the Tributes…" he trailed off, his brow furrowed with concern. "Hey, Katniss. We don't have to talk about this right now. I don't want it to upset you."

"I know," she said softly. She rolled her shoulders, sat up even straighter. "Will you tell me about your return to the Capitol? How was your family?"

He grimaced at the mention of his family, but he obliged, telling her about how his mother had told him she was thrilled at the mention of Mellark's in the interview, and then immediately turned around and criticised him on his lack of style. His brothers had been surprisingly more welcoming, and had invited him out with them to a Capitol club, but after 20 minutes, he'd confirmed exactly 300 reasons why he hated the social scene here.

He told her how he'd seen Finnick – she tried hard not grimace herself, she still wasn't 100% sold on the charismatic man - and how since his return, he'd photographed President Snow's granddaughter for her yearly portrait.

She brushed off his questions about her, not wanting to tell him how sleep eluded her, how the meadow felt like her only respite, how the thought of the Quell announcement made her sick to the stomach.

Instead, she simply told him that Gale was doing well, that Haymitch was drunker than usual, that she worried that Prim was reading Capitol novels not appropriate to her age.

Peeta laughed at that one, then harder as she scowled at him.

"I won't tell you anything if you laugh at me," she huffed.

"Oh Katniss, you're so pure," he chuckled, and her mouth dropped open, her eyes flared.

"I am not," she hissed. The thoughts she'd had of Peeta that last night he'd been here was testament to that.

"It's not a bad thing," he told her seriously, though a smile still tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"How would you like being told you're pure?" she retorted.

"It wouldn't bother me at all," Peeta replied. "In the Capitol, everything is so tainted, seeing something pure is a relief."

She opened her mouth to argue, then found she didn't have a reply to that.

"And anyway," he continued softly, "I like that about you. I like everything about you, Katniss. Trust me."

She blew out a deep breath, still not placated, but she wasn't going to waste their last minute - the last twenty minutes had gone so quickly - being pissy with him.

"Ok. I guess I have to go, head to Madge's, where I'm supposed to be."

"Alright," Peeta said. "I'll speak to you soon?"

"You'll be here in just over a week. You'll see me soon."

"True," he smiled. "And I can't wait. I really, really need to see you."

The tone of his voice - what he said, how he said it - sent a shiver down her spine, and knew she really needed to see him too.

"Me too," she told him.

"And Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"We need to spend time together in that rotunda. Alone."

Her stomach clenched as she nodded wordlessly.

5 minutes later, after saying their goodbyes, and ending the connection, she was still staring blankly at the screen, wondering how he continued to have the same effect on her, even from thousands of miles away.

It arrived on his doorstep, hand delivered by a man in a deceptively simple black suit. Peeta knew the moment he slipped his finger under the flap of the envelope, sliding the thick, creamy card into his hand, that it wasn't good. Holding his breath, he read the elegant black script.

Mr Mellark,

President Snow requests your attendance at this afternoon's Quarter Quell announcement. You have been provided admittance to the anti-chamber behind the Grand Balcony of the Parade Hall. Please ensure that you arrive 30 minutes prior to the events proceedings.

He eagerly looks forward to your response to today's announcement.

With favour,

Augustus Faulkner

Secretary to President Snow

The fear that coated Peeta's throat and lined his stomach was real.

"Katniss, hurry up! It's about to start!"

"I don't care, Prim!"

"You have to care! This one is mandatory, remember?!"

Katniss sighed, placed the knife she had gripped tightly in her hand back onto the counter. She knew it was mandatory - how could she forget? - but she'd hoped if she'd volunteered to cook dinner, they'd simply forget about her, she would be left alone in the kitchen, and not have to worry about the stupid reading of the card. Right now, she wasn't in the mood to be reminded of her future duty in the Capitol.

But she knew they could see her, would know straight away that she hadn't watched. And ultimately she didn't have a choice.

Wiping her hands on the dishrag hanging from a hook on the wall, she moved down the hall, dropped unceremoniously onto the sofa beside her sister. Prim continued to smooth her hand over the mangy fur of Buttercup, who lazed on Prim's skirt as though he owned it, while their mother diligently worked two long needles together, wool the colour of raspberries twisted over her lap. The holoscreen covered the entire wall above their fireplace, unlit since Peeta's visit, the Capitol seal shining and flickering over its cream backdrop.

Picking up a book from the side table - she still didn't know who'd been reading it, only that by the looks of the entwined man and woman on the cover, she continued tohope it wasn't Prim - she flicked through the pages, idly focusing on them instead of the pomp and pageantry that came to life on the screen. She ignored the voice of Caesar, of Claudius Templesmith, fought to stop herself from screwing her nose up when they announced the arrival of President Snow.

He walked out onto the stage, followed closely by a small boy, a wooden box held reverently in his hands. Snow – dressed head to toe in the colour his name represented so well – smiled out at the crowd, though it was cold and almost smug.

She wondered how he managed to have the entire Capitol impervious to his real demeanour.

The book now abandoned on her lap, the anthem began, and it closed Katniss' throat like a vice, taking her back to the Capitol, to the training centre, to the arena. She focused on her breathing – in, out, in, out – slow deep breaths that helped to calm herself. The moment the anthem drew to a close, President Snow stepped forward, raising his hands to the crowd in welcome. "Citizens of Panem," President Snow began, his voice so clear through the sound system that Katniss could almost swear he was in the same room as her. He spoke of the Dark Days, of the history of the games, needlessly reminding those watching of what the Quarter Quell meant, why it occurred every 25 years. He reminded them of what had happened during the 25th Games, and the 50th, and it made Katniss' blood run cold to remember the vision she'd studied of Haymitch, the way she'd watched Madge's aunt die.

She heard her mother whimper, drew her eyes away from the screen long enough to see Alice bite her lip hard enough to draw blood, to see her chin quiver. But Katniss didn't even get a moment to question her mother before President Snow's voice rang out again.

"And now we honour our third Quarter Quell," he announced, indicating for the young boy to bring the wooden box - lined with row after row of yellowed envelopes - closer to him. Plucking one clearly marked with '75' from the box, he slid open the flap and pulled the aged parchment from its sleeve. He cleared his throat, and if Katniss imagined the slight smirk on his face, it was gone in an instant. "On the seventy fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest amongst them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

The broken sob from her mother pierced Katniss ears, Prim's more subtle cry hurt her heart. But she was frozen, her entire body and mind at a standstill. She knew as well as anyone that there were only two remaining victors in District Twelve - Haymitch and...herself. What did that even mean? How could they-

She pulled herself off the sofa, the book falling to the floor with a thud, and was out the front door before reality had even set in.

"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

The words echoed in Peeta's head even while he kept his eyes glued to the holo he was watching in the small room just behind the grand balcony.

"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

"Peeta, I'm so sorry." A man was suddenly in front of him, extending a hand in sympathy. Peeta shook his head as though to clear it, peering at the man he'd never met before in his life.

"What? I apologise, I didn't hear you."

"Of course - it must be such a blow for you, your mind must be reeling! After only just meeting her..."

"Meeting her?"

"Katniss, of course. After everything - her games, her tour, the way you found each other. Now, with this Quell, oh just how simply awful."

And suddenly it all made sense. Snow's conversation with him when he first returned from Twelve, testing the waters of his allegiance to the Capitol. Finnick not hearing of a single word about the possibility of Katniss being sold. The card he'd received that morning, telling him that Snow was interested in seeing Peeta's response to the Quell.

President Snow wasn't just interested in ruining Katniss Everdeen - he wanted her eliminated. And he'd somehow done it in the most abominable way possible, with the entire country none the wiser.

Without even bothering to finish speaking with the man beside him, he strode over to Snow, who had just walked through the curtained doorway that led to the balcony. The smile tugged at the corner of his mouth again, much like it had earlier.

"My deepest sympathies, Mr Mellark," Snow greeted. "Such a shame, Miss Everdeen having to enter the arena again, and so soon too."

"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

"It is," Peeta agreed, through a throat that was thick with tears he needed to hold back.

"I suppose at least you had those few months together, yes?"

"Yes," Peeta echoed. He glanced around him, noticed that none of the advisors who had stood on the balcony with Snow had come in close. They must have been doing it out of sympathy, allowing the President to express his condolences semi-privately. He knew the moment Snow noticed it too, all pretence falling from his voice.

"I'm certain this announcement will have pleased you, Mr Mellark. A way to end your relationship with Miss Everdeen, and not have to worry about the ugliness of a split. Such an easy way to end it, don't you think?" Peeta's eyebrows drew together in confusion, and President Snow chuckled. "Ah, you did not think I expected you to maintain this charade forever, did you? Hardly. You've done well - you've played the part of her doting lover admirably. But with this, Miss Everdeen is out of our hair, you garner the sympathy of the entire nation, and you get your life back. No one gets hurt, no one gets the blame, any rebellion that was growing will be crushed with grief, and Panem can be returned to normal." President Snow was staring at him intently, waiting for his response, his answer, and Peeta knew it had to be the right one if he had any hope of maintaining his cover.

"The male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

"Of course, President Snow. A perfect way. I couldn't have hoped for a better resolution myself." He felt everything inside him splinter into a thousand pieces.

At the wide, all-encompassing smile on the President's face, Peeta knew he'd answered correctly.

A/N - And with this, act two of this story begins. Thank you for reading, for the follows, favourites and reviews. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Part of this chapter was quoted directly from Catching Fire. That text is credited to the wonderful Suzanne Collins, who gave us these characters to play with.