A/N: This chapter contains adult language and mentions of sexual settings/themes/actions. Enjoy! -SK

I don't sleep at all the first night. I can't. Not with Peeta in the games, a hairs breadth away from the Careers, surrounded by five strangers and holding Orchid in his arms. I want to be jealous, I want to be angered. But I can't do that either. Not when she's in there to die, when he's in there to die, when they have no comforts, no possessions, no value to their names except the clothes on their back. And yet, I refuse to look away. I should feel sorry for Orchid, but the only emotions I can seem to dredge up for her are anger and exasperation.

Damn my Peeta and his kind, innocent soul for saving her from that Career. He could've gotten them both killed in a moment. Now he's in an alliance with people he hardly knows, the girl he saved stuck to his back like some poisonous leech. How is he going to survive in these games if he can't leave well enough alone? She would've been a bloodbath, lost to the hands of the ox from District Two. But he couldn't stand back and watch her die. Did they know each other in Twelve?

It's unlikely, but not impossible. Beside me, Haymitch snores softly, a bottle gripped tightly in his hand. Almost all of the mentors are here, staring at the screens, hanging onto their consciousness by a thread. Only two sets of tributes were killed in the Blood Bath, another unlikely occurrence. Cecelia and Beetee chat quietly in the corner while Wiress entertains Woof with a bit of twine. Though all of their tributes are out of the Games, they'll still have to stay until completion for the crowing ceremony.

I glance back at the screens to make sure Peeta is still safe. The large map in the center shows the Careers heading in the opposite direction, and the other tributes spread out across the arena, so I take the moment to breathe, heading across the room and pouring a small cup of water. Finnick saunters over a moment later, leaning down to get his own cup of water. He smirks as he brushes his arms and torso against me, bending just a little too far. "Care to go for a stroll, Everdeen?" His tone suggests a walk to the nearest bedroom down the wall, but his eyes say something entirely different. We need to talk.

I laugh a little, throwing my disposable cup in the nearest trash can. "Only if it gets you out of my sight for a while afterwards, Odair." Let's go. He feigns hurt, before taking me by the arm and leading me from the room.

"You know just what I like." He mumbles, just loud enough for the nearest mentors to hear, and we take off towards the elevator. Finnick quickly presses the button for the roof of the training center, where we both know the wind chimes will be loud enough to block out any private conversation. It's not that Snow couldn't figure out some way to get a hold of it, but at least this way the audio quality will be distorted at best.

The Capitol is beautiful at night, filled with shining lights and tall, immaculate buildings that soar up to the clouds. People shout from far below, the nightlife that Finnick and I know so well shifting into full swing. What must it be like to have lived with such opulence your entire life?

"Katniss." Finnick says, taking a seat heavily on the stone benches nearest to the edge. Above him, wind chimes blow softly. I slowly make my way over to take a seat beside him. "There's something you have to know."

I wait patiently for him to begin, my mind on Peeta. I wonder if he's awoken, and is looking at the stars the same way I have. My hands twine together, and if I search my mind deeply, I can almost pretend that one of them is his.

"People like Alejandro." Finnick says quietly, almost guiltily. "There's a growing group of people that want him to win. Sponsor money has been pouring in, almost more than I know what to do with. It's eating me alive. How can I endorse any of this with Peeta in the games?"

I look at him sharply, and it's clear to see the guilt eating him alive. Bags have formed under his eyes, bronze hair askew, clothes wrinkled. Finnick is a mess. "Finnick," I whisper quietly, doing my best to keep the venom from my voice, conceal the anger I feel, hide the disgust; none of this is his fault after all. "It's not your fault. That boy is sixteen. He deserves a chance to live too. He has people that love him, that would do anything to see him come home." It's all lies, absolutely all of it, but I can think of nothing else to say to ease Finnick's load.

He tugs a hand angrily through his hair, looking at me with liquid eyes. "But I don't know them, Katniss. I don't have to watch the aftermath of his death every day for the rest of my life. Who knows if I'll ever see them again after he dies. But you? I couldn't live with myself if Peeta died and Alejandro didn't." It's as though he's wrestling with himself, with everything he's saying and thinking and feeling.

"Finnick," I whisper, though I have nothing to say. How can I ask him to leave his own tribute, a real living and breathing person, to fend for himself in favor of my Peeta? And yet, how can I stand by and watch one of my only friends actively participate in the murder of the man that I love? I rest my hand gently on his shoulder, the cool night breeze washing over us, and think back to another time and place, so much friendlier than this one. It feels so far away now.

"Katniss Everdeen?" I look up from my meager lunch to see the Baker's son standing over me, blushing furiously, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "I was wondering… if maybe…" he looks behind him then back to me quickly, taking in a deep breath, "Well you see, I was wondering if maybe I could sit with you for lunch?"

I stare down at my tattered clothes and meager lunch. "Is this some kind of joke?"

His eyes widen horrifically before he begins shaking his head. "What? No, Katniss, absolutely not. I'm so sorry; I didn't want you to think that." He looks down to his toes dejectedly, shoving one of them into the dirt and drawing small patterns. "I'll see you 'round then." He mutters, offering me a small smile. As it spreads across his face, I notice the hint of a dimple peeking out from the crevices of his skin.

Slowly, he turns, casting me one more thoughtful glance, before turning back to the rest of the courtyard. As he goes, I can't help but notice the gentle blondeness of his hair as it sways in the spring breeze. Just like the dandelions Prim and I found two years earlier, after he threw us the bread and took a beating. After he saved our lives.

"Peeta! Wait!"

In a rare gesture of affection, I rest my head against Finnick's shoulder. Below us, a drunken man howls from the sidewalk, laughing raucously. "There's no one else like Peeta."

He places a gentle kiss to the top of my head, and for once I don't recoil away from him. "I know, Katniss. I know."

Peeta

I'm cold. All over. It feels as though I may freeze to death if I spend another moment lying on the sodden ground. Thirst consumes me, penetrating through even the coldness I feel, latching onto my throat until it feels as though I may lose myself right here, on night one.

But most of all, the weight in my arms feels wrong. Orchid is thin and skinny, too skinny, and I find myself missing Katniss' muscles, the way they felt beneath my hands or pressed against me. The way she looked when she slept beside me, her hair in two braids instead of one. The way she felt beneath me, eyes hooded with desire… but I can't let my brain go there.

She's not here. She's in the Capitol, in the control room with Haymitch, hopefully fast asleep. And yet I know she's not. I know she's probably watching me at this very moment, sleeping with my arms wrapped around another girl. The sick sensation of guilt begins the crawl over my skin, overpowering the chill and even the thirst that I feel.

What I wouldn't give to be beside her right now, envelope her in my arms, bury my nose in the sweet scent of her hair. Again, my mind drifts to places it shouldn't go. To the meadow in summertime, her hair splayed out on the summer grass. Her giant shower in the master bathroom, steamed and inviting when Prim and her mother were out. My tiny bedroom, cramped and ill equipped, but just big enough. Her bedroom, where she first wore the necklace I gave her for her birthday… and nothing else.

I can't think like that. Especially since it's unlikely I'll ever get to do it again. Instead I'll die with my arms around some other girl, too bony and small to be Katniss. I want to scream, to cry out, to call foul and curse the name of President Snow and anyone that dare follow him.

But I know I could never do that. It would only bring us more trouble. And right now, all I can think of doing is getting back to Katniss.

Katniss

We don't speak for a long time, content to just stare out at the Capitol cityscape until sunrise. Or maybe just to weary to do anything else. The silence is comforting, and I welcome it like a warm blanket during a blizzard, burying myself beneath it until nothing else can get in.

It's Finnick who finally breaks the silence. "There is something you can do. Something that might take sponsors away from Alejandro." I look at him questioningly, both curious and afraid of what his suggestion will be. Finnick has dealt in some of the darkest corners of Panem, with some of the darkest people. "There's a man," he continues, looking down at his hands, "that contributes most of the funds to Alejandro's account. He has a thing for young men with striking features." Finnick almost chokes at that, and I can feel the bile rising in my throat. "Men like Alejandro. And Peeta. But he also has a thing for strong, young women. He likes to… break them. And whenever I'm with him, he mentions you."

We can hardly look at each other now, my vision clouding with fear and disgust, thoughts of Peeta and Finnick and Alejandro and myself at the hands of this old psychopath filtering through mind. Finnick seems about ready to be sick himself, but goes on anyways. "If you… were to be with him… he would fund Peeta instead. And he pays more than any other Sponsor I know."

I feel ready to burst at the thought, everything in my body crying out at me to say, "No. Absolutely not. No." But then I think of Peeta, alone and weaponless in the Arena, biding his time until death manages to slither his way. "Send his information to my room tonight. And alert President Snow."

Finnick looks up, horrified. "Katniss… are you sure? There are other ways, we can keep him safe, we can find other sponsors. I know I told you about it but… he's vile Katniss. He would do anything to get a chance with you… to take you down a peg… are you sure?"

I get up to leave, afraid that something will have happened to Peeta by the time I arrive back, afraid that Haymitch will still be passed out in a drunken stupor, afraid that someone will come looking for us here… afraid of what else I might agree to if I stay. "No. I'm not sure. But I do know that Peeta needs me. And I can't begrudge him an opportunity to increase his odds. You know I would do anything for him, just as you would do anything for Annie."

He nods at me, eyes blank; face a picture of sad resignation. "I'll have the details for you as soon as I can. But please… be safe Katniss."

I nod at him once more, before disappearing into the elevator to make my way back downstairs. I know I must look haggard, and the other Victors will talk, but it's nothing I care about. They'll move on by the next time new blood is spilled.

It's the way it goes.

Peeta makes it a habit to sit with me every day after that. His lunch isn't much either, but it's still far more than I could ever afford. After a week, he begins packing an extra piece of bread in his bag.

"I don't need it. I'm full." He says, offering the slice up to me without hesitation. I look at him, angered, unwilling to take his pity bread yet again, and thrust it roughly back into his hand.

"I don't want your handouts Peeta. If you think I'm just some charity case, find another tree to sit under and leave me the Hell alone."

His smile falters a little, but he places the bread tenderly back into my head. "I told you," he persists, "I'm full. I couldn't eat another bite if I wanted to. It would be a shame for this bread to go to waste, even if it is a little stale. We have to sell the good stuff. So… I'd rather someone eat it than no one."

I know he's lying. I know he brought in on purpose, to give to me, to make sure I'm fed, to make himself feel better about my poor state of living. But he smiles at me in that sweet way of his, both dimples showing, and I take the bread anyway.

He gives me a piece everyday from there on out, and I don't say a word about it again. One day, I even begin packing an extra piece of meat in my bags. Because a trade is better than a handout, and even with all that bread, he looks as though he could use the extra meat.

I just hope he doesn't mind that I caught it myself.

From that very first moment, I was a goner. I just didn't realize it. Now, watching him sleep on the cold ground, without comfort or water, I wish that we were back under that tree in the sun. I wish I had looked at him on that first day and said, "I love you, Peeta Mellark."

There's no doubt in my mind that he would've said it back.