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K. POV


I was fifteen the first time I saw a crane. It was on the telescreen, during the 72nd Hunger Games. I remember this very clearly because it was special occasion. A new Head Gamemaker was making his début and everyone was curious to see how he fared.

We were standing in the crowded Town Square to watch that day. They were making a big occasion of it and forcing everyone to gather, much like we did for the Reaping earlier. It was unbearably hot; not a single breeze rippled the air. My shirt was beginning to stick to my skin even though we hadn't been out for more than half an hour.

The Bloodbath had just concluded with a volley of cannon fire and I was thankful for the respite. Prim's fingers were still buried in my arm and she breathed into my shoulder, her face warily half-pressed into me. The dead laid still and scattered on the marshland; the two Tributes from Twelve included. A mercy, I decided, in spite of my clenched gut. Better to be picked off early and quickly than suffer in fear before dying.

The camera trained on the remaining Tributes who had stayed behind to pick over the supplies. Nothing was out of the ordinary. They were chattering idly as they stuffed their packs with food and weapons when a sudden hush fell; crashing over them like a wave. They sensed it before we did. They stopped what they were doing and pointed their sweaty, bloodied faces to the sky. One boy gave a surprised shout.

The view panned up to show sleek white shapes sailing through air. My heart nearly stopped. I wondered what it could be, what danger would swoop in so soon after the Bloodbath. My breath coiled up in anticipation as the image refocused against the glare of the sun. I felt Prim's grip tighten and knew she was staring too.

It was a flock of birds with distinctive red crests and rapier-like beaks. The deepest black edged their wings like ribbon, stark against snow white feathers. They were stunning; unlike anything I had ever seen.

In the first few moments, I expected the worst; that they would dive-bomb the Tributes, peck out their eyes or slice them with razor-sharp talons. As they continued to glide overhead, I began to relax and allowed myself cautious optimism: they were nothing but decoration.

"Whooping Cranes," exclaimed a delighted Caesar Flickerman. "A real treat. This wetland species was endangered before the advent of successful animal cloning. Not only is it stunning detail to add to this year's Arena but a rather grand spectacle in honor of Seneca Crane's inaugural Game."

Without knowing his face, I wondered if he was truly like his elegant namesake. I thought about those birds and how their beauty contrasted with the bloodshed below. Now I look upon him as he stands before me and undestand: there is nothing he can do to mask his true self; a crane among us sparrows.

So why not use this to our advantage?


Once a bare-bones plan is laid, we immediately go into action. Mother heads over to Haymitch's house to alert him of what's happened. Prim guards the front window to warn us of the Peacekeepers' arrival if it's earlier than expected. That leaves Seneca and me to construct the lie. As hopeful as things seem and as promising as it starts out, I become easily frustrated. It's an overwhelming task.

"There are too many weak spots we can't possibly cover, even if we had days to prepare," I mutter dejectedly. "If they ask you for identification, it's over."

"It won't come to that. I'm more than adept at improvisation." He pauses before going on to say, "Even if tonight goes well, there's still the issue of your friend."

The reminder is like a blow to the gut. I had been so caught up in our own plans; I forgot the central issue; the one bull-headed person who started this and could unravel it all. I have to get things straightened out with Gale as soon as I can, or this would all be for nothing.

"I'll figure that out later," I say shortly. "We have to focus on one thing at a time and now, it's making you convincing."

It's quiet for a moment. "Katniss, if this doesn't work out, there's always the second option." He says it casually, even though we both know what the second option entails.

The thought makes me go cold inside. Strange, considering a few weeks ago I had practically wished for it. More often than not, he gets under my skin without even trying. He makes me tongue-tied and confused, sends me into shadowy memories and even darker moods. But somehow, against all odds, the time we've spent together has not bred more contempt but clarity. Each encounter has chipped away at the image I had of the monster that was so easy to hate. He's become humanized.

I didn't realize it until now. Though we haven't exchanged many words, I've learned the most in the silence; private things that enemies should not know. I know what he likes to eat, the measurements for his clothing, every gesture and expression. I've seen him in his sleep, in pain, curious, laughing, content, and restless. I tried to ignore it but at this point I can't deny that I want this man to live.

"You would do that for my family?" I ask him. Unsaid: 'And me?'

"I would."

"You hardly know them."

"And they hardly know me, but they have sheltered and cared for me beyond reason." He looks at me intently. "The better question is: why are you doing this for me? You could have been freed of your obligation and the danger it involved. Instead, you're choosing for me to stay."

I give him a pointed look. "Most people would say 'thank you' and move on."

Seneca shrugs. Somehow he manages to make it look like an elegant gesture. "I'm not like most people."

An understatement, I think to myself.

"There are plenty of reasons," I begin. "Prim, for one. She would be devastated if anything were to happen to you. Your arrest could still put my family under scrutiny, or even worse, they could get information from you in the most horrible ways. You want to live, don't you? While it's not perfect or completely safe, doing this would at least be an attempt to keep everything contained."

He looks at me skeptically. "'Attempt' being the operative word."

"There's no time for that talk," I say firmly. "The Peacekeepers will come, ask a few questions, and you'll work your charm on them. They're not like the kind in the Capitol at all. They're lazy, corrupt, and unmotivated from being stuck in this dead-end District. We can pull this off. Just… trust me."

"I trust you entirely, Katniss."

Though his gaze is solemn I feel like I've been tricked into this surge of confidence. Somehow he's turned it around with my own words. Instead of being angry, I take a deep breath and try to make this feeling last.

"There's still a lot of work to do." I bite my lip thoughtfully while I give him a once over. "We've covered most of what you're going to say but there's still the issue of how you look. If you want to be believable, you're going to have to lose the beard. It's too ridiculous to even pass for Capitol fashion."

He runs his fingertips over the unchecked jagged hair and frowns. "Right. I had completely forgotten about this."

"I have something that will help. Cinna packed a grooming kit for me to take home," I tell him. "I'll go look for it upstairs."


While he's busy preparing himself, I make myself useful by ironing fresh clothes for him; a gray button down shirt made of a silk blend and black trousers. They're top quality garments by Twelve standards, but I'm not sure if it can pass for Capitol wear. This gnaws at me slightly. It's a minor detail, but we can't afford any potential slip-ups.

I smooth out the collar and try to ignore my heart, which feels like it's migrated to my throat. There are so many ways this can go wrong but I need to channel the old Katniss and keep a cool head. I go down the hall to where the bathroom is, the still-warm clothes folded over my arm.

"Are you finished in there?" I call out.

"Almost." The door is slightly ajar and his voice comes out clearly. Water is rushing in the background, and so is the monotonous buzz of the electric razor.

With numbed nerves, I lean against the wall and wait. Through the two inch wide slat, I can see movement; a hand, a shoulder, as well as flashes of his profile as it angles in front of the mirror. It's an ordinary, mundane act but I sense something deeper than that. He's shedding the last bit of his old self and becoming someone new.

Despite being polar opposites, we're not that different, now that I think of it. Maybe that's where the strange fascination comes from. He was a rich and powerful man and I was a poor, helpless girl. It would have stayed that way if it wasn't for what brought us together; a singular incident that turned everything upside down. Now he's the one expected to play out a charade to survive.

I realize it's quiet now. I glance up just as he emerges. "How do I look?" he asks.

For someone aware of what was going on the entire time, I feel terribly unprepared at the moment. It's taking everything to keep from gawking.

The beard had been distinguishing but it was also distracting. Without it, the difference is staggering. The sculpt of his nose, lips, and chin as well as the shaping of his cheekbones and jaw are even more striking. His face, once half-hidden, is now younger, more open, less menacing. It's a lot to take in at once.

Seneca chuckles, self-consciously rubbing his newly bare cheek. "After having a beard for so long, I feel naked without it. I look strange, don't I?"

"Not strange, just … different."

"Different isn't bad, I suppose," he muses.

Something else catches my eye. A little patch of shaving cream is still clinging to the curve of his jaw line.

"You missed a spot," I tell him. He blindly gropes around, missing it entirely.

Without hesitation, I step in a little closer and use the pad of my thumb to sweep it off. His skin feels warm and velvety to the touch from the recent shave. I can feel the slight trace of hard bone beneath it. For some reason, my eyes flick up to his and stay locked there. I have to keep from shivering outright.

I'm reminded of the passing moment in the Gymnasium even though there are many differences. It's just the two of us now, up close and personal, not separated by space or status. There's something also important missing; mutual hostility. I haven't threatened him. And he doesn't look like he wants to kill me.

Looking into his eyes now, I don't know what he wants to do to me.

Alarm signals suddenly go off in my head. I'm touching him. Why am I still touching him? I quickly retract my hand, steeped in mortification. It might have lasted seconds but even so, it would have been a few seconds too long.

"Hurry and change into this." I hand him the clothes, unwilling to make eye contact for too long. "They'll be here soon."

"Thank you." He seems unfazed, as if nothing had happened. I'm beginning to feel like I overreacted. It was probably on par with other inoffensive gestures, like plucking out a loose thread or brushing off some lint. I'm going crazy, injecting meaning where there is none. I blame it on stress.

He steps back into the bathroom. This time, the door shuts completely. I stand there for a lingering moment, my face still fever-warm.


There are three rapid knocks at the door.

I steel myself at the sound. Funny how it seems to herald a great change now.

There's a pause and then three more knocks; more impatient this time. My mother glances at me nervously and I finally force myself towards the door to answer it.

Two Peacekeepers stand on my porch, guns holstered at the hip and flashlights in hand. Despite that, there's a flutter of relief in my chest when I recognize their faces.

"Darius. Cray." I nod in acknowledgement. My personal relationship with them should make things slightly more bearable.

"Hey Kat," Darius greets. He reminds me of an overgrown puppy with his warm eyes and mischievous grin. His red hair is as unruly as ever. "I haven't seen you in an awhile. You sure look pretty this evening."

"Enough flirting," grumbles his partner. If Darius is a zealous puppy, Cray is an aged watchdog; gruff and serious.

"What brings you here tonight? Is there any trouble?" I ask calmly.

Cray is the one who replies. "There was a report of some suspicious activity around here. We're here as a precaution."

I look past their shoulders to see more uniform clad bodies roaming in the distance; their white beams of light flickering on the ground. Some have fanned out to the houses closest to the gate. Seneca was right; the Peacekeepers must feel some pressure in keeping me safe now.

"Suspicious activity?"

"Apparently, an outsider from these parts was reported around the premesis. There's no need to worry; we have it under control."

"An outsider… I see." I move back and open the door a little wider. "Why don't you both follow me inside?"

If the others can hear the blood thudding in my veins, they don't show it. With a stoic mask, I lead them to the dining room, where he's waiting.

I turn to them. "I think this is the man you're looking for."

Seneca Crane smoothly rises to his feet. "Quintus Reed. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."


/

S. POV


I have a good name. It rolls off the tongue and is pleasing to the ear. It's refined but not pompous. It's lucky to those it's bestowed upon; or so my family has believed quite ardently for several generations. I am the fifth. I had always planned on naming my future firstborn son the sixth.

Not anymore, obviously.

I understand that there is no conceivable way that Seneca Crane could live in name when it's beyond salvaging in his home, much less the Outer Districts. While giving up the last vestige of my former life is difficult, it was only a matter of time. I'm prepared to embrace my new identity.

I study Quintus Reed in the mirror as I dry his dripping face with a towel. His name is plain and ordinary. Perhaps he isn't destined for greatness, but then again, his history is mine to invent and that alone makes the danger of living a lie somewhat palatable. This is the challenge I've craved for so long.

With his clean-shaven and well-rested appearance, he's completely believable as a young up-and-coming still struggling on the social ladder. I'm pleased to see that there's no trace of a burned ex-Gamemaker in his practiced smile.


"I apologize for the inconvenience," I say as the two Peacekeepers seat themselves at the table. "Coming out here at night with all of your men for a false alarm is incredibly unnecessary."

Katniss sits at the head of the table to my left; right in the thick of things. It's simultaneously the worst and best seat to watch the events unfold. We exchange a brief look. If she's disturbed in any way, she doesn't show it.

Like a good hostess, Daphne carries out a tray bearing mugs of black coffee, pots of cream and sugar, and a platter of cookies. Prim tags behind to pass out silver spoons and napkins. I'm thankful for the distraction.

"I hope you like almond cookies," she says pleasantly. "I baked them this afternoon."

"Wow, thanks Mrs. Everdeen," the younger one exclaims. He eagerly makes a little pile on his plate and goes about sweetening his coffee. The spoon clinks loudly as he stirs with vigor.

The older one glowers at him disapprovingly. "Must I remind you that we're not allowed to eat or drink on the job?"

"Aw, come on. The search was called off. Technically, we're off duty now."

"Not while there are questions I want the answers to. Now, Mr. …?"

"Reed." It's like slipping into an old favorite robe, taking on a new persona. It's no different than the various masks I wore in different social situations;. "I apologize for all the mystery. The arrangement was unanticipated, to say the least. And you are?"

"Name's Cray. This here is Darius." He nods to his left.

"Nice to meet you," Darius says. "How long have you been in Twelve?"

"A little over a month. I arrived with the rest of the entourage at the homecoming."

His brows raise slightly with incredulity. "You've hidden out here for that long in secret?"

"It was hardly meant to be a secret," I explain. "I've been swamped with managing my new responsibilities here and tying loose ends back at home, I haven't been able to leave Victor's Village; not that there was any need to."

"Mr. Reed, can you tell me your purpose here?" Cray asks.

"Certainly. I've been assigned as a personal aide to Miss Everdeen."

He weaves his fingers together and leans forward slightly. "And why is that?"

In my periphery, I see the little triangular communication device lying on the table, where Cray had set it next to his flashlight. The rest of the Peacekeepers have been called off at the moment, but this conversation can reverse that.

I put on an airy smile. "Being a newly crowned Victor is not an easy task. Miss Everdeen is expected to appear for interviews and tour through the Districts in a few months' time. There is also the additional issue of next years' Game and the amount of scrutiny and stress that comes with Mentoring for the first time. There has been some concern whether Mr. Abernathy is competent enough to continue providing guidance. That's where I come in; to teach her etiquette, cultivate her Talent, develop a stronger stage presence, among other things. I came to District 12 with the original intent to make sure she was situated comfortably but the higher powers that be deemed that an extended stay was necessary to Miss Everdeen's continued success."

Cray studies me, weighing the words carefully. "And this was all decided without notifying anyone here?"

"It was hardly a concern that this was going over anyone's authority, being that the order came from the President himself," I reply. "If you wish to further satisfy your inquiries, you're more than welcome to ring up my superiors. At this hour in the Capitol, it may be difficult to reach any one of them as they are most likely in the midst of a social function of some sort."

It's a risky gamble. On one hand, Cray could see how bothering someone important in the Capitol with a small issue of protocol would be foolish. On the other, he can just as easily take the bait and make the call.

We stare at each other for what feels like a very long time. His eyes are watery blue and faintly bloodshot but they hold steady. And then, there's a subtle shift.

"No, that won't be necessary."

And just, the hard part is over. With Katniss' backing and my performance, I don't think my authority will be questioned here from now on. I've never felt such relief.

"I'm glad we've cleared this up," I say pleasantly. "I must say, I was a little concerned at first. Official Peacekeeping business is no issue to take lightly. I'm sure you had your reservations in the beginning as well."

"Yeah." Darius suddenly has a curious look on his face. "It's kind of funny. I didn't know what to expect at first. I mean, it's not that obvious that you're from the Capitol. You don't really dress like them; all flashy. Like that Trinket lady; I could spot her a mile away. Right, Cray?"

He isn't asking for identification, but I tense up nonetheless. It's not a crime, but is suspicious. I don't look the part; not completely.

Cray nods slowly as the incongruity dawns on him. His eyes narrow. My mind beings to scramble from some excuse; anything.

"It was the cat," Katniss says, speaking for the first time. All eyes are now on her.

"Buttercup got into his luggage when he first arrived. Shredded everything he had and then slept in the mess. Haymitch let him borrow some clothes and I bought him a few things from here. It was all we could manage on short notice." She looks impassive, recounting this trivial detail.

"Yes. I've sent for a new wardrobe to remedy that. I forget how slow shipping takes around these parts," I say in an annoyed tone. "These things happen but it's no matter. I'm still able to perform my duties. More coffee?"


"Sorry for the third degree," Darius apologizes in a friendly tone. "We were just doing our job."

He's idling by the door. Cray has already made his way outside and is speaking in a low voice into his communicating device. No doubt to relay the information from tonight to Headquarters.

I nod understandingly. "Of course. I'm pleased Miss Everdeen has such a highly capable group of people invested in her safety."

"Kat should give you a tour of the place." He winks at her. "She owes you for keeping you cooped up and working for so long. In fact, you should stop by the Hob and have a drink with us tomorrow night."

Katniss looks alarmed. "I don't know if that's a good idea," she says sharply.

"Why wouldn't it be a good idea? Quintus needs a good look at the place he's going to call home for the next few months," he points out.

Before she can argue, I interject, "I agree. Miss Everdeen, you did mention showing me around. Tomorrow is as good a day as any other."

"I did, didn't I?" she manages through gritted teeth. "But I don't think the Hob will be a very welcoming place for someone like you."

"Don't be silly. They're harmless over there; all bark and no bite. Most of 'em, anyway. So, see you both then?" Darius gives me an affable slap on the shoulder, sealing the deal.


Afterwards, she washes the dishes from dinner and coffee. She insisted on cleaning up instead of leaving it for the morning, even though the others had gone to bed. With my new-found free reign of the house, I'm in no hurry to go back into the room. I asked if I could help and she reluctantly gives me drying duty. We stand side by side, but not quite together, quietly working.

Finally, I dare to break the silence."We pulled it off."

She doesn't look over. "Not yet. It isn't over until you're out of here safely and without issue. Then we can celebrate." She hands me a mug. "You were good out there," she adds belatedly.

"Up until the end. You saved me with that Buttercup story."

"You would have figured out something on your own."

"Perhaps, but it wouldn't be as ingenious as that." Once I've finished toweling it off, I place it on the counter with the rest."However, I don't know how we're going to come up with legitimate Capitol wear."

"Cinna," she says simply. "I can trust him to help without asking too many questions. He'll be able to send a crate of clothes for you under the guise that they're for Haymitch."

I'm impressed. "You've thought this through."

"I wasn't only washing dishes all this time."

"What else are you thinking about?" I ask.

"Tomorrow." I don't know if I'm imagining it but it seems like her whole body sags from the exhaustion of such a burdensome word. "And what I'm going to say to Gale to keep this from exploding in our faces."

"I could speak to him," I offer. "Give him a different perspective, perhaps."

"You would only make it worse," she says curtly, and I realize she's right. "Leave it to me. If we're lucky, tomorrow all you have to worry about are blisters."

"Blisters?" I repeat.

"You said you want to see Twelve so I'm taking you to see it. Every inch." Her tone is brisk but I can't help but detect grim satisfaction.

"How kind of you," I reply. "I will look forward to it tomorrow." If we're lucky.

The last saucer is rinsed and dried. Without speaking, we put the dishes away, in the row of cabinets. Once we finish, she looks at me and says, "I'm going to bed. Are you staying up longer?"

"Well Miss Everdeen, it's been quite an evening. I don't think I could sleep now if I tried."

She gives me an annoyed look. "You can stop with the 'Miss Everdeen' when it's just the two of us. Katniss will do."

I smile. "In that case, goodnight, Katniss."

"Goodnight-" She stops abruptly. I'm almost certain it's because she's unsure whether to call me Seneca or Quintus.

"Seneca," I say. "When it's just the two of us."

Her gaze wavers briefly before holding steadfast to the impassive default I know so well. "Goodnight, Seneca."

I take a seat at the kitchen table and remain sitting there for hours. My back grows stiff and eyelids become heavy as time passes, but I relish in the freedom and silence. Depending on what tomorrow brings, it may very well be my last moment of peace.


/

A/n:

Inspiration: 'Bullseye' by Dia Frampton

Whew, this was a tough one to churn out. I always knew where I wanted to go with the story but setting and building everything up to it was quite a feat. Hopefully I pulled it off okay! As you can tell from the sudden heaping of interaction and dialogue, from now on it's full steam ahead.

And yes, I destroyed the famous beard. It had to be done, for more reasons than practicality. In my mind, the only feasible way Katniss could be pushed to overcome his history is if it's re-written and adopted with an altered appearance. (Although I'm probably still going to picture him with the beard; it's too hard not to!) Thanks for your patience!

- Chiisana inori