A/N: Happy fourth of July! To all my fellow Americans, FREEDOM. To all the rest of you, I like you too. :)

Thanks for all the reviews/comments – the whole system has been changed, so they're coming up like three separate ways, but I'm pretty sure we broke 600 this time, so you're due for a bonus. What do you want? I'll get it done in a way more timely manner this time, hopefully.

Also, to all the anon reviewers and readers, if you're reading a lot of things on here, please make an account! Then I can actually reply to some of the things you've said!

We're in the homestretch now. Only like four or so more chapters until this is finished, which is awesome but also bittersweet. I'm writing a sequel for sure, already starting to work on it, but there will be a hiatus between the end of this and it's beginning. I've got some extra bonus-y things for the end ready, with like character thoughts and my backstories on people.

On the subject of bonus things, during the hiatus I'll still be super active on my tumblr (significationary). I'll probably be rather free with the spoilers. (aka ask me questions and I'll most likely answer them)

Jawsome, I have your last review open in a window and there's really not much I can say in response besides damn. I think you put more thought into this story than almost anyone else. (myself not included) To all the rest of you, whether you just found the story or you've been with it from the start, I owe you. You're awesome. *mwah!* (that's a kiss)

I don't sleep for very long. Him remembering doesn't magically make my nightmares go away. Actually, this one's worse than usual; I dream that Gale's down in the mines with my father when it explodes, and Prim gets mauled by the Peeta mutt and Cato gets killed defending her because I can't move. They're all dead and then I'm left alone, normal, and not dead.

I wake up with tears soaking my face, and I can't even scream because I'm crying too hard, hard hiccupping sobs that tear up my throat on their way out and rip my heart out along with them.

It takes me a few panicked seconds to realize what's going on. Cato's sitting on top of me, holding my arms down with his huge hands and pinning down my lower half by sitting on my thighs. "Katniss," he says loudly, with a tone that implies he's called my name several times before.

I can't answer, but I feel like I should say something, let him know I can hear him now. I just end up shaking my head and crying harder. He doesn't move for a while, holding me still just in case I try to move again.

"You're okay?" he says quietly.

"Yeah. You?" I gasp out, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Well. You punched me in the face."

"What? I'm sorry." I wiggle one arm free and turn on the bedside lamp. He's got a red mark on his chin already bruising and scratches on his cheek. But he doesn't seem bothered by it; he calmly pins me back down, just in case I go nuts again, I guess.

"It's fine. You're done hitting me?"

"Yeah." I nod, and he takes some of the weight off my shoulders, sitting back a little.

"Bad dream?"

I kind of laugh through my sobs, because that's such an understatement. "Yeah."

"I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"

"No, no, you protected Prim, actually. But you all still died." I take a deep, shuddering breath, and close my eyes for a second, remind myself that none of that was real. "Sorry I hit you," I say again, because that's seriously going to be a dark bruise by morning.

"Not a problem." He lets go of my shoulders completely and sits back on his heels, looking at me intently. "What do you need from me?"

I don't have an answer for that, so I shake my head and keep crying.

After a moment, he pulls me up to him and holds me close to his chest, so he's sitting half in my lap but cradling me against his chest comfortingly. "It was just a dream," he says, and I get the feeling that it's the only thing he can think of to say.

"I know." But it could be real, and that's really what scares me.

"Are you going to go back to sleep?"

"Probably not. Don't worry about it. You can go back to sleep," I tell him, forcing myself to breathe normally. "I'm gonna be okay. I just… need some time."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm… yeah." I nudge him off my legs and scoot back so I'm sitting against the headboard. "I'm sure," I repeat, and after a second, he lies down, though it seems he's just trying to make me feel better, but that's okay. I reach over and turn off the light.

"You sure you don't want anything?" he says quietly.

"Yeah. Just… go back to sleep."

He awkwardly pats my leg, and I smile and put my hand over his, put my other hand on the side of his head. I've missed touching him like this, like we're close to each other. He's the only person who's like this with me – the only one who I've wanted to be like this with, too. And I'm so, so indescribably happy he's back with me.

He's way less fidgety than anyone else I've known. I mean Gale can become a statue when he needs to, like out in the woods or hiding from something, I've seen it, but it's different. Cato's motionless all the time. I think it's probably something about his training, but now doesn't seem like the right time to ask. Another thing on the long list of things I wonder about his childhood, or lack thereof.

Part of me doesn't expect him to actually sleep; he's been with his trainers for the past few months. Probably went back to the two hours a night thing he was doing before.

So I'm prepared to sit here with him lying down while neither of us sleep, but somewhere along the line, he actually does fall asleep. I don't – the images of everyone I love dead are still too fresh in my mind. It's unexpectedly nice, though, to sit here in the dark while he sleeps. Him asleep is so different than all the other hims, and I like all of them.

At first, I wonder if he's going wake up with a nightmare again, but it seems like that's not going to happen. He sleeps for about an hour straight, I think, and I start to think he's not going to jerk awake, so I actually drift off a bit myself. Of course, that's when things change.

He stiffens for a second and I wrench my eyes open, mumble some kind of response but he's not really listening. His arm shoots out to me, over my legs, and it's pretty clear he's checking to make sure I'm here. "Hey," I say softly. Cato says something unintelligible. I think he's actually still sleeping, which is weird. "Cato," I say louder.

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why'd you just do that?"

"Bad dream."

"About what?"

"Nothin'."

I'm pretty sure now that he's talking in his sleep. "Are you still asleep?"

"Mmhmm. Shh."

I smile a little, because he's being really accidentally adorable. "Me shh?"

"Mmm. Sleep. You sleep." He pulls me down and holds me close, clumsy with sleep but still just as strong. When I try to talk, he reaches up for my mouth and covers it. "Shh." So I stop trying and let him hold me. As I lie there in his warm embrace, I discover I'm actually tired, and a few minutes later, I fall asleep again, for the first time I can remember.

I wake up with his arms still around me, the two of us curled around each other in the small bed, somehow comfortable. I'm pretty sure he's asleep when I wake up, but the instant I start to move, he lets go of me and sits up.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" I say, rubbing my eyes.

"No." He shakes his head. "I'm fine."

He's acting a little weird, so I look at him suspiciously. "Do you remember everything?"

"Yep."

But he still looks strange. "Is something wrong then?"

"Nope."

This is obviously not true. "Are you lying to me?" I ask, frowning.

"Yeah," he nods, completely comfortable with admitting it, which is somehow weirder than if he lied about it to me.

Something's definitely going on. I sit back down on the bed, hugging my legs close to me nervously. "Why aren't you telling me? Did I do something wrong? Are you mad?"

"Not at you."

"And you're not going to explain that any more?"

"Why do you even want to know?"

"Because I'm worried about you. And I care about you."

He still looks unconvinced. "Maybe I'm just different now. Maybe this is how I'll be forever."

"Okay. I still want to know why that is," I say, making myself sound calm, because that's what I do when I don't know how to respond. Maybe if I'm calm, he'll stop being so weird.

"You know where we're going tomorrow?" he says.

That's when everything clicks. "District 2."

"And the last time I was there, they injected me with tracker jacker venom and-" Abruptly, he stops and changes the sentence. "My parents aren't happy with me, either, and Sophia says I'm a disgrace to the family."

"What, and can you not handle it?"

Before I can add something about how it's not a problem if that's true, he says, "I can, but I'll change again, and… I don't want to do that."

"Why?"

"Are you serious?" he asks, giving me a confused, almost disgusted look.

"Yeah, I really-"

"If I go back there, I could hate you again. Wouldn't even take a lot to get me there again. Do you really want that to happen?"

"No, of course not. But why wouldn't it take a lot?"

"You kidding? I barely believe that you're actually…" He motions at me. "…here, I guess. I don't know. It'd make more sense if you were playing me."

"But I'm not."

"No, I know, but it'd make more sense if you were. So I guess they didn't have to try all that hard to convince me the first time, so it'd probably be easy the second time, too. And I don't want to risk that," he says, looking at the corner and not at me.

Great. His weird mood is because of me. He's just nervous because he wants to stay with me. I officially feel awful about saying anything besides comforting things. "That won't happen," I say now, wanting to reach out for him but restraining myself.

"Yeah? Why?" he snorts.

"Because I'll be there this time. I won't let anything happen."

"You can't promise that."

"The last time I made a promise, I promised my sister I'd win the games. I delivered on that one, didn't I?" I say.

He sighs. "Yes."

"Alright. I am making you a promise right now. I won't let you forget. And if there's anything I can do, I'll keep all of them away from you, okay?"

Cato looks at me seriously. "You can't talk to Snow," he says – no room for argument.

"No, I mean your mom and dad, and the trainers," I say. I don't agree with him about me not being able to do anything about Snow's deal with him, but that's going to have to wait, I guess. At least he's not going during the tour.

"Oh. Okay." He looks kind of embarrassed, and I can imagine that's because he doesn't like the implication that he needs me to fight his battles for him.

"I… I don't think you're any less of a victor or something," I say uncomfortably. "You're… it's just, you're not the only protective one here, okay? And I fight for the people that I… love." I mutter the last word, very disgusted with myself. Quickly, I add, "Just let me take care of you this time."

"Fine," he says.

"We should probably go get dressed."

"Hold on."

I turn back to look at him, ask him what's going on, but I don't get the chance. He's closer than I thought, because for the first time, he hugs me first. And although he has hugged me back every time, it wasn't like this. For the first time, he almost crushes the breath out of me with his huge arms, holding me more tightly than ever before. "I love you," he says.

"Okay?" I say, hesitantly putting my arms around his massive back. Not that I mind, but this is just so completely different than everything else he's done. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm…" Very long pause. "Let's do this," he says, and before I can let go of him, he picks me up, sweeps my legs to one side, and carries me out to the main room of the train car.

Haymitch walks in while we're eating breakfast, looking at Cato with narrowed eyes. "I assume you haven't forgotten," he says with an appreciative glance at the non-existent space between the two of us.

"Nope," Cato agrees. "Not yet."

I glare at him, then ask Haymitch, "When are the designers going to be here?"

"Like two seconds. I just was making sure if you were awake. They'll be here…" He pauses. "Now," he says, pointing at the door right as it opens and Cinna leads the team in.

"Hey Cinna," I smile. Spending more time with him only has reinforced my opinion of him being amazing, kind, and more reasonable than most Capitol citizens. His dresses never fail to somehow make me look beautiful. Although I'm worried about what Haymitch said before, about the dress being heavy, I don't doubt that it'll look perfect.

"Katniss," he nods once, smiling a little. "Ready for this dress?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I shrug, standing up and reluctantly letting go of Cato's hand to walk over to Cinna. "Let me see it."

It takes both Flavius and Octavia to hold the dress, which isn't a good sign. It's a ball gown with a tight bodice and full skirt, and the entire thing is covered in gemstones. Most of it is rippling shades of blue, from a deep midnight blue to a lighter aqua, light at the bottom and dark at the top. Around the waist and the bottom of the skirt, though, are small threads of rainbow gems, wound together in loose and messy braids.

"What are they?" I ask, mesmerized by the sparkling colors.

"Sapphires. All of them. The rainbow sapphires were harder to come by, but I figured you had to impress this district particularly," Cinna smiles.

"Will I be able to walk in this?" I raise one eyebrow.

"It's lighter when it's on you," he promises.

"And for Cato?" I say

"I need to have some surprises," Cinna says mischievously. He sits me in a chair with my back to Cato and does the same to him. Then, the now-familiar process begins.

First is my face; they don't have to do much, since they've been taking care of my face for the past week solid, just some highlighting here and there. As they're doing this, Flavius is fussing with my hair, tugging on parts in an itchy way and spraying me with a suspicious amount of hairspray. Gold earrings and a lacy gold necklace and bracelet set of feather-light chains are fastened around me.

Finally, my dress. They unfasten part of it somehow and have me step into it so they can pull it up and zipper and hook it into place. It's heavy, but not unbearably so, and the skirt almost magically puffs out without layers of fluffy fabric beneath it. "It's wonderful," I say, and as usual, I don't have to fake my happiness.

"Your hair looks amazing," I hear from behind me. I can't turn as quickly as I want to in the dress, but eventually I get around and see Cato in his suit. It's dark blue, with a rainbow sapphire pin in the lapel and matching cufflinks. His pocket square is blood red, along with his tie. Overall, he looks very sharp.

"Um, thanks," I say, recovering from being momentarily stunned into silence. "Why, what's different about it?"

My team flutters around me with hand mirrors, tilting them so I can see the back of my head. My hair is woven into a hairdo that almost looks knitted into place. Strung through the latticework is strands of more sapphires set in gold. It looks spectacular.

"Oh," I say. "That is pretty cool."

Cinna performs a small bow. "Of course. Now get out there and wow them."

Haymitch ushers us to the door. I hesitate at the door, feeling a slight hitch in my stomach that I haven't felt before. "Hey," Haymitch mutters. "Don't stress. Say the canned lines. You've got this."

"I know," I say, but I don't really feel confident until Cato slips his hand into mine. "You nervous?" I ask him.

"No. I practiced my whole life for this. I don't get nervous."

"Great." I straighten up and throw my shoulders back. "Let's go."

The presentation is much like the other ones, except that I have to make an effort to smirk at their tributes names. Really, though, Glimmer and Marvel? Those aren't names. Our audience is far fancier than any other so far, and also far more ridiculous looking, but they're the most dangerous, because they're well-fed, strong, and unhappy at the strange pair of victors this year.

After we finish talking, we prepare to walk back to the train, but one person erupts from the crowd. "What makes you so special?" the man demands, getting close to the stage. He's a little angry-looking, but not threatening. Still, though, Peacekeepers surround him their very presence menacing.

"What?" I say, turning to look back at him.

He's wearing a ridiculous orange suit, with a strange zig-zag pattern, but he's broad-shouldered and solid, and he's not happy. "Why did you think both of you deserved to win this year? You think you're better than us?"

"No," I say, bewildered.

Cato steps in. "We were prepared to die," he says. "The Gamemakers were the ones who decided to let us win. We appreciate your support." Briskly, he turns and begins to lead me back to the train, in a very victor-ly and impressive manner.

But suddenly there's a hand on my wrist, and I can feel the gold bracelet ripped from my wrist by the tight grip as I pull away. I turn back and see the orange-suited man holding onto me. He reaches for me, and I despise how helpless these high shoes make me. "Get away from me," I say fiercely.

"Only one victor," he says, deadly silent, and reaches for something in a pocket.

I feel a primal jolt of terror in my ribcage for a second, because I know he's going to hurt me. But of course, I forgot about Cato.

He's behind me a little, but before I can react, he's in front of me, between the man and me. I'm worried for Cato for a fraction of a second. Then he punches the guy in the face, follows it up with a blow to the gut and a stomp on his foot. This just infuriates the man, who lunges for Cato. But Cato trained for this; he uses the other man's weight against him, flips him onto the ground, and grinds his heel into his arm, audibly snapping the bone.

And although I like him stopping that guy from killing me, being protective of me and whatever, that's a little too far, even for me. "Cato," I say.

He kicks the guy in the side, breaking a few ribs, slams his head into the stage, leaving blood on the ground. Then he hauls the now-unconscious guy up with one hand and punches him in the face, then again and again, draws his fist back for a fourth time.

"Cato," I say louder.

His back is to me, but I can see him stop, holding the man up and his fist back. And then he drops the guy, who's nearly unrecognizable with his swollen face and blood-stained suit, turns back to me, and looks at me, deadpan.

We need to get out of here, so I reach my hand out to him, and after a few seconds, he takes it, his knuckles stained with red. He doesn't come right away when I tug on his hand, but then, he slowly begins to move towards me in small steps. And he continues to walk back to the train with me, but he lets of my hand and walks faster than I can keep up with.

He's practically running away from me by the time we're on the train. "Cato, stop," I say as soon as I'm sure no one from the district will overhear us.

He doesn't stop, but he slows down, stripping off his suit jacket impatiently, and his shirt and undershirt. Impatiently, he walks into his bedroom and I follow him, trying not to look the new scars from his whipping in my district, and when that fails, trying not to feel guilty about it. "What's your problem?" I demand.

"What's yours?" he says back. "Someone just tried to assassinate you. You should be worried about that."

That hasn't really sunk in yet for me, I guess because Cato took care of him before any weapon was out. But now's not really the time to realize I was almost killed. "You're freaking out because you went crazy on him, is that it?" I guess.

"Can you just leave me alone, for like half a second?" he snaps. "Maybe I don't want to tell you everything I'm thinking every second, didja ever think about that?"

I don't know how to answer without getting either really angry or really irrational, so I turn around and leave. Venia and Octavia are waiting in my bedroom for me and help me out of the gown, chattering all the while about how lucky I am to have such luxurious clothes made for me. I don't put on clothes after they leave; it feels like too much work. Instead, I get into bed, pulling the covers over me up to my nose, and stay there for a while.

Cato has every right to be sharp with me, I guess. I do have a habit of being nosy. I'm actually surprised it hasn't been a problem for him before. But that doesn't mean I feel any better about it. Also, now that I'm alone, I have plenty of time to remember the guy's cold eyes when he grabbed my wrist and I know that he would've killed me. If it wasn't for Cato, I might not be thinking right now.

Cold shivers start to ripple down my back, and I can't stop myself from shaking a little, but I don't cry. I'm okay. He's okay. We'll be fine. Even if he doesn't want to talk to me ever again, I can make it through this. I'll be okay. But for a second, I can't stop myself from thinking that maybe I can't.

I don't know how long I lie there. After a while, the blankets get warm and things become almost unbearably cozy. Maybe I'll stay here forever, have an Avox bring me food so I never have to move again. That sounds obscenely appealing right now.

"Katniss," Cato says from the doorway.

I do not respond, don't even look at him because that would require turning my head and moving the blanket. Too much work to do that.

"I'm sorry," he says.

I maintain my dignified silence.

He stops trying to get an answer out of me and instead comes into the room and sits on the very end of the bed, by my feet. "I was going to kill him," he says. "For touching you. And I guess that's a good thing because it kept you alive this time, but next time… I don't know if I'll stop." He laughs once, darkly. "I can't imagine what you must think of me. But that's who I am. I'll always go back to that, even if I don't want to." He pauses. "And I don't want you to know anything else, but just because you aren't going to like it."

"Well that's part of getting to know someone," I say, my voice muffled. "You learn the good and the bad and make your own decision."

"Yeah, well I know what your decision's going to be. And I guess I want to put that off for as long as possible."

"You don't know my decision," I cut him off.

He doesn't say anything for a very long time, and I go back to being comfy and silent for a while. If he's not going to talk to me, then fine. It's not going to change my opinion of him. I still think he's the person I'm ever going to feel this way about. I'll always think that. And when he does talk, I listen with that in the back of my mind.

"If you broke someone's bone in training, you'd get rewarded. Extra food or time with the trainers or something. And if yours got broken, they'd make you stay late, run more or do push-ups for hours, right after they put a cast on you. No painkillers. They'd speed up the healing, but you were still out for a week. And the whole week, everybody would be looking at you like you were weak, nothing. I must've broken hundreds of arms and legs. It's easy, I don't even have to… and then one time, it was my arm that snapped. Hurt like hell. And any other person would've thought about that, y'know? Like thought about how I'd been making other kids hurt like this for so long, and maybe I should stop it. I just got mad, though. Thought I didn't deserve it, that I was better than that. So I got pissed and next chance I got, I cracked the guy's skull. So maybe the past doesn't matter to you. But you can't just ignore shit like that."

Damn. That was one hell of a monologue. I don't know what to say about that, but I don't have to figure it out. "The camera equipment finally came," he says after a moment. "I'm gonna go shoot the video." He stands and walks out slowly but deliberately. I guess he said everything he needed to.

He's right, of course. I can't ignore who he was for the first eighteen years of his life, as much as I've been trying to. I need to know who he is, good and bad, just like I said myself, so I can decide if I still want to be with him.

I know for a fact that I will. But that doesn't change the fact that I need to know. Maybe he even needs me to know. Probably some combination of both. And now he's shooting that video to remind himself not to hate me. I should probably be there for that.

My intention is to just peek out at the set up first, then to come back here and put clothes on, so I just wrap one of the blankets around me, under my arms, and shuffle across my bedroom to the door and peer down the hall into the main room, where the camera is. He's already sitting down in front of it, and as I watch, he starts to talk.

"This video's because you've been brainwashed again. Before you turn it off, listen for a second. They're not making me say this. I'm not being threatened or tortured. This is the straight-up truth. I remember everything right now. I can prove it." He takes a deep breath.

"Clove. She was brutal, remember? Worse than me – us. Crazy. We'd both train at night when we were supposed to be at home. And that one night, when I'd been knocked out in training that day and I got home and Dad hammered on the side of my head for a while and I went back to train; she was there that night, too, and she saw me – us – fall down because our balance was off, but she didn't say anything. She sat next to me while I took forever to sit up and breathe and wait for my head to stop spinning so bad. And the next day, I fought her extra hard to prove I could still beat the shit out of her, and I could, even though she didn't want to admit it."

He stops again, for a longer time, biting his lip. "I remember all of that. And I'm here to tell you, or… me. Whatever. I'm telling you, don't believe a thing anybody says, except for the people from twelve. The trainers and our parents, they're all lying, alright, you know how to tell. They're ashamed of you, and they're trying to get you weak and out of the picture so they can take Katniss down, and you can't let that happen. Because Katniss Everdeen is the best thing that's ever happened to us. She saved your life. And you're in love with her."

I feel my knees go weak when he says that, and I suddenly need to hold onto the doorframe for support. He hasn't noticed me here yet, judging by how intently he's looking at the camera and how he continues.

"She's the best person you'll know. She's strong, talented, and nice and beautiful. They're going to try to screw with how you remember, but they aren't going to get everything. Like, how she stayed in your apartment with you; she was there when you got back from the Capitol. That woman with the blue hair. And when you came back, she was right there. You remember that? Her hair was still a little wet and she was wearing your shirt. She was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen, and she was waiting for you in your bed.

"After everything you did that night, you didn't know if you deserved to have someone like that waiting for you. But she didn't even think twice about it. She didn't care that you were stupid and worthless and gross that night. She loves you. And there's not going to be another girl like that for you. I know you don't believe that she could ever genuinely care about anyone like you, but she does. I know you remember how you felt that night, when you saw she stayed. The trainers don't know about that night. They won't know to change that memory. Just think about that night. She's not faking anything. You have to believe that, because without her, you're not going to be able to do this."

He's not done, but that's all I can listen to. I feel like I'm going to explode, or overflow with all my emotions that are suddenly bubbling up. My epiphany from before, back home, comes back now, in full force, and I'm bombarded with feelings I didn't know existed.

This must be what love feels like. More than ever before, I can understand how my mother left everything she knew for my father, because I'm ready to do it now. Whatever he wants me to do, I'll do it right now, from how I'm feeling. And I've never been so scared of someone as I am right now, because I'm ready to give him everything, and the last person I gave everything to was Gale. Losing him temporarily wasn't bearable. Losing Cato might not be survivable. I can't have a weakness like that. But it's there, undeniably.

I love him. More than I've loved anyone before, in a way that wrenches at my heart like it might pull it out of my chest and straight into Cato's hands. It hurts so much that I'm crying, but not because I'm sad. The opposite, really. I'm happier that I've ever been before, because I know he's not playing me. He loves me back.

I don't know how long I sit there. Eventually, though, I realize I'm not alone. "Are you okay?" Cato says, kneeling next to me. He doesn't touch me, though, like he's scared to hurt me. Knowing what I do now, that's probably exactly what it is.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I assure him, and I reach out for him since he won't. I almost forget that I don't have clothes on, so I have to hold onto the sheet with my other hand, but I pull him close to me and put his arms around me for him. I love him, the impressive size of his arms, and the paradoxically gentle way he always touches me, even now.

"If you're mad at me, I understand," he starts to say.

I cut him off. "I'm in love with you. I don't care what happens, or how many times you forget. No matter what you've done. And I do know what I'm saying, and how much I don't know. I'm also saying I don't care."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I'm in love with you." And it actually feels good to say that. I don't even care that he isn't saying anything back, because he said it all already, even if he didn't know I was listening. "I'll never give up on you. Even if you forget."

"I'm not going to forget. Not completely. I can't."

"How do you know?" I ask, pulling back from him to look at his face.

"Because they don't know when I started loving you."

"When's that?" I ask, and I know I'm not prepared for the answer.

"I don't know. You crept up on me." I smile, but he's not done. "It started pretty far back, though. I know that. Like when you fell asleep on me the first time. Do you…" He's not sure if he should say this, but he does. "Do you want to go to dinner with me tonight? We'll be in my district by then."

When I was just starting to trust him, he was already falling for me. I'm blown away by this. And the thought of us going out in public for the first real time, showing each other off to the people of his district, is way more appealing than one might think. "Yeah, of course. Let's show them who their victors are," I say.

He smiles with just an echo of the savagery I saw from him earlier. "Let's do it." Then he hesitates for a second, eyes flicking down and back up. "Are you going to put clothes on?"

I blush. "Um, yeah. Hold on. One second. If you'd just…"

I don't have to finish that sentence. He leaves, throwing a final look at me over his shoulder. I put on some sweat pants, a casual shirt, because we still have the presentation in district 2 to speak at, which will be longer because it's one of the victorious districts. I'll have another dress put on me before we go to dinner, so I don't have to worry about looking good, which I don't really anyways. But that might actually be a thing now. I might worry about looking good for him.

Not now, though. I'm not that far gone yet. Plus, when I walk out to where he is on the couch, he looks at me like I'm something amazing, even though I don't look good except for my hair, makeup dripping down my face. How can I not love him?

Cinna and the others spend about three hours on my new dress. My hair is done in a thousand small braids that turn into bigger ones, like the hairstyle my mother did for me but more ornate, and with threads of copper winding through and around the braids.

The earrings, necklace, and bracelets on me are better than any I've worn before. They fit on me almost like they're growing out of me; the earrings wrapped around my earlobes, the necklace curves over my neck and collarbones, and around them, Cinna hand-lays copper leaf, so you can barely tell where the jewelry ends and my skin begins.

My dress is green, with cutout spots on my sides and a texture somewhere between an oak leaf and silk. Then there's hundreds of tiny olive pieces that Cinna also hand lays over the neckline and skin at my sides, so the dress looks like it's a natural part of me as well. When they're finished, I look like some sort of nature warrior princess. Cinna has outdone himself again.

"I love it," I say breathlessly, spinning and looking at the way the dress moves, not like fabric at all. "This is spectacular."

Cinna smiles. "You gave me a beautiful starting point."

Cato can't stop looking at me when they finish with him and let him see me. He looks pretty damn attractive himself, in a dull silver suit, copper cufflinks, and an olive tie. You can definitely tell he trained for this; it paid off.

"Alright, lovebirds, here's the deal," Haymitch says, looking at the two of us, but his instructions are pretty obviously for my benefit. "There's performances and demonstrations arranged for you, a feast in your honor that you don't have to eat much of. You'll be seated by each other. There probably will be whispering. His family will be there. Be regal. If you have a chance to shoot, do it. Don't smile a lot. Got all that?"

"Yeah. Where will you be?"

"On the train. They don't want an old drunk like me contaminating their perfect specimens of humans," he says sarcastically. "So stick together."

"What if someone tries to kill her again?" Cato asks.

"They won't." Haymitch shakes his head. "Too rebellious. You'll be safe. You're on display the moment you step outside. Be cute. Go. Be free, kids. Rock this." And he all but shoves us out onto the train platform.

Immediately, I lock my arm around his. "Okay," I say, straightening up. "Let's do this."

Cato's nervous, I can tell from how flat his expression is, but he nods and we go. He's remarkably talented at faking confidence. The streets are lined with citizens of 2, lined up and dressed their best to see their victors. "Ignore them," Cato says. "They're beneath us."

But I can't do that, because there's adorable kids around here that are looking at me like I'm a role model, which, to them, I guess I am. So I smile back at them and try not to think I don't deserve to be here.

The ceremony passes without much distinction to me; it's just like the other ones, except longer, and we sit down for half the time. Cato's parents are seated next to him during the feast, on his other side. At one point, his mother grabs his shoulder with her talon-like fingernails and starts to say something, but I jump in and demand Cato's attention by pulling him close and kissing him, earning a few cheers from the crowd.

I keep doing that, getting between him and his parents whenever they try to do something other than just smiling and nodding, but I can't do anything when his father introduces him and digs his fingers into Cato's shoulder while I'm sitting down. I watch Cato's shoulder twitch, and I can't imagine how much it has to hurt for him to react at all.

Then I'm introduced and I give my speech and we smile and nod and whatever, but once we're sitting back down and the mayor of the district is talking, I lean over and kiss him on the cheek gently and whisper into his ear, "It'll be okay, I love you."

He nods, and rolls his shoulder uncomfortably, then takes my hand and squeezes it.

We fake our way through the rest of everything and head back to the train to change for dinner. Haymitch is waiting for us. "I noticed your lovely mentors were conspicuously absent," he says to Cato.

"Yep. No surprise."

"Mmm. Nice interference, Katniss, you were like a wall. Big sister instincts won again."

"Thanks," I say over my shoulder, walking away to get changed. I leave on my shoes and the top part of my dress, but detach the skirt with a hidden zipper around my hips that Cinna showed me earlier. I pull on some black tight pants, slide on my dad's leather jacket, and walk back out to where Cato's waiting for me. "Dinner," I say, taking his hand.

"Let's go."

He leads me through the now-crowded streets to a rich part of town, with stores and little booths lining the streets. We go to the restaurant that looks the most luxurious, full of snooty-looking people in ridiculous clothes that almost make my outfit look poor. Cato whispers to the man at the front, and I'm pretty sure he slips him some money, and we get a table away from everyone else.

There's a candle on the small table, a big window, a single flower in a vase, and fancy silverware. It's terribly romantic, and I'm horrified to find out that I don't mind. We sit down, and when the waiter comes over, he doesn't act like there's anything out of the ordinary about us. I have no idea what to order, but Cato chooses something for me.

"Soooo what, do we talk now?" I ask.

"Usually that's how it goes," he smiles with his eyes.

"Oh, so you've been on a lot of these?"

"A few. Before the games, I knew a lot of girls."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But now I'm taken."

I'm sure he doesn't mean to have this effect on me, of making me fall more in love with him with every word, but that's exactly what's happening. "That hasn't stopped most people," I point out, because there's still a large part of me that won't let me have such blatantly adorable moments.

"Well, it's stopping me."

"What, forever? You gonna propose to me?" I say sarcastically.

I should've known better. "Maybe," he says, face impassive. I blush, of course, and can't answer, because I haven't even thought about what I'd do if he asked.

So I change the subject uncomfortably, saying the first thing that comes to mind. "So how are Silas and Sophia?"

Even as I say it, I know it's a bad question, even without seeing his face darken and his hand clench into a fist. "Fine, now," he says, though. "They're both all healed from… from what I did to them. Won't come anywhere near me now, though."

"You mind us stopping by? I'd like to see them before we leave for home tonight."

"No, that's fine I'm sure my parents would love to be seen with you in the house, anyways." He fiddles with a fork for a moment. "There isn't… there isn't any way we could take them with us to your home, is there."

I narrow my eyes at him curiously. "Why would you want to do that?"

"It kind of seems like a toxic place to be. And they should at least have a chance to be normal, I think."

While it's majorly important that he realized these are things – that kids should have childhoods and the treatment of kids in district 2 is wrong – it's also bad. "Are they allowed to go?" I have to point out. "And wouldn't taking them make them targets for other tributes or future games? I don't think Sophia would want to, even."

"Oh."

"But I'd love to take them, if it was safe for them," I add, because I don't just want to destroy his budding nice idea. "It just doesn't seem like the best idea right now."

"Yeah," he says. "That makes sense." But he's not happy about it, and he won't just accept it. For a long moment, he looks out the window. "They're kind of targets anyways," he says. "Just by being related to me."

"Well. It's not my call. I'll say yes if you ask. But your parents have to agree to it. I'm not going to be the first victor accused of kidnapping," I say with half a smile.

He makes a face at me, a goofy one that I'm shocked he lets himself show in public. "Whatever. I thought you were brave."

"I will not be taunted into a felony," I whisper across the table right as the waiter comes back with our food. Immediately, I shut up and try not to look like a criminal.

They place dishes in front of us; white bowls and plates filled with brightly-colored food. I've got some kind of soup, full of vibrant vegetables, and a mound of what seems to be potatoes, except they're brightly colored like no potatoes I've ever seen before. Cato's hacking at a large piece of meat, and he's got something close to rice but not quite.

"Promise me this is good," I say before picking up a fork.

"It's good," he says, smiling at me.

I throw him a suspicious look, but I dig into the potatoes. They are good, of course. He wouldn't lie. But they taste suspiciously unhealthy. "What, no option that's gross and good for me?" I say as soon as the potatoes stop sticking my tongue to the roof of my mouth.

"Not here," he says, after he's done being momentarily confused by me. "What's wrong with it being good for you?"

"Life's too short to eat food that's good for you."

He frowns, trying not to smile. "Okay." We both eat quietly, because there are few things that I'd rather do than eat, and not much will get between me and my food. Even attractive and strong boys I love who love me.

"So do we do things differently? Now that… that we've realized things," he says awkwardly after a while, looking up at me in a way that's pretending to be casual.

"Like do what differently?" I say.

"I don't know."

"Well, how do you think we're supposed to act?"

"I don't know. Do I look like I've done this before?"

"Do I?"

"So neither of us have any idea how to do this."

"I think that's a fair assessment," I say, devouring some of the surprisingly delicious stew. "So what should we do?"

"I don't know."

"What do you feel like doing?"

He considers. "Finishing this steak and going to my parents' house?"

"I mean about us. Although sure, that's good, too."

"Oh." We eat for a while longer. "Do you want something from me?" he asks, worried.

"No, you're… you're fine the way you are."

"Okay. But if you change your mind-"

"I'll let you know," I assure him. "Don't worry about it."

That gets us through the end of the meal. He pays, absolutely refusing to let me, and then we walk out, hand in hand. He pulls me closer on the walk to his parents, putting his arm around my waist, and I like it. "So are we going to invite them with us?" I ask.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm gonna see how Mom and Dad are first."

"Probably a good decision," I say. Judging from how cruel and mean they are, any decision made should depend on them if we're going to avoid crime and/or conflict. "Shouldn't we not hold hands?" I ask as we're ride up the elevator to his parents' apartment.

"I don't care anymore," he says. "They need to just deal with it."

I raise my eyebrows. "Impressive. If you're sure."

The doors open.