Author's Note

Among the long list of excuses for the lateness of this update is a bad case of writer's block. The especially frustrating thing about this particular case was that I already had planned what was to happen in this chapter, but the WRITING just wouldn't happen. It's worse than not knowing what to do with a story at all. So at this point, I just have to post. I will very likely go back and edit this extensively, so when I do, I'll make a note in a future Author's note.

Also, thanks again for all the support – I swear my wonderful, loyal readers are the only thing that got me through this chapter! And there are lots of recommendations floating around out there for my story, which is really cool – thanks for that, too!

I get up in what feels like the middle of the night to make sure I have enough time to get to the woods and back before the Feast begins. I've long been an early riser, but the event starts at dawn and that's when I'm usually perched in a tree with my bow at the ready. There will be no hunting today, at least not while it's still dark; Katniss could have done it, but I still need better light than the moon through the trees to make it worth my effort. I can check my lines though. As I pick my way along mostly from memory in the darkness, part of me thinks I ought to have stayed home this morning and gotten he sleep, but the Feast doesn't change the fact that there are six mouths to feed at home. The only thing it really changes is the odds that I may be feeding those mouths on my own permanently.

I try not to let myself think that way, try to convince myself that she'll survive because that's what she does, but I can't help but wonder how many more times she can tempt fate before she is dealt a losing hand. I don't want to consider the answer, so I focus on being pissed off that they have even taken my last free Saturday from me.

I head home with less than I hoped for, but there is enough to feed us and the Everdeens today, which is really all I was worried about. I can always go back and hunt this evening. Twilight hours are the best time for game, and if I miss the morning I'll settle for dusk. I just hope I'm in the mood to do it later.

Once we get everyone up, dressed, and fed, my mother and I prod the kids outside and down the street. None of us really want to watch this, and on top of that Vick and Posy are especially cranky because they aren't used to being awake so early. Dozens of families trudge along around us, and it's strange to see so many people out and about at this time in the morning. I usually have the Seam to myself or close to it, but a Feast is always a Mandatory Event regardless of when it starts. The mine is closed until noon, and if it were a school day classes would be let out, too.

Halfway there, I scoop up my sister and carry her when it occurs to me that I ought to use her drowsiness to our advantage. If I can get her to fall asleep – or at least snooze a little – maybe she'll miss the worst of the Games today. I think of Madge and the way she had rescued my sister on the day of the Bloodbath, and find that I am still as deeply grateful to her now as I was the moment she had done it, but I doubt she'd be able to get away with it a second time. It surprises me a little – that I'd just assumed she would be there with us again without even giving it a second thought, as if any other way would be unimaginable. As if it would be right for her to be there.

Luckily, by the time we reach the edge of Town and the sky is just beginning to lighten, I feel Posy's arms go limp as she dozes off. I just hope it doesn't get too loud. There's no need to search for the Everdeens, since they are in their place of honor at the front of the crowd as usual where they'll be easy prey for the reporters. Besides, even if they weren't in the same spot all we would have to do is follow Rory, who could pick out Primrose Everdeen in the middle of a million people. I'm dreading walking up there, because that will make us easy prey also. But this is another event that Prim shouldn't have to face alone, and her mother isn't exactly a pillar of support. Since I have to take my time working my way through the crowd to avoid disturbing Posy too much, I'm the last one of us to make it up there. Prim looks pale and tired even as Rory offers words of encouragement. Her mother looks like she could blow away like ashes in the breeze. Mom lays a comforting hand on her shoulder but remains silent, probably because she knows she won't get a response anyway. I feel a twinge of concern when it appears that Vick is absent, until I realize that he is actually down on his hands and knees surreptitiously trying to tie Rory's shoelaces together while he isn't looking. I nudge him with a boot, which startles him and makes him fall over like a clumsy puppy.

"Cut it out!" I hiss. When he stands up a little too obediently, I add, "Untie them first, Vick." He sighs, disappointed that he's been caught, and fixes them while Rory remains completely oblivious. I wonder if Madge wants a brother, too.

Then, no sooner than I think her name, she appears beside Prim and squeezes her hand, offers our mothers a small polite smile and then looks to me as she moves down the line. Her hair is tied into a hurried ponytail with a blue ribbon that matches her sundress, a thin sweater thrown over her shoulders to ward off the pre-dawn chill, as if all done in a mad dash to leave the house on time, and the simple imperfection of her appearance somehow only serves to make her more lovely. But the thing that grabs me is the fierce energy that shines through the weariness on her face, the spark that has become so familiar. Madge stops at my side, and her eyes linger on mine as her father announces that the Feast is moments away from beginning. She does not speak, for which I am grateful. But truthfully, she doesn't need to, and neither do I – we understand each other with a glance, and what we understand cannot be said out loud. Then, as the screens show a table rising from the ground in front of the Cornucopia, I realize that I am glad that I am not alone. That it is right that she is here.

….

The skinny red-haired girl darts out of the Cornucopia, snatches the pack marked with her district number, and takes off for the woods. I have to say that I am impressed; that was a clever angle, hiding inside the golden cavern where no one else would be able to see her, so close that no one would be able to catch her before she made off with her prize. We don't get any more time to admire her strategy, though, because her departure is Katniss' cue to run for the pack that can only contain one thing – life-saving medicine for Peeta.

When they announced the Feast last night, the guilt and apprehension that flooded me had been almost too much to bear. Because everyone knew there was only one reason for it. It occurred to me that as much as we were trying to increase their odds of survival, playing up the romance between the Star-Crossed Lovers from Twelve has only made life in the arena more difficult for Katniss and Peeta. Medicine that could have been otherwise sent in a sponsor parachute was now the bait for a deathtrap. After all, what better drama is there than a devoted Tribute losing her life in an attempt to save her true love? I think of my interview again, and can't help but believe that I am at least partially at fault. They may have changed the rules, but the Gamemakers clearly have no intention of allowing two victors.

I am beginning to truly understand the guilt that haunts my mother. I am seeing all of this through new eyes. Again. So I hold on to the anger and fury instead.

I try not to look at Gale when the girl form District Two runs out after Katniss; I know he is angry that the Gamemakers have put his friend in this position, and I know the look on his face will break my heart. Besides, it's already hard enough to look at him and keep my composure after what little has happened between us, and now is not the time to dwell on that anyway. So I focus my energy on willing Katniss to turn around and see the girl taking aim with her knife. Look, Katniss, dammit, look, look…. But she doesn't, and a blade comes sailing toward her head. I wince as I prepare for the worst, but the Girl on Fire deflects the weapon with a flick of her bow, and the entire square sighs in relief. She must have heard it coming. It gets her attention, though, and she spins and puts an arrow into her assailant's arm without losing stride.

I hear Gale swear under his breath, careful not to wake his dozing sister, probably disappointed that it was not a fatal shot. The wounded girl readies another dagger as Katniss straps the miniature backpack onto her arm, and throws it the moment her target turns to flee. Katniss has a second arrow ready in a flash, but it flies wide as the knife catches her in the forehead and she staggers sideways, blinded by a sudden and alarming gush of blood. I can't not look at him when both Tributes tumble to the ground and Katniss finds herself pinned, at the mercy of her larger, stronger opponent; his jaw is clenched to the point of pain, and his grey eyes are narrowed, darkened, and rimmed with tears that he refuses to let fall. The fingers on the hand that he has draped protectively over Posy's shoulder flex as if they want to form a fist, but he resists to keep from disturbing her. He doesn't look away when the Career girl starts to slice into the corner of Katniss' mouth, determined not to abandon her in this horrific moment.

I muster what little courage I can find and touch Gale's arm, wanting him to know that he is not abandoned, either. I don't really expect much of a reaction, so I am shocked when his hand drops from his sister's back and catches mine on the way down. He curls his fingers tightly around my own, carefully at first then hard enough that I feel my bones grind together; I'm certain it will leave bruises, but I refuse to let even the smallest sound of pain escape while he clearly needs this contact, while my friend is about to be flayed alive for the sake of entertainment. So I squeeze his hand in return, and watch with him, because it is the very least I owe them both.

Then, quite suddenly, Katniss' would-be murderer is flung to the ground like a toy, and the pin-drop silence in the square crumbles into cautious cheers. I can't quite bring myself to cheer with them; I cannot deny that I am glad to see the cruel Career girl take a fatal blow to her skull, and I find that honest admission sickening. They're winning…. Gale doesn't cheer either, and the grip on my hand remains unchanged, but his shoulders slump and his hard gaze finally falls away from the screen. Which, along with the sudden noise from the crowd, jostles Posy awake.

Her eyes flutter open blearily and find me, which elicits a small smile. She squirms a bit, and I feel Gale tense beside me as he notices.

"Is it the feast?" she asks. "Is Catnip there?"

I know that she is a split second from twisting round to see what's going on, so I place my free hand at the back of her head to keep her pinned against her brother's shoulder.

"She's there," I whisper carefully, "and she's doing great, but promise not to look yet, okay? Katniss is fine, but there's… ugly stuff happening." Luckily, there hasn't been any loud screaming or other horrible sounds like there were for the bloodbath, so she won't get too clear an idea of what is going on behind her.

She frowns. "What did they feed them?" she asks.

I can't help but laugh a little in spite of the situation. I guess that's a good thing if she still thinks a Feast is actually a feast. I dredge up the most horrible thing I can imagine, that wouldn't also be something she's probably been forced to eat herself out of desperation. "Leftover pig eyeballs from the butcher."

Her little face scrunches up in disgust. "Ew."

"Yeah," I say with dramatic sympathy. "Don't look."

"No way."

I glance back at the screen, and see Katniss headed for the trees.

….

Madge stops whispering conspiratorially with my sister for a moment. I couldn't make out what she said, but I don't really care as long as it keeps Posy distracted until the worst of the action was over. The only thing I was worried about was that Katniss escaped the Feast alive, with or without the medicine, and I was far too terrified that her luck had finally run out to remember to keep Posy shielded from it. Twice now. What would I do without her? The words startle me as they flash unexpectedly through my mind, and I notice that her hand is still crushed inside mine. I loosen my grip a little, but I still maintain contact. I'm not quite ready to be alone again.

"He let her go?" she asks, slightly surprised.

I nod. "He heard her say she was Rue's ally. The girl –"

"The little girl from his district. The one she tried to save."

"Yeah." Little by little, as Katniss puts some distance between herself and the Cornucopia and it becomes clear that no one is going to pursue her right away, I let the knots in me untie themselves. But they only loosen so far; as the sense of relief loses some of its freshness, a deeper anger and resentment burns through. Katniss should have died today. She was simply lucky that another Tribute intervened. And this was different from the time Peeta Mellark had saved her – then, she was trying to save herself and things spiraled out of control. Today, she traded her life for his. Today, she deliberately decided that her promise to try to come home to her sister was less important. I spare a glance for Prim, who begins to break down into tears now that it's all over; she had been frozen in horror for most of the Feast, unable to react as if she couldn't believe it was actually real. Rory drapes an arm protectively around her shoulders as she covers her face with her hands and terrified, relieved sobs shake her. I wonder if she feels like Katniss broke that promise. Someone trying to win the Games does not risk death for something that another Tribute needs.

The people around us become restless, eager to go home so they no longer have to pretend to approve of this morbid spectacle in public. After a few minutes pass without further bloodshed, Peacekeepers begin dismissing the crowd. Finally, I let my hand slip away from Madge's so I can set Posy down, but I watch her carefully for her reaction. She is somber and silent but she still does not shy away, nor does she look like she expects me to say anything. The increasingly-familiar, intense gratitude comes back; the girl never demands explanations from me.

I look at Katniss' sister again, and I tell myself it is because I want to make sure she is beginning to calm down, but I know it is because it has become hard to look at Madge again. Madge, with her sky-colored eyes and her sun-colored hair, her perfect skin and even-more-perfect lips, in the middle of this nightmare.

"Gale," she says softly, "you know they're going to want to talk to you again." She nods behind me, and I understand it to mean that the Capitol media team is coming our way.

Prim is better, but she still isn't in good shape, and I know that Rory will defend her and put himself in a bad spot. I want nothing more than to escape, but I know the right thing to do is to catch the reporters and keep them occupied before they get to the Everdeens, even if it's only for a few minutes. I promised Katniss that I'd take care of her family, and I don't break promises. Sometimes, there's more to it than just feeding them. "An interview with this-" I point down at my sister "-won't do anybody any good."

Madge shakes her head in agreement and nudges Posy around Mrs. Everdeen toward my mother. I turn to see the familiar tall, green-skinned man making his way toward us (he's hard to forget), but he is with a different woman. I remember Madge mentioning her briefly the night we sat in the meadow and watched the stars; she'd said she was awful, but left it at that. She certainly looks unpleasant – she is rail thin and wearing dramatic makeup, with straight silver hair and cheekbones so high and sharp that they must be artificial. The look of her reminds me of broken glass, and I am certain that this will not go well.

I intercept the media team by placing myself quite deliberately in the center of their path toward Prim.

"I want to speak with Primrose Everdeen," the woman says, as if it is entirely beneath her to have to address a citizen of District Twelve.

"And I think you can give her a minute," I say matter-of-factly. "She just watched her sister almost die. Again."

….

Lima Bean looks at the cameraman beside him to make sure they are filming this, because there is a fair possibility that this year's bloodbath will be reenacted right here in the District Twelve town square in mere moments. Gale does not bother to conceal his contempt. I can tell. I've spent some time on the receiving end of that. For her part, the Bitch (I decided after quite a lot of thought on the matter that there was no sense in putting extra effort into choosing a nicer nickname) is dumbfounded out of pure shock that someone would dare challenge her. Then she appears to spend a second debating whether she ought to demand that he step aside or find a peacekeeper to arrest him.

Hazelle looks horrified. It's obvious that she's already picturing her eldest son in shackles. Or worse. Even Prim appears alarmed now that she has calmed down enough to take in the scene. I don't blame either of them. Diplomacy is clearly not Gale's strong suit.

"Livia," I say in my best placating voice, "I don't think he realizes who you are, I should have introduced you." I ease my way between the two of them.

"You know him?" she asks incredulously.

"I made his acquaintance when I was congratulating Mrs. Everdeen and Primrose on Katniss' performance in training," I say carefully. No need to let them know that I'm as friendly with their families as I am, and give them a reason follow me when I manage to get away to visit. "This is Gale. Katniss and Primrose are his cousins." I turn to Gale and hope that he has the sense to play along. "Gale, you remember Marcus. This is Livia, the new reporter that the Capitol sent to us for the rest of the Games. She's here to interview the families."

He gives a tight, forced smile that is anything but friendly, but at least he keeps his mouth shut.

"All well and good, Margaret, but I want to talk to the sister first," she says, as if we should all feel privileged that she has decided to be so patient.

I smile and wave one hand like I cannot believe that I've been so stupid all this time, while I vow to help Rose clean their bathrooms tomorrow and use their toothbrushes to do it. "Yes, of course." I turn to Prim, and see that her eyes are a little drier. "Do you think you can chat for a while?" I ask.

She swallows hard and nods at Rory to let him know that she is alright. "Yes," she says softly. "It's okay, Gale," she says as she steps past him.

Once everyone's attention is focused on the microphone shoved into Prim's face, I scoot behind the reporters watch for a moment to make sure that nothing terribly unpleasant will happen. Gale continues to hover protectively by Prim, but he remains taciturn and I breathe a sigh of relief. After a minute or two, we look up at the screens when Prim points excitedly to see that Katniss has returned to Peeta and is giving him the much-needed medicine.

Mild panic ensues as Katniss faints and collapses in to a bloody heap; Prim starts into a new round of tears, what little color that is left in Mrs. Everdeen's face vanishes, and Gale's heart breaks all over again. The media team cannot decide if they should stay and film more of Prim's reaction or hunt down the Mellarks. While I watch carefully to make sure that Katniss is still breathing, I am irrationally irritated that the Mandatory Event was dismissed before this point – they will force everyone to watch Tributes murder each other, but they don't want to encourage viewing an act of kindness. One more thing to be angry about, I suppose, because it keeps the fear at bay. Once everyone decides that Katniss is not dying – only injured and exhausted – the media team departs for a better story and the Hawthornes and Everdeens breathe a little easier.

Taking advantage of the reporter's preoccupation with the baker's family, Gale steers his charges toward the road back to the Seam. His gray eyes find mine again as they all walk by and he pauses for a second to give me a faint tilt of his head, which I have come to understand as a gesture of thanks. I expect him to continue on his way, but he does not, and all the people walking around us fade into the background. He lingers for a moment more with me, and I wonder what I am supposed to do with it.

He cocks his head thoughtfully the other way and his pretty eyes narrow a bit as he asks, "How do you do it?"

I blank for a second at the question before I realize that he must be referring to the media team. I shrug and answer him honestly. "I spit in their food."

He cracks a smile and shakes his head, but there is still something melancholy underneath it.

"She's going to make it Gale," I say.

He nods slowly as if forcing himself to believe it before he finally walks away.

I admire Prim's courage, Gale's protectiveness, Rory's compassion, Hazelle's strength. Now that the excitement is over, I get a chance to think of the things that my mother told me yesterday. How she had been so alone when her sister went to the Games, how my grandparents had tried hard not to blame her but she knew they wondered why she'd let Marianne take her place, how she blamed – blames – herself for being so paralyzed by shock and fear that the only thing she could do was cry as her twin walked up to the stage in her stead. The interviews done, the cruel questions asked, all with no one standing behind her or if they were, no one defending or protecting her. Her sister's gruesome death, faced with solitary horror because her parents were too distraught to be strong even for their surviving daughter. The Victor that came back to her own District – the District to which Victors never return – as a constant reminder that Marianne did not. The Victor that did not try hard enough to save her. The Victor that she would resent for simply being alive. The self-loathing that came with the resentment, because any decent person would be glad that someone from their own District came home.

I hope that this year's Hunger Games do not break Gale – any of them – like the Quarter Quell broke my mother. I hope that being less alone than she was will keep them together. I hope that he knows that I will pick up the pieces as many times as he needs me to do it.