A/N: In which Elara muddles her way through the next day of training.

Ihaveacupofnoodles: Yeah he is definitely being very overprotective! The arena ends up taking an interesting turn cause I wanted to do something different with this story, so you'll have to wait and see how Gloss is once we get there :)

hella-sirius: Glad you enjoyed! I took my sweet time writing the Quarter Quell for this story, instead of breezing through it in STN, so I'm happy with what I decided on doing with it. We've got a few more chapters to go before the Games start though. There's still the rest of training and the interviews, which I'm really excited to post!

LoveFiction2019: Thanks!

gwenwesley: Oh the interviews are gonna be interesting, don't worry! As for Gloss telling Panem that he loves Elara, there'll be some scenes in the Games themselves that will hammer that point home. Also, there will be some very graphic scenes involving Elara and clients in the future as well as Gloss's reaction to that, so eventually you'll see everything you're hoping for!

Please enjoy!


Chapter Twenty Eight | I've lost the north star's guiding ray.

"Thou talk'st of nothing.

True, I talk of dreams."

1.4, 96-97 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

Elara has had her fair share of nightmares over the years. They are a constant source of terror for her – memories that she would rather forget entirely. She has them all the time in District 5, when the nights are long and cold and she is alone. When she's with Gloss in the Capitol, those nightmares seem to vanish completely, as if his presence by her side is enough to drive them all away before they have a chance to make themselves known.

This time, though, not even Gloss's presence can stave away the latest nightmare.

It starts with the usual blood and terror of her Games. Watching her district partner get skewered in the bloodbath as he's running to join her on the edge of the forest. She stands there, half hidden by the trees, as a spear drives itself right into his back. The tip breaks through his chest. He stumbles, eyes locking with hers, and his mouth opens into a scream that ricochets through her mind as if she's right there all over again, watching the events as if for the first time. He falls face first into the dirt, limbs twitching as he bleeds out. He dies with one hand reaching for her, fingernails digging into the earth.

Even in her dream she is afraid. She turns and runs into the woods, breathing harried and eyes wild. Canon blasts thunder behind her, shearing through the silence with such booming noise that she flinches each time one goes off. In reality, she makes it into the woods without a problem, but in her dream, she is chased.

The Careers run after her with swords blazing in the sunlight. Their footsteps are fast and heavy. They tear towards her and she stumbles, falling, falling –

Then, suddenly, the scene changes. She is not running, anymore. At least, not physically.

Hands grope her body, pulling her down a mattress with a force that sends her reeling. She can't stop the touches and she can't block the sound of angry orders that tell her to lay still and stop struggling. The foreign hands pull her legs apart and a weight settles against her frame. She can't get away.

She wakes up gasping, with tears gathering behind her eyes. The abrupt way she throws herself into a sitting position alerts the man by her side to her plight. Gloss wakes up to the sight of Elara heaving herself out of bed, hardly able to stomach being tangled up in sheets after dreaming about a client.

"Elara?" he immediately asks, voice groggy from sleep. He rubs his eyes and turns to switch the bedside lamp on. When he turns back, she's struggling to pull on her robe with fumbling fingers.

He doesn't need to ask what's wrong. Nightmares are common things and she suffers far more than she should. He slowly slides out of bed and approaches her as he would approach a wild animal; hands out in plain sight, movements careful. His voice, too, is soft when he murmurs, "Elara. It's just me. It's just me."

She inhales sharply when he sets a hand on her shoulder, but doesn't pull away. Taking this as a good sign, Gloss reaches for her other shoulder and turns her towards him, looking down at her red eyes and disordered form. Her chest is heaving and she looks like she's seconds away from bursting into tears.

Her eyes lock with his, and then suddenly she's throwing her arms around him and Gloss is sighing out and pulling her tight against him, catching all of her weight as she surrenders herself to his grasp. They sink to the floor.

He's never thought of himself as being very good at comfort. He's too brusque and hard, too flippant towards the emotions of others. But he thinks he does a pretty good job of it as he smooths his hands over her hair and murmurs quiet things into her ear.

"Shh…I've got you. It's okay now…" he doesn't even care that it's a lie. Nothing is really okay. If everything was okay, she wouldn't be having nightmares at all. Still, he says the words with conviction, because in a way they are true as well. He'll protect her in whatever way he can. He might not always be there to soothe her dreams away, but he'll do what he can when he is.

She breathes in shakily and whispers, "I don't usually have nightmares when you're with me…you're usually my cure."

At this, Gloss chuckles slightly. He draws back to look at her, thumbing away the tears that have trailed down her cheeks, and says, "And you're mine."

Elara gives him the barest hint of a smile. It's not much, but it's there, and it makes him more relieved than he can say.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he breathes, studying her closely. He never presses her to talk about things she doesn't want to talk about. There are just too many things that fit into that particular category, and sometimes it's better not knowing all the details.

She just shakes her head. Instead, she leans in, kisses the corner of his mouth and whispers, "Make love to me Gloss."

He swallows, exhales with a short laugh, and drawls, "Again?"

She hesitates. He pauses. Then…

"…I dreamed of my client…and I can still feel his touch on me…" she confesses, and ducks her head as if she's ashamed to ask him to take the memories of another man's touch away from her. She shouldn't be. The moment the words leave her mouth, Gloss is bolstered with a determined need to fill her mind with him, instead.

He tips her head back and kisses her deeply. She clings to him, but when he tries to guide them back to the bed, Elara grasps onto his shoulders and wildly bursts, "No – right here."

He pauses, eyebrows shooting up. Elara's bedroom has a large rug in it, but it's hardly comfortable. He frowns at her and opens his mouth to question her, but Elara just pulls him down and says, "Not the bed, Gloss. Please."

Understanding clashes through him. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue any further. Instead he just drags her head back and kisses her again, nestling his body against hers and with a low hum.

Their movements are not sweet or soothing, despite her plea that he 'makes love to her'. Instead of endearing lovemaking, they sink into each other like a clap of thunder, and before long they're rutting into the floor with abandon.

Gloss growls, hastily throwing her robe open to grasp at her body. She arches into his touch, spine bending artfully as she presses her hips into his. He thrusts them back down with every shift of his frame, slamming her into the floor again and again without mercy. Normally, after a nightmare like that, he would hesitate in taking her so thoroughly, but…

Elara is moaning his name with such breathless passion that some instinctual part of him knows this is what she needs. This wild claiming. This proof that she belongs to him. And he is all too happy to claim her.

She groans, nails digging into his arms from where she grips him. And then, bursting upward, she pushes him back and climbs into his lap, pulling him back inside of her with a ragged hum. Gloss feels similarly ragged, but he certainly doesn't complain as he loops his arms around her ass and holds her right where she is.

She leans in and kisses his jaw, bites his ear, sucks on his neck – all the while grinding her hips down on him. He can hardly remember to breathe as she takes him like this. It's far from the demure lovemaking that he had been prepared to give her, before her abrupt requests and endearingly wild sentiments. He clenches down on her ass and grunts, cursing loudly when she scratches her way down his back. Shivers erupt through him at the move. She's doing quite a number on him and he is already straining to keep his end at bay.

"Elara – fuck, come for me Elara," he growls in her ear, his stubble scratching over her cheek. Their breaths intermingle. She turns her head to kiss him, and he tips his head back to take her kiss as if he's been waiting all the while for it.

"Come for me," he demands again – orders, even. And she does.

She presses her face against his hair and unravels, gasping as her orgasm splits through her body. He feels the clench of her muscles around him and the feeling is so intense that he doesn't try to hold himself back any longer. The mere thought of doing so is inconceivable.

He claims her in every way possible that night.

They lay on the floor for a long time afterwards, cradled in each other's arms as the nightmares that had plagued her turn small and insubstantial. With Gloss around her, inside her, against her, those dreams amount to very little.


The first day of training ends on a low note. The Victors seem entirely bored at the prospect of retraining themselves to enter the arena for the second time, and many of them loiter off to their respective suites before the official time comes around for the hall to empty out. Elara, unfortunately, is not one of them, though she'd like nothing more than to take a shower, have dinner, and collapse into bed.

"It's all about the breathing," Gloss tells her as they linger by the archery station. True to his word, he's been pulling her around all day, sometimes with the help of his sister. She's probably been to every single weapon station in the center, trying her hand at everything under the sun. Besides the obvious knives and swords, he's had her test out the tridents (much to Finnick's eternal amusement), axes, spears, staves, crossbows, and now the longbow. She's honestly at her wits end.

Impatient and tired, Elara grumbles, "Let's just face it, Gloss. I'm shit at the bow and that's not going to change."

It's true. She thinks she might be even worse at archery than she is at throwing knives, which is saying quite a lot. Her skills in this department are sorely lacking. She hasn't even managed to hit the target once. Every time she releases an arrow, both the trainer as well as Gloss steps back as if they're afraid she's going to accidentally send it flying towards them. It isn't exactly helping her confidence.

But Gloss is stubborn. He ignores every complaint she gives, and under his tutelage, he drives her hard. She knows that he's just trying to help, but she wonders if it's worth it. She's certainly not the only Victor who has forgotten how to wield a weapon since their Games, but she definitely feels more pathetic than the rest of them. She's been longing to go over and join Chaff and his merry band of uncaring friends for hours now. As far as she knows, they haven't even visited a single station. They've been too busy laughing and joking with each other to bother.

Gloss crosses his arms and staunchly responds, "There's got to be something you're good at." Then, pausing, he clears his throat and says, "…That didn't really come out right."

Elara puts down the bow, much to the trainer's relief. Then, hands on her hips, she turns to give him a hard stare and snarks, "No, I get it. I'm the weak link. I'll probably get myself killed in the bloodbath. Thanks for your vote of confidence."

Aggravated now at her stubbornness, Gloss rolls his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant, Elara. I just want to protect you."

She steps out of the archery range and away from the trainer's hearing, and mutters, "I didn't grow up learning how to fight like you did. I spent nearly all my time in a classroom or an engineering lab learning about wires and control boards, not swinging a sword around."

He eyes her with a strange, contemplative look on his face, and then hooks his hand around her arm to tug her towards the doors. "Let's head back to my room and think this over. We need a better plan of action for tomorrow."

She sighs, but acquiesces. She doesn't want to get into a fight with him, not now.

There's still a few Victors in the training room. Everyone else has already left, and only a couple of people remain. The Morphlings from 6 are still over by the paints, lost in their own world and doubtlessly unaware of the time, and Katniss and Peeta are still lingering around too. Elara glances at them as her and Gloss walk by. Her eyes meet Katniss's very briefly, and she's somewhat taken aback by the hard, cold stare that she receives. The Girl on Fire certainly seems to live up to her reputation.

She follows Gloss to the elevators and they head over to the District 1 suite. When they enter, Cashmere, who is lounging on the couch, looks up at them and raises an eyebrow.

"You know," she says, glancing around to see if the stylists are nearby, "you might want to be a little more careful about your relationship. You probably shouldn't bring Elara here, Gloss."

But Gloss just scoffs and mutters, "Who the fuck cares, at this point?" He says no more on the matter, and Elara just sends Cashmere an exasperated look as he pulls her to his room. Cashmere looks unimpressed, but she doesn't argue. She probably knows, by now, that it won't get her anywhere. Her brother is even more stubborn than she is, and besides, she grudgingly agrees that he does have a point. He isn't the only one who's bitter about this Quarter Quell.

Once the door is closed and they're alone, Gloss goes to pull off his shirt and mutters, "I need a shower first."

He shucks the remainder of his clothes off and kicks them into the corner before striding to the bathroom. When she doesn't follow, he glances over his shoulder at her and quips, "You're welcome to join me."

Elara rolls her eyes at him, but naturally, she doesn't ignore the offer. Mainly because she'd dearly like a shower herself, but there's also a small part of her that's been ogling Gloss's outfit all day and would like nothing more than to put their relationship back onto terms that she is more familiar with. She's pretty useless at fighting, but sex? She is an expert at that.

Once she's pulled her outfit off, she steps into the shower behind him. The first thing she does is to push him into the wall without a word. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. He only lets out a grunt, and doesn't have time to show any more emotion before she's kissing him furiously.

Wild, almost aggressive passion drives them, catapulting them into each other's arms as the hot water of the shower head sprays over their skin. The enclosed space is quick to turn misty. Steam curls up like fog, layering the atmosphere with a heavy intensity and making their kiss that much bolder.

The entire day – no, the entire week – passes through the contours of that kiss. It is as if they are only kissing to release the fury of their own hearts and the knowledge that their deaths are imminent. Maybe that is the primary thing that drives them now – maybe it is only the very same animalistic intensity that has ruled them so many times before – but there is something else there too, lurking beneath every shift of skin. Something far more desperate than even that.

They say nothing at all as Gloss hikes her leg up and presses himself into her, his back still pressed to the wall as she clings to him. It's heady and tempestuous. Every movement is shaky from their position, but they do not try to alter the direction of this current. Elara's hips shutter into his of their own accord, dominating him in a way she rarely does. Each crest of her body thunders him further into the wall, and he holds her up with strong hands, so powerful that he's sure he's leaving bruises in his wake. He can't bring himself to care all that much, and neither, it seems, can she.

She buries her face into the crevice of his neck and shoulder, biting her lip hard to keep her moans from spilling out in her effort to remain silent. The secret of their affair has ever been a tightly bound thing, kept close to their chests and not spoken of. Sometimes their relationship feels more like a curse, but Elara wouldn't have it any other way. His presence in her life is the one thing that keeps her going.

Perhaps it is the tight coil of restriction that has always plagued them that holds their moans back, or perhaps it is merely the atmosphere itself. The foggy crease of steam, the pellets of water that sprays down on them from above, the understanding that thunders through them like bullets…it all lends itself to the spaces between them, breaching them apart even as they tumble together into bliss.

And when it is all over, and she slips down his body as if she is boneless, he grapples her against him so tightly that she wonders if he's trying to press her to his very soul. There is a shaking in his shoulders – a subtle sign of the fear that is shared between them, that this may be the very last time that they will be together like this. A countdown has been started and it ticks away with every drop of water that suddenly scorches her skin as if they are shards of glass.

"Stay with me tonight," he tells her, not bothering to ask. The words are muffled into her skin, but the caress of his lips as he utters them feels poignantly traitorous. She feels as though the words are both a blessing and a curse, and thinks that it is vaguely amusing because so much of their relationship is exactly that.

It is a curse to love him. It has brought her so much pain, and yet –

Loving him is her salvation.

They towel off, strangely industrious in wake of their coupling. They barely look at each other at all, and it is only until they're dressed and sitting next to each other in bed that they come back together, arms tightly bound around the other's body as if they've never left to begin with.

"Brutus is a problem," Gloss says after a short while. His mind is rife with worry, snowballing into an endless barrage of thoughts. He himself is a Career, and he knows exactly what Brutus is thinking. The Victor from 2 sees Elara as a weak link, unworthy of teaming up with them. Whatever friendly, Victor-to-Victor inclination he had towards her in the past is gone. Now, they are both tributes vying for their lives, and if it comes down to it, Brutus will not hesitate to kill her.

Elara is well aware of this. She buries her face against his shoulder and whispers, "I'm not afraid to die. At least…I don't think I am."

The words make him tighten his arm around her. He exhales tightly, jaw clenched. Then, in a voice that is slightly shaking, he tells her, "Don't say that. I don't want to think about it."

She purses her lips, but doesn't argue. Instead, she just sighs, "I'll practice more tomorrow. I think I was half decent at the sword."

He doesn't have the heart to tell her that she really isn't that good. In truth, he thinks she already knows it herself. Elara Winston has a brilliant mind, but she is no fighter. Her victory in the 66th Games was due primarily because she knew how to stay under the radar of the other tributes, and had quick reflexes to dodge anything the Gamemakers threw at her. She killed to defend herself, unlike him.

Back then, his mission was twofold: to save his sister from the horrors that she was experiencing at the hands of the Capitol, and to bring glory to his district. In hindsight, he can clearly see just how brainwashed he'd been. In part, Volunteering for the Games had been a misplaced effort to show his worth, something he's deeply regretted in the years that followed. It's been over ten years since he's been in the arena, but it hasn't gotten any easier, and to be frank, he hasn't forgotten any of the skills that were hammered into him growing up.

Kids in the Career districts are specially trained for the Games, unlike the outer districts. Elara does not have the same skill set that him and Cashmere have, and her sword skill – or there lack of – is a paltry comparison to Brutus's. He is forced to wonder if perhaps it is a good idea after all, keeping her close to him when it also means that she will be close to Brutus and Enobaria. But – the thought of her traipsing through the arena without him at her side as a source of protection galls him even more.

He swallows, pulls her closer, and murmurs, "Yeah…we'll work on sword techniques tomorrow."

In truth, it is a shaky set of words, construed from musings Gloss would rather leave unsaid, but Elara hears his hesitation in the catch of his voice. She can't blame him.

She doesn't say anything in return. Instead, she just lifts her mouth to his and kisses him again, and before long the sheets are mussed up and their limbs are a tangled mess and they're not using words at all.


The next day during training, Johanna approaches her again. Johanna's presence doesn't come as a surprise to Elara, necessarily. They're friends, after all – or at least, as much as one can be friends with a fellow tribute who will quite possibly attempt to murder you once you enter the arena. Elara chooses not to think about that until she absolutely has to. In all honesty, she doubts she'd be able to kill Johanna. She's not entirely sure if Johanna wouldn't be able to kill her, though.

In any case, it's not surprising that Johanna seeks her out. What is surprising is the serious glint in her eyes when she does, and the words that leave her mouth upon joining Elara at the medicinal plants section.

Gloss is meandering around with Cashmere some ways away, caught up in a conversation that Chaff had dragged them into. Every few seconds, he glances away from the older man with an exasperated look on his face, as if he's slightly aggravated to be a part of a conversation he probably doesn't care about. Elara's not complaining though. She's glad to have a break from swinging a sword.

She's been at it all morning, under Gloss's close supervision. He had practically shooed the trainer away when the man had initially started helping Elara, and hadn't let up until lunch when they were forced to. Her arm is already sore from learning the movements and she's glad for some space away from Gloss's strict training, which is why she's currently sitting cross-legged in a section that has absolutely nothing to do with weapons.

Later, she'll realize that Gloss's absence from her side is precisely why Johanna strides towards her.

"Learn anything useful today?" the Victor from 7 drawls, eyeing Elara with a raised brow. She, like everyone else, had clearly caught onto the way Gloss has been hovering over Elara since training had started. And she, like everyone else, has been a little surprised at the protective way he's expressed himself. If anyone had doubted the bond between them before, there is little question now that whatever Gloss feels is far more genuine than anyone had expected. He wouldn't be spending so much of his time trying to train her otherwise.

Elara shrugs and turns away from the inquisitive gaze, brushing her fingers over a fern and idly recalling both the scientific name for it as well as its medicinal uses.

Equisetum Arvense. Helps to stop bleeding when applied to a wound, boosts immunity from infection when ingested, soothes wounds and cuts when used as a crushed poultice.

The intellectual part of her brain soaks up the information like a sponge, fascinated by such knowledge. She's only been at this section for about twenty minutes now, but she's already memorized a good portion of the plants that are displayed. The trainer is passionate about his craft and transfers his passion to her once he realizes that she's not there to just waste his time. It definitely beats learning how to fight, though she's fairly sure that Gloss would appreciate it if she dedicated half as much interest in his training as she does with learning how to classify plants.

She's not a fighter, though, and nothing will change that.

Johanna lets out a grunt as she sits down, knocking a towering plant away from her face without care. Elara glances at her with a chuckle.

"Have you spoken with Haymitch yet?" is the first thing that Johanna asks, much to Elara's surprise. It must show through on her face, because Johanna rolls her eyes and insists, "I told you to talk to him. It's important."

Elara raises an eyebrow at her, looking unimpressed. Haymitch Abernathy doesn't exactly have a stellar reputation, and she really can't imagine why it's so important that she speaks to him. The District 12 Victor is usually either drunk or hungover and rarely makes for good company. Besides, Haymitch is…well, he's Haymitch.

Johanna must see these thoughts cross her face too, because she snorts and says, "Just – do it, okay? Like it said, it's – "

"Important, yeah, I got it," Elara cuts in dryly. Johanna looks thoroughly unimpressed.

With another roll of her eyes, the brusque Victor mutters, "I promise it'll be worth your while. If you want to survive the Games, then it's in your best interest."

The words certainly catch Elara's attention in a way that her previous ones did not. With a curious stare, Elara tilts her head and wonders at the cryptic message. Johanna blinks back, her gaze concrete and unyielding.

"…No one survives the Hunger Games," Elara returns slowly, trying to feel her out. It's all very strange. Johanna isn't usually so mysterious. She prefers action over words, and she rarely ever minces her sentences in such a manner. It's definitely confusing.

With an insistent look, Johanna says, "The rules are different this time around. Everything is different." She pauses, then adds, "If I didn't want you to survive, I wouldn't be saying this at all. It's dangerous. You're already in too deep with the Careers and if you screw this up for the rest of us, I'll personally have your head. Understand?"

Elara raises her eyebrows in surprise but nods anyway. She can see the solemnity in Johanna's eyes and hear the honesty in her voice. She's not joking around.

"…I'll talk to him after training," Elara says after a long pause, giving Johanna a sidelong glance. She's still trying to figure it all out, trying to discern the motives that are driving Johanna's cryptic messages. She thinks she might understand something, but it only scratches the surface, and it's born entirely from the idea of being able to survive the arena.

What else could she be talking about, but an organized rebellion?

Elara Winston is smart, and even though she has little idea as to how such a thing would work when the Victors are all trapped in an artificial environment and fighting for their lives, she has a heavy feeling that this is what Johanna is trying to tell her.

She won't know for certain until she hunts down Haymitch, who, now that she considers it, might be just insane enough to become the unsuspecting backbone of such a crazy idea.

At her side, Johanna nods firmly and gets up. She pauses before she takes her leave, though, eyeing Elara with that unyielding gaze for a long moment. Elara gazes back, brows furrowed, eyes glinting with something akin to knowledge, and the two women just stare at each other.

"We should have another wrestling match tomorrow," Johanna says after the long pause that is filled with so many silent words, and gives Elara one last furtive glance before loping off. Elara just sits there and watches her, brows still wrinkled as she idly traces her fingers over the leaf of one of the plants.

Her mother always said that she had a thirst for knowledge unlike anyone she'd ever known. That feeling burgeons up within her now. She'll get to the bottom of this mystery – sooner rather than later – but she's not so naïve as to think that she'll actually survive the Hunger Games. After all, even if she does manage to make it out of the arena…

She stands by what she'd said before: no one survives the Hunger Games.