Girls Night Out

by sohypothetically

Present day A/U. Johanna Mason copes with a breakup the only way she knows how: going on a man-hunt. She brings her roommate Katniss Everdeen with her and the rest is frat party history. Rated M for explicit language, sexual innuendo, and general snarkiness. Written for Prompts in Panem Places Challenge, Prompt: Frat House. (Ships: Jo/other, Everlark, Gadge, Odesta)

35. Walls and Masks

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Triggers: breastfeeding, postpartum depression, references to S&M, glass therapy

GNO35: Walls and Masks

"What the hell happened?" The minute I walk through the door, I take in Katniss's frazzled face. She's walking Sam and cooing to him, trying to get him to sleep. It won't be easy, though, because Annie's sobs make enough noise to wake up the rest of the floor. "You can't quiet her down?"

If looks could kill, I'd be shot through the heart. "Her? I'm a little busy here, trying to deal with Sam! When she cries, he cries. Then she cries harder...you get the picture."

"Fuck," I mutter. I approach Annie and soften my voice, "Annie, hey. You're alright, you're safe." She lets me sit next to her and stroke her arm.

"Jo-o?" She sniffles. "You're ho-ome?"

"Yeah. It was beautiful. Do you want to hear about it?"

I play a hunch that hearing all the little details – from food to the Christmas tree – will calm Annie down. I turn out to be right, and she eventually allows me to change her into pajamas she hasn't leaked all over, then put her to bed. Katniss gets Sam settled at the same time. By the time we're both done and I've changed and taken off my makeup, another hour has passed with no sign of Finn.

"Where the fuck is he? Did he say anything to you before he left?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Just that he was going out. But he got dressed up – he had on a tie when he left."

"Ah." There's only one person who gets Finn Odair into a tie. I wonder what Finn's dad used to lure him away from Sam and Annie tonight.

Katniss sighs and covers her arm with her eyes. "I'm sorry that I called you, but Annie was worse tonight. Sam woke up fussy and wouldn't stop when she tried to feed him. He kept pushing her away. Finally, I took him – it was just a dirty diaper – but Annie wouldn't take him back when I was done. And she started to sob pretty uncontrollably when I prepped formula for him. It's like she doesn't think she can feed him, but she doesn't want him to have formula, either."

We're quiet for almost a full minute before she says what we're both thinking, "What happens when we all go back to class and she's alone with him?"

I don't have an answer for her.

Just then, we hear the front door. I motion to Katniss that I've got this and tell her she should get some rest. Then I get up to greet Finn.

"Where the fuck have you been?" My voice is soft but accusatory, especially when I smell beer on him. "And did you drive after you had a beer? Are you insane?"

He smacks my hand away when it pokes his shoulder. "Dad bought me dinner and it was only one beer." He grabs orange juice from the fridge and takes a deep drink from the carton.

I have to stop myself from gagging. "Will you stop doing that? We all drink that juice!"

He turns and leans back on the counter. When he obviously ignores my request and takes another swig, I explode, "You left Katniss here by herself to deal with Annie and Sam because your dad decided it was time to take you to dinner? Nice going, Finn."

He calmly puts the carton back in the fridge. "Jo, you sound like a fishwife. Calm your tits: I asked him, not the other way around."

"What?" I'm incredulous. Finn's never approached his dad for anything, especially since he does nothing but let him down. "You suddenly want a relationship with that man?"

Finn's smile slips. "I went to see him about a job."

"A job? A modeling job?" It's the only job I know of that his dad can get him, especially on short notice. But Finn's never really needed a job that covers more than incidentals. "Why, Finn?"

He nods and looks away. "His agent met us; they think they can get me some work. It will really help things around here, Jo." He scrubs his hair. "Insurance didn't cover as much of the delivery as I'd hoped, and the lifeguarding isn't going to cover food and diapers and wipes and everything else. Who knows what else Annie's going to need, especially with the way she's been lately? And Dad stopped paying the rent here when I told him I'd gotten married."

"What about Annie's family? Her trust fund?"

"She can't touch it until she's twenty-one, and I don't want to ask them for help. I don't know what else to do." When he looks back at me, there are tears in his eyes.

"I had no idea, Finn. That fucking bastard!" I reach out and grab him in a hug. If I didn't hate Mr. Odair before, I certainly do now. I can't believe he would effectively railroad Finn into doing one thing he swore he would never do.

Finn sniffs. "Annie can't know yet. Okay, Jo? Promise me. I don't want to add this to all the pressure she's under."

I pull back and consider his pale, teary request. I don't think it's a good idea to keep this from her, but what do I know? Maybe there's no harm in it. "Ok."

-o—

"Come on, Jo." Brue's eyes sparkle as he tugs me forward, even though I can't shake the feeling that I've been here before. The dark hallways wind ahead of us and only Brue is sure footed, half-cajoling and half-teasing as he pulls me forward with his kisses. So many kisses. Soft and hard and pleading and teasing, it's the kisses more than whatever he says that keep me moving. Until I see the glint of light on water. I know this place: it's the tank where I'll see my sister floating, dead.

I cover my eyes and turn my back.

"Jo, it's alright. I promise, it' alright." Brue coaxes softly, but I shake my head. I won't turn and I won't drop my hands.

His voice disappears.

Pretty soon, I realize I can't hear anything. Am I still in the same place? I drop my hands slowly, but it's hard to see anything in the dim light. "Brue?" I call his name cautiously into the quiet. There's no response. Finally, I have to risk it and turn around.

Carys and Brue stand together. She's wearing a pink princess nightgown and a tiara, hopping foot to foot and pointing at me in excitement. She says something that I can't hear – it must be my name because Brue nods. They both wave, their smiling faces so near that I want to reach out and touch them or grab them to me in a hug. I'm so relieved to see her. So relieved this is no longer a nightmare.

"Brue! Carys!" I yell. They don't seem to hear me. And when I raise my arms and try to move toward them, my movements are as slow as molasses. I collide with something; some barrier that keeps me from them.

That's when I realize that I'm the one floating in the tank.

"Jo! Wake up! Jo!" Katniss hisses from her sleeping bag. "You were having a nightmare," she explains after I grunt that I'm awake.

I have to clear my throat to relax it from the dream-scream. "Thanks." I know she gets that I don't really want to talk about it, but she's so damn quiet that I have to say something. "It was Carys. And Brue."

"Oh?"

Her voice drifts to me in the dark. I think back to floating in that tank, powerless to reach out and touch the people beyond it. "Do you… Do you think I'm hard to love?" It's my worst fear, really, next to clowns, shark attacks, and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. That I'm hard to love. Or worse yet, that I don't deserve to be loved. And now that Brue has much confirmed that's how he sees me…

I'm afraid she's fallen asleep when I don't hear anything for a long while. Finally, there's a sigh in the darkness as she shifts. "God, Jo. I don't know what to say. I guess, yes? Yes, you are."

Shit. It's not unexpected, but it still hurts like an arrow to the heart.

She continues, "But there will be someone who will brave your dragon-tongue and moodiness and perfectionism. And he will be not just accepting of those things, but will seek them out and thrive on them. He will be your confidante and your biggest cheerleader. He will learn about you and be unafraid of what you have to show him. And he will demand the same from you."

I pause for a second, the image of a pair of blue sparking eyes stuck in my head. It's just the dream, Jo. "Is Peeta those things for you?" She never talks about her feelings for Peeta – honestly, for a chick, she's pretty cagey – and I'm genuinely curious.

I hear her fluffing her pillow. "Peeta makes it easy: it doesn't feel like he demands much at all. Like he's just happy to have me there."

Well, duh, he is. "You know he loves you, though. Right?"

"Jo, I'm tired."

That's Everdeen speak for I do not want to talk about this right now. I let her off the hook because I owe her for taking care of Annie and Sam tonight, alone. And I throw in a bonus. "I'll get up for the next feeding, since I'm awake anyway."

"Damn straight you will. You owe me, Mason."

"Shut up, Everdeen, or I'll have to hurt you."

"I'd like to see you try," she jokes back.

"'Night, Katniss."

"'Goodnight."

I don't want to keep her awake, so I grab my laptop and head out to the living room. I can put on some headphones, maybe, and drown out Brue's voice echoing inside my head that's still on a loop from earlier. Eventually, I give up the fight and just let the memory play back.

"Jo, what's going on? Who was that?"

I hang up the phone, disconnecting Katniss and a wailing Sam. She sounds strung-out and completely fried. I can almost hear Cinderella's clock striking twelve: it's time for me to leave. The sparkling party, this unbelievably perfect guy – it was never for me.

"I've got to go." I can't tell him more, really, because I don't know exactly what the problem is. It's maddening.

He steps toward me. "Why are you so afraid to rely on me? To trust me? I can help." He spreads his hands out, palms upward.

That just pisses me off. "We've got it handled - I just need to get back to Finn's. Now, please move."

"No. Tell me what I did? You've stopped coming by the frat house almost at all. It's like you're shutting me out. Every time I get close to you – Halloween, tonight – it's like you push me away. Why, Jo?"

I'm furious with him for both bringing up those nights and demanding an explanation. How dare he? "I push you away? Me? This is coming from the guy who can turn on like a light switch whether he wants to be around me or not! Let me tell you, Brue MacLeod, Chaucer is easier to read than you are."

The voice from my dreams is back when he says, "Which one do you prefer? Do you want the friend and running buddy? Or kisses in the moonlight followed by your body underneath me in the dark?"

He steps closer, then closer still. I'm not sure if it's his proximity, the magic of the night, or his words that pull me back under. Whatever it is, my anger is gone. When he raises a hand to my cheek, I grip it there with my own. It takes me second of feeling his body heat to calm my thundering heart.

Finally I close my eyes and whisper, "You never asked me to stay. I thought…I thought the car and the bathroom were one-time things."

I feel his the rumble of his laughter. "Clearly not, since it keeps happening." His voice is as gentle as his fingers tracing my cheek. "Would you have stayed?"

I don't have an answer. He must be able to see it in my eyes – the confusion and hurt and whatever else is jumbled up inside me. I hate that I'm so bare, so vulnerable. Ever the gentleman, he steps away with a nod. His frown is dark. "Is it still him?"

I think of Annie, holding back sobs as she counts to one hundred over and over to keep from falling apart as Sam breastfeeds. Of Sam and his lusty wails that seem to scare her. I shake my head and my voice is firm. "This has nothing to do with him."

I can tell he's not convinced by the way his eyebrows pull together. "Then let me help."

I shake my head and look for my purse, which I find under a chair in a dark corner of the balcony. When his voice, low and deadly serious, reaches me, I freeze.

"You make it so hard to love you, sometimes."

There's no response to that, no way to analyze all of the pieces of that sentence that make me alternate between hot and cold. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk away.

-o-

School starts. By unspoken agreement, Katniss, Madge, and I take care of Sam when Finn's on campus, but we also expand it to a few nights a week at his place. Tuesday night dinners are still at the frat. Annie never comes, so Peeta takes to making to-go portions of whatever we've had. I notice the bags get bigger as time passes. I can't help but wonder if that's because he knows that Finn's place now supports almost half of our little group.

Brue and I don't talk much: spending time at Finn's cuts into my run time. More importantly, I can't get that last fight out of my head, or the fact that he thinks I'm too hard to love. Not worth the effort. Undeserving. I tell myself – and Dr. A. – that it's better this way. I don't have time for some romantic entanglement that I would end up screwing up, especially not with Brue MacLeod. My nightmares call me a liar, though.

I still run when I can't sleep. It's a good thing that Finn's given me a key, because I add his place to my ever-lengthening route when the dreams won't give me any relief. Sometimes I make it all the way back to the dorm. But sometimes I just crash at his place, too exhausted to make the return trip. Annie seems to appreciate the company on those nights, too, especially when I take to counting with her in the dark. Finn always gives me a ride home the next day. I don't think about how that looks to anyone else, because, well, I don't care.

It's a typical Wednesday night and I can't sleep. Finally, I give up trying and throw on my sneakers. I make a mental note that it's time to retire this pair then I'm out the door and strapping my phone onto my arm. I cue up some Macklemore, stretch for half a second or two, then get my body moving. I want to run until I can't feel anything but my feet slap the pavement. Until I can't think of anything but the way the blood feels as it pumps through my body. I just want to get lost.

I'm just entering what I call the dead zone – that area right before downtown proper that's a little on the sketchy side and makes me edgy – when I see oncoming headlights. Normally, that sight doesn't make me nervous. On this particular stretch of road, though, after midnight, my pulse rate jumps just a little. That little bump becomes a big one when the car slows. The passenger window is down, I can tell, so I convert all of my adrenaline to kinetic energy and bolt past it, hoping I can outrun whomever it is that's decided they want a piece of me.

I'm almost to the next cross-street when someone grabs my arm.

The scream that's been at-the-ready in the back of my throat bursts out. It pierces the air louder than anything coming from my ear buds, but it's not enough to make the perp let go. I'm not giving up yet. Not even close. I slam my body back against his – he gives an oof! at the impact – but his vice grip still holds. I know I've got to break that hold in order to shake him. So, in a move that Peeta would be proud of, I ram my elbow as hard as I can into his rib cage. I feel the vibration of the impact all the way to my toes and my funny bone actually hurts from the hit. I don't stop to think: I twist to the right to break his loosened grip and get away.

Except that the twist brings me face to face with a very winded, very angry Brue. When he sees me recognize him, he relaxes and rests both arms on his knees to catch his breath.

"What are you doing here?" I rub my elbow, so pissed I can't even see straight. I wonder what he would do if I hit him again.

He sucks in air like it's an experiment and rubs his ribs. "Jesus, Jo, nice hit. Katniss texted me. She said you had run off and she was worried you would come this way."

"So you thought you would come rescue me?"

He must see something threatening on my face because he holds a hand out to ward me of. "Please don't hit me again. Yeah, basically. We came looking for you, but you didn't stop when I yelled."

"As you can see, I'm fine."

He nods. "True. But I'm here to take you back to school."

He's got to be fucking kidding me. "And if I say no?"

He stands and narrows his eyes. "Then I'll go get Katniss from the car and see if she can talk some sense into you."

Sure enough, when I look over his shoulder I can see Katniss's face pressed to the window. I know better than to want to kick her ass for dragging him into this. She might look all friendly, but I know that she could go all honey-badger on me at any minute. I look between the two of them, but there's really no choice: I've been standing still so long that my fatigue and adrenaline shakes hit me like a freight train. All I want is to sit down. I think I hear Brue mumble something that sounds like, "You need a LoJack ankle bracelet" as he ushers me into the passenger side. I ignore it and try to get my still-racing heartbeat under control with Annie's counting. It works: oddly enough, by the time I've counted to fifty I feel more in control.

"This isn't the dorm." Brue's parking on Jefferson, which makes no sense because it's at least a quarter mile to either the frat or Trojan Hall.

He sends me a dark look and puts the car in park more forcefully than necessary. "I was in one of the studios getting a jump on my midterm project when Katniss texted. So, since you guys now owe me, you can help." He must not like my cocked eyebrow, because he explains, "She owes me for sending me on this wild goose chase. And you owe me for that hit. Good thing it's the off season, or coach would kill you." He grimaces and rubs his upper abs again for good measure.

I snort because he totally deserved it for scaring me. And I have to admit that I'm a little curious about who he is when he plays: the few glimpses I've gotten have been interesting and intense. It will be another piece of the puzzle that helps me figure him out. Of course, I don't want to appear too eager, so I say, "Sure thing, Cody Simpson. I'm happy to help you out with your boy-band audition tape."

An hour later I'm not fascinated. I'm bored as hell.

Brue had pulled me into a small control room, pointed at a mixing board and said, "Sit here and keep an eye on these levels. I don't want to peg any of them with the settings I've got." He had guided Katniss into room with a microphone, a couple of pairs of big headphones like the ones in the booth, and a Casio keyboard. Oh, sure, hearing him at the keyboard warming up while he had explained that he needed Katniss to be a back-up singer – a freaking back-up singer —was hilarious. But it had pretty much gone from interesting to yawnsville almost right away. Who knew that recording had nothing to do with actually performing a song? No, it was three million tracks layered on top of each other, each with a different setting on the mixing board. Really, it wasn't like he had needed me at all.

And the fact that he's rerecording and remixing his own one-hit wonder? It's so trite, so pathetic, so uncreative, that it just makes me want to hit him again.

I listen to Brue and Katniss argue like Celine Dion and Meatloaf trying to figure out what it is that he won't do for love. My eyelids get heavier and heavier as they bicker and try things out, then bicker some more. Finally it's all too much and I close my eyes for just a second. Just one. Just until the music starts.

That's how I end up asleep in the booth.

-o-

By the end of January, we need to blow off some steam. No one objects when Finn says he wants to go to the beach. Frankly, I'm stunned that Annie agrees to it because the sheer amount of baby gear to bring with us is daunting. We pile in cars and head to Malibu, then set ups blankets, towels, umbrellas, chairs, and even a small hibachi for later.

Finn pulls out two boogie boards and gives lessons. Everdeen is, surprisingly, a natural, as is Madge. Gale and Brue start tossing around a football. Peeta stays in the shallows, although he does take off his shirt. He's more pasty-white than Madge and I hope he's using at least SPF 50. I'm sure it's not because he's pale that Katniss keeps sneaking glances his way. Those glances almost make me feel bad that Annie and Finn have taken some of her nights away from Peeta.

Almost.

Despite how far away they are from the water, I can't handle knowing that Annie and Sam are even on the beach. Maybe it's the nightmares, or the lack of sleep, or the fact that I can still close my eyes and conjure the real image of Carys floating in our pool. Whatever it is, I'm terrified that Finn's going to decide Sam needs to learn to swim, or that Annie will go wading with him, so I head to the cliffs without a backward glance. What I can't see can't hurt me, right?

I find a little alcove where I can chill by myself and spend who-knows-how-long digging in the cool sand. I let my thoughts wander for a good long time and just lose myself in the rhythmic scratching. I empty everything I have into that hole: as it gets deeper, I get lighter. Emptier.

A long while later, I'm the proud creator of a three-by-two-by-two hole. I shudder when I realize how much it resembles a child's grave. Everything feels gritty, my hands, my eyes, even my tears as they slide silently down my cheeks. I have no idea how long I sit beside the chasm and stare at the horizon while the sun burns me with a cleansing heat. Maybe I end up in a trance, or maybe I fall asleep. Either way, I come to shivering, sandy, and sunburned when a shadow covers me.

"Hey." Brue is wet and breathing hard, like he just swam laps.

"Hey." My voice is scratchy, like every other part of me. I wish I had been smart enough to bring some water with me because I'm parched.

"I was wondering where you'd run off to." His voice is as guarded as his stance. I guess that's what happens when you leave a bruise on someone that takes a week to heal.

My eyes drift to the hole I've dug and my gut clenches. I stand and try to brush off some of the sand, but I know that I'm particularly crispy on the shoulders and the tops of my breasts just from the briefest of touches. If I feel that way now, it's only going to get worse as the day wears on. Scratch bottled water. I should have put on sunscreen.

I shrug mentally and start walking. He lags behind, so I say over my shoulder, "Hey, Hunter Hayes. You can come along – I'm not going to hurt you."

"You will when I tell you that the tide came in and the only way to get back to the beach is to get in the water."

I hiss like the Wicked Witch of the West.

"I'll help you, Jo. And before you say you don't need it, I know you can handle anything. I think you proved that already." He rubs his ribs where my elbow left its mark. "Come on." He walks to where I'm stuck in the sand with feet like lead. When he's next to me, he clasps my hand loosely in his.

I remember making fun of Peeta and Katniss on Parents' Weekend for their big debate over holding hands. But as Brue's hand grips mine, I finally get it. He doesn't let go, not even when I balk at putting so much as a toe in the water, insisting that I climb the rocks instead. And when I do let go to better grip the rock face for balance, he waits for me, patiently. He's there to swing me down to dry sand from the last rock with both concern and pride mingling on his face. I wonder how he's figured out that water is my kryptonite.

That look – his awareness of my secret – it all pisses me off.

"You didn't have to help me."

"I know." He's cheerful, relaxed as he lopes next to me. Like we just finished ten miles or fought a dragon.

I frown. "No, I mean, why do you? You always help. Even when I don't deserve it. Especially because I've never done anything for you." I want to add, even though I'm hard to love.

He stops and tugs on my hand: we're standing close enough that I can see where his chest stubble is growing out; close enough that I can smell the Coppertone on his skin. I squint against the glare as I look into his eyes. I don't get why he haunts me, this boy. But it dawns on me for the very first time how much he's there for me. And I suddenly wonder if I haunt him, too.

He blinks at me and I stare at him. Time spins out like we're the only two people on the planet.

"Watch out!"

I barely hear Finn's yell before the football hits so close to us that we're both coated in sand, spitting it out of our mouths and wiping our faces. The moment is gone, at least for me, and all my walls are back in place. "You guys are assholes," I say as I walk past Finn and flip him off.

Finn grins his cockiest grin. "Come on, Jo, give me a break. It was either you, or the lovebirds over there." He jerks his head toward an umbrella covered blanket in the near-distance where a couple is making out with such intensity that I feel bad for watching. Well, almost.

Now, I know that I've told you about Katniss and Peeta's first kiss. Remember the one where she hopped onto him like that chick in The Notebook? Yeah. Just bask in that mental image for a minute, because I am. Just thinking about that kiss erases the weird blankness I felt before Brue showed up.

Got that image in your head? Because this kiss is hotter. If that one was all pent up, wild desperation, this one is languorous. There's jaw and tongue – visible tongue—and hands that grip and stroke. It helps that there's an advance state of undress, but I'm telling you right now, this is a "fuck me" kiss. It's like they're putting together an homage to Ginuwine right on this very beach. I fully expect that Peeta's deep sea oil rig is gonna drill sooner rather than later, especially when Katniss's hands disappear from behind his neck to trail somewhere on his chest. Or maybe lower, I can't tell from this angle. Watching Everlark Skinemax actually makes me feel more like myself, so it's totally worth the creep factor.

"Taking notes, Jo?"

Fucking Hawthorne. I flip my pony tail in the universal girl signal for Go Fuck Yourself. "Just making sure they've got it right, Kitten."

His eyes narrow at the nickname and he palms the football like he's assessing whether he can get away with chucking it at me again.

I can't help but piss him off more when I say sweetly, "Go ahead and try it. I know you secretly want Madge to use my hairbrush when she spanks you tonight. Or is tonight strap-on-and-pound-that-ass night?"

"Children!" Madge emerges from the small pop-up tent grinning and shaking her head. "Johanna, no one's ass is getting pounded tonight."

Finn winks and joins in the game. "Well, that's a pity."

Gale actually looks a little disappointed by her statement. Honestly, Madge is showing enough skin in her silver bikini that I'm a little disappointed on his behalf. Sure, Hawthorne's not my favorite person, but Madge's swimsuit must have been priced by the square inch. He deserves at least a little taste of the flesh buffet laid out so temptingly in front of him.

"Where's Sam?" I ask Finn. I try to control the little bubble of panic that simmers just below the surface at the fact that I don't see him or Annie.

"In the tent taking a nap. I just checked on him," Madge answers.

"Annie's not with him?"

She shakes her head at my question, smacking lightly at Gale's hand which has slid from her waist to toy with the ties on her suit bottom. "She's taking a swim."

Annie loves the water, and I hope the swim helps clear her head. Frankly, I'm just glad she didn't take Sam with her into the water. "Sounds like the perfect time to fire up the grill." I turn and yell at the distant couple who are so intent on sandblasting their pink parts, "Hey lovebirds! We're hungry!"

They break apart so quickly, so guiltily, that I chortle. I turn to Madge with some quip about how I never knew blue balls could look so red but stop and turn back toward the water. Because I see waves and a few boats, but I don't see Annie. "Guys, does anyone see Annie?"

Brue spots her after a tense thirty seconds that has my heart pounding. "There," he points. "She's pretty far out." He doesn't have to be an open book for me to read the tension in his voice. "Finn, what do you think?"

Finn's frowning too. "She's a great swimmer, but she's got to be getting tired. Maybe I should head out there too."

"You sure? I don't want to have to come in after both of you, and there's no lifeguard on duty."

"Yeah. We'll be fine."

Finn heads to the water as a reluctant Katniss and Peeta wander over to get the grill started. Gale and Brue help while Madge and I watch Finn swim out with sure, even strokes. "Love is weird." I'm surprised at how wistful I sound.

"It's not so weird when you're in it." Her eyes drift to Gale, who's shrieking that Katniss is a girl on fire. He looks like an idiot while an unamused Katniss points the lighter fluid in his direction.

I snort. "Yeah. He's a real catch, alright." I realize my mistake when her steely blue eyes clash with mine. So I backpedal, "I'm just saying that I don't want to get hurt. You and Gale are death by a thousand paper cuts, giving each other boo boos and then smacking Band-Aids on each other."

"You mean because we like to goad each other?"

"That, and whatever else it is you do when you're alone." I shudder and hold up a hand when she goes to open her mouth. "No, please don't tell me. I really don't want to know how much of what I imagine is real."

She smirks, like she still might give me a play by play just to make me suffer. I know I'm safe, though, when her gaze finds Finn and Annie. When she finally speaks, her voice is thoughtful, "You don't get it. Do you have any idea how much trust it takes to let someone hurt you? To invite them in and be vulnerable to them, knowing that they have that power?"

I think about Brian and handcuffs in a dark room and the strange rush of giving myself over to him completely.

Madge continues, "Just giving them that power – that's transformative. It makes you both mindful of the love and trust behind the pain. It's very intense, to be that aware and in sync with another's limits."

"Sounds kinky." At her dirty look, I snicker. "Look. You're trying to tell me that S&M is about trust and love and not about partners hurting each other."

I don't think I've heard the sarcastic tone Madge adopts before. "Grow up, Jo. Partners hurt each other, and it doesn't take a hairbrush or whip. I'm telling you that it's about growing and learning about each other. Yes, there's hurt – what relationship doesn't have that? – but it's in a safe environment where we can give and take, each what we need. We can let go and live in the moment, no outside anxieties, no insecurities. It reaffirms for us both that we want to be together and, by trusting the other explicitly with our very safety, we end up healing each other."

My flippant remark dries up at that, so I shrug. It's the wrong thing to do.

When she turns to me, she's got the bad-ass look that scares me a little. "I expected you to understand that some scars are on the inside and some bruises don't go away easily. I made the choice to work through my issues this particular way, and it's helping. What about you, Jo? Are you going to take a chance, ever? Or are you just going to hide behind your sarcasm and your judgments and your one-night stands? We don't mock you for your choices, so don't belittle us for ours."

I swallow hard and blink back tears. Madge has never turned her talons on me. In all the time I've known her, she's been nothing but an ally. Which is why it's not just my sunburn that hurts when she pokes me with a shell-pink manicured fingernail and says, "Whatever you decide, do not push that onto Annie. Her son needs her. If she builds a wall and hides behind it, we'll never get her back."

I nod numbly, not even sure what I'm agreeing to. Madge's ponytail swishes like a pissed-off cat's tail. Make this right, Jo. I want Madge back on my team, so I find my chastened voice. "I'm sorry."

She turns back to the horizon and doesn't say anything for a while. We both study where Finn and Annie have finally turned back to shore and I wonder if I should suck up or something. Maybe tell her how much I like having her as a friend. I don't get the chance.

"She's not getting better, is she?" Madge frowns as the couple draws near enough for us to see their faces: Finn's tired, his lack of pool-time showing in the tired slope of his shoulders. It's Annie that looks completely exhausted, though, and her lips are pale from being in water that can't be more than sixty degrees.

I haven't even strung those words together in my head, that's how fearful they make me. But now that Madge has, it's a relief to admit the truth. "No. No, she's not." I think about the crying when she pumps less than two ounces, her panic fits that last hours if Sam cries while she holds him.

Madge crosses her arms and jerks her head in a single nod. "I'll make some calls," she says with a swish of her ponytail as she turns and strides away. It feels like a door slamming in my face.

-o—

I've got the short straw on babysitting duty for Valentine's Day: it seems that every single one of my friends is doing something romantic except for me. Something cutesy. Something that doesn't require batteries. Finn's taking Annie out to a nice dinner. Peeta's got a private dance class lined up for him and Katniss, which makes me want to cackle because they are so not Fred and Ginger. And Undersee? I don't even want to think what sort of Underthorne trouble she and Gale are going to get into.

Scratch that – I sort of do. At least, I want to contribute to it. Because I still feel bad about our argument on the beach, and I've thought a lot about what she said. She's right that I don't take chances, not on love. How did Brue put it? I don't make it easy. And I want Madge to know that I don't judge her or her choices. Just because I wear a mask doesn't mean she has to.

So when Madge breezes in the door – all the girls are getting ready at Finn's – I try to hug her. Operative word there is try, because she's got her arms full with shopping and garment bags. I can clearly see what looks like a tarp, a glassware set, and safety glasses right next to her fuck-me pumps and makeup case.

"If that's a housewarming gift, I'm afraid to ask what it is," I say.

"It's just a little something I thought I might show Annie."

I grumble, "Well, I hope you brought some tequila for those glasses, at least."

Madge just smiles angelically while Katniss and Annie descend on her.

Annie's doing better, although she's only been on meds for a week. Turns out there's some sort of rich-people bat phone: Madge got in touch with the Crestas, who found a local doctor for Annie on the recommendation of Elizabeth MacLeod. Turns out one of her granddaughters had a case of post-partum that was pretty bad so she knows a specialist in the L.A. area….yada yada.

Bottom line is that we finally have a diagnosis, and Annie's finally gotten help.

The next hour or two passes by in a fit of giggling and dancing and carrying on. I manage to pull Madge away from the mirror for a minute. "Hey, I got you something," I say as I hand her a small gift bag. At her raised eyebrow, I add uncomfortably, "Well, its' actually for you and Gale."

She roots around in the tissue. "A blindfold, lube and a waterproof anal probe?"

I nod nervously. "Yeah. I didn't know if you had one already. And it was either this or a set of body lotions from Bath and Body Works."

She carefully puts the gift away. "Thank you. Really, it's so thoughtful. Now, what is this about?"

I open my mouth and close it, sure I look like a fish. I'm not really prepared to answer a direct question about this. Finally, all I come up with is the truth. "I don't want you to think I judge you."

"Is this about the beach?"

I nod.

She sighs. "Jo, I was a bitch and should be the one apologizing. Maybe it was PMS or something…" She side-eyes the bag again and smiles like an angel with just a hint of devil. "But it's very sweet of you. And no, we don't have one." She winks and turns to walk back to where Annie has Katniss trapped in the bathroom with a curling iron.

"Wait! Madge, I thought about what you said and you were right: not only do I have no right to judge you - hell, at least you have a boyfriend! - I don't know the first thing about opening up to a guy. And I…I think you're really brave."

"Ah, Jo. You're just out of practice, that's all. You need to stop selling yourself short and stop going out with just any guy. You've said yourself that you barely talk with some of the guys you try to hook up with because you think they're only good for one thing. That's like buying a pair of shoes on sale, wearing them once and then complaining afterward because your feet hurt."

"Are you trying to tell me that I go for clearance cock?"

Madge laughs, but her blue eyes see right through me. "Yeah and there are three things you should never, ever buy on clearance: sushi, shoes, and men. They will all demoralize you and at least two of the three will leave you shaky in a horrible, vomit-filled aftermath. You deserve better than that."

She passes by her gift bag on the way to the bathroom and gives it a little pat. "Plus, the right guy makes the relationship fun."

Sam cries, so I go get from his crib. I can't help but ask him as I'm changing his soaked diaper, "Do you think relationships are fun, little man?"

-o-

Two hours later, Annie's frantic. "Where's Finn? He was supposed to be here an hour ago."

I wonder how long it's going to be until she hits a tailspin. As it is, it's remarkable that she's holding it together.

Surprisingly, though, it's Katniss who loses a gasket. "This is bullshit. Finn's late for his own Valentine's Day date? Annie says he's been coming home smelling like perfume and makeup at all sorts of hours of the day and night. How can he just expect her to sit by and watch while he goes out and does whatever it is that he's doing?"

Annie defends him quietly, "I'm sure there's a reason-"

"You know where he is, don't you?" Katniss whirls on me and I get the full, fearsome effects of Annie's makeover. It's not every day that Katniss wears makeup. That, coupled with the little black dress she's wearing, make her look like a totally different person. A decidedly pissed person. One who's probably carrying a hunting knife in her backpack.

So I cave. Wouldn't you? I mean, between her dark anger, Madge's ice princess routine, and Annie looking like The Madonna while she breastfeeds Sam, I know I can't last under their combined scrutiny.

"Finn's modeling. He said he needed the money. Finn told me not to tell Annie. He said it would just worry her."

Annie leans her head back against the couch and closes her eyes. I think the look I see on her face is relief, which makes sense when I think of what sorts of conclusions she's probably leapt to as Finn disappears for hours. The makeup she smells when he comes home is his. It's the perfume that I don't have a ready explanation for, which drives me to offer, "I'll call him."

It's Katniss who follows me into what I think of now as our bedroom. She waits while the call goes directly to voicemail, tapping her black-and-flame painted nails on her bare arm. "If you know where he is, let's go."

"Shouldn't you wait for Peeta?"

"Do you think I can just run off without knowing what's going on? No way. I'll call him and tell him I'll meet up with him at the studio." Her elaborate curls and braids swing and sway down her back, her black and silver eye makeup glittering almost as much as her eyes.

We drive to the studio in silence, Katniss tapping those fire-talons on the door. I finally feel like I can ask the question that's bugging me after I've punched in the 12th floor on the elevator buttons and we're on our way up. "You know, I think you're more pissed than Annie. Want to tell me what's up?"

"You don't have a problem with him lying to her?"

I shake my head: it's not the first time Finn's lied to a girl. Hell, it's actually progress that he wants to do it for the right reasons. "Annie seemed fine with it."

"She doesn't seem fine with him being late all the time and not calling to let her know. And then he doesn't pick up his phone, fully knowing that she's worried and sick and probably getting more upset by the minute. It's just…rude." If looks could kill, I'd be flat on the floor of the elevator right now.

"Jesus. Judge much? I'm sure he just got held up…Holy shit. This is because of your dad, isn't it? Your dad had an accident and you guys never heard from him. Fuck, Katniss, I'm sorry." She doesn't confirm it, but she doesn't deny it, either. She's actually been the on the wrong end of waiting for a phone call that never comes, waiting for someone who never shows to walk through the door.

So when she strides past me, stilettos clicking, I follow, giving her directions to the suite where Finn told me they'd be shooting. It's utter chaos inside. People are everywhere: some mill around; some move scenery, some just sip from expensive bottles of water. I'm relieved that the shoot is still obviously going on, and I can totally understand how Finn would miss his cell phone ringing if he's still here.

If.

Katniss takes off, fueled by anger. I can barely keep up with her despite her heels and my longer stride. No one questions our presence. At least, not until I get stopped by a guy wearing skintight tiger print pants and a black t-shirt who asks where the dinner delivery is. I guess my jeans, Naked Juice 5K t-shirt, and ponytail convey more of a "hired help" vibe than Katniss's little black dress and heels. I have to multi-task in order to argue with the much-pierced cat and keep an eye on Katniss as she cuts a swath across the floor.

"Dude, I am not here with dinner," I say vehemently. In another second she'll be out of sight.

He looks me up and down and cocks a wrist on his hip. "Well, who are you then? Because you are obviously not a model."

Really? "You're right. I'm…uh…I'm Mr. Odair's personal shopper." I glom onto the first thing I can think of.

Again, he looks me up and down. He is definitely not impressed with whatever he sees.

Think, Jo. "I'm here with his Valentine's gift for his wife. Very important. Time-sensitive, even." That's not really a lie. If I don't get to Finn before Katniss, I'm not sure what's going to happen.

He snorts like he's heard every story in the book from fans trying to get close to models. I wonder if he ever worries about lobotomy via a snorted nose-stud. "I'll escort you to him."

I've got to hand it to the Tiger – he's pretty efficient at navigating the maze of crap all over the floor. And he's got to be someone important because enough people approach him that he has to wave them off.

"We're almost there, sweetie. I'm sure Mr. Odair will be thrilled to see you." I don't miss the sarcasm in his voice, but I ignore it. It's not going to help me to get in a cat-fight, not when I've got Katniss practically shooting flames out of her eyeballs.

Somehow, this is not the night I envisioned when Finn asked me to babysit. I'm cataloging all the ways I'm going to make him and Katniss pay – starting with them doing my laundry for a month – when I plow into the surprisingly firm backside of my new friend with an oof!

"There he is, dear. Why don't you head on over and say hello? I'm sure he'll get a kick out of whatever gift you bestow on him." Again, he gives me a once-over and cocks an eyebrow. "Looks like you'll have to fight someone else off, first, though. Pity. You're such a delectable morsel."

I've had just about enough of his attitude and am about to give him a piece of my mind when I actually catch sight of Finn.

He and his dad are doing a shoot together, that much is obvious, along with the stylized beach theme. What's also pretty apparent is that the shot is semi-pornographic. Large fans simulate wind blowing through Finn's hair, spraying water droplets onto his posing form as well. The lighting is a warm gold that picks up the copper and honey highlights in his hair, every single ridge of his sculpted chest, and each detail of the trident tattoo. If he had a happy trail, it would glisten like the silver, blue, and green fake waves behind him, disappearing below a fishing net knotted at his waist.

I've seen this outfit. Finn wore this outfit to Halloween at the frat freshman year. But where that one was made of some sort of silky net and must have had some sort of undershorts, this is…nubby. More natural. It can't be comfortable, especially because I'm pretty positive from the shadows that he's not wearing a thing underneath. His dad is dressed similarly, the addition of a large seashell necklace and trident begging for a size joke. Or maybe a seniority one.

I don't make one, though. I push past the Tiger toward where Katniss stands off to the side, tapping her fingers on her crossed arms and glaring at Finn and his dad. Finn sees her and smirks, hopping off the rock where he's been posing, cameras clicking as he saunters over to the catering table, then to Katniss. He stops a dozen feet from her, joined by his dad who swirls his trident in a lazy circle that still comes across as menacing, then joins his son by leaning an arm on his shoulder. Really, the whole scene is one of suppressed homosexual need.

Okay. Maybe it's not so suppressed. Because Finn holds out something to Katniss with a look that is so blatantly sexual, so come hither, that I hear at least one or two gasps and moans from woman on set. Katniss is not only unaffected, but she seems even more pissed.

"Sugar cube?" he drawls.

It dawns on me that's what he's holding between his thumb and forefinger: a single sugar cube. When she doesn't answer, he rubs the sugar cube against his bottom lip, balances it between his teeth and cuts through it with a resounding crunch. His eyes don't leave Katniss's and they practically smolder as he chews. He actually closes his eyes and licks a finger, causing another round of groaning from female and male bystanders alike.

He shakes his head and his eyes pop open to meet hers again. "So sweet." Katniss is still unaffected by his bullshit and he eyes her with openly sensual curiosity. "See something Finnteresting?" he finally asks.

Katniss sidles up to him. She leans into him slowly and deliberately, clenched hands unfurling as if to touch his manly chest. I think I hear the thud of someone fainting at the tension. She whispers something to him just as she pushes him away. Hard. I have no idea what the whisper was, but I have a feeling she's repeating it when she clearly enunciates, "You're pathetic."

I'm on her before Mr. Odair can call security. "Easy there, killer."

"Jo, what the fuck are you guys doing here?" Finn rubs his oiled chest like she actually did damage. Please.

"What are we doing here? You were supposed to be home hours ago. Remember that little date you had planned with your wife?" Katniss lunges menacingly at him. At least, it would be scary if she hadn't slipped on her heels so that my arm is all that's holding her up.

I practically push Katniss at my friend the Tigerwho's standing close enough to be shamelessly eavesdropping. "Would you please just go take a powder or something and let me talk to Finn?"

Finn's frown clears as she walks away. "I'll be done soon."

Even I'm miffed at how oblivious he is. "How soon is 'soon'? Annie's been ready for an hour now, and she's waiting for you patiently-"

"I've got to finish this shoot. It's important in helping me line up the next gig, Jo. Besides, Annie's patient. She'll understand."

My last little nerve starts twitching. "She'll be patient? All she knows is that you come home smelling like perfume after disappearing for hours at a time without telling her where you're going. You don't call when you're going to be late, and she's just supposed to understand?"

"I'm doing it for her. And for Sam. I have to keep things moving. Keep talking to people, making deals, so I can keep working. I'm new to this industry, Jo, in case you've forgotten."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten. But it's not like your dad has zero pull. While you're out here making deals, let me remind you that Annie is fighting for her life. Her life, Finn."

"Don't you dare lecture me about Annie." His green eyes blaze with anger before he seems to recall where he is and a flippant, friendly mask falls over his face. "Someone's got to pay the bills, Johanna, and it takes people skills to do that. Who's going to take care of that? Annie's too sick. You and Katniss? I've got more charm in my left hand than the two of you have combined."

I recoil like I've been slapped: Finn never, ever talks to me that way. "Fuck you, Finn," I say, vehemently and turn on my heel to go find Katniss. It's the first time I've ever said those words to him and meant them.

I give my temper a second to calm before I throw over my shoulder, "You take your time. Katniss and I and our limited people skills will be home, taking care of your wife and son."

-o—

"Ladies, I have just the thing for a girls' night in. Katniss, are you in?" Madge's changed her plans with Gale, which leaves Katniss the only one who might still be having a romantic evening.

"Oh, I'm in. Let me go tell Peeta and change out of this." She anticipates my frown and question. "Look, Jo, if I go out tonight, my mind will just be on you guys. It wouldn't be fair to him to do that, either. I'll just ask if he can reschedule for another night: Peeta will understand."

Of course he will. But it's still shitty. I mean, bugging out on Hawthorne I can understand, especially because someone will probably get punished for it - in the best way – later. But Peeta's a good guy. He doesn't deserve to be stood up on Valentine's Day just because Finn can't get his act together.

I wander forlornly to the dining room, where Madge and Annie have pizza waiting. She and Annie have changed out of their finery, and Annie's face is scrubbed clean of makeup. The evidence of her tears, though, isn't so easy to get rid of. I try to ignore her puffy face while I dish myself a piece of pepperoni, pineapple, and jalapeño. I top it with red pepper flakes and a dollop of ranch dressing – the full fat kind. "Does it involve emasculating a male?" I ask, licking ranch off my thumb.

Madge grins an evil, mischievous grin that lights her eyes. "Not quite, but it will feel just as good." She takes a bite of vegetable pizza. "It will give us a way to channel our anger."

Annie quietly munches on a slice of anchovy, garlic, and extra cheese. I idly wonder if she's working her own plan to get back at Finn as I shudder at the sight of the fish. "I'm not angry."

Katniss, tucks into a slice of Meat Lover's, extra meat. She groans in approval before saying, "How can you not be angry? Come on, Annie. Finn's being a total dick-head."

"Amen, sister." I hold up the ranch like it's a wine bottle and salute her.

Annie stares at her pizza like it holds the answer to all the world's problems. "He's been really patient with me all this time. Don't you think I owe it to him to be patient and let this go?"

I'm glad I'm not the only one who wants to smack her. Katniss actually pauses with her pizza mid-way to her mouth. The toppings begin to slide off the crust as she gapes. "No. No. God, Annie. You've been sick! I'm an expert at feeling like I have to even the score and even I know that you do not owe him for taking care of you when you're sick. You're his wife, not a burden."

Madge lays her pizza down on her plate and daintily wipes her hands. "Ladies, I think it's time to work some of this out. Leave your dinners here and let's go bash some glass."

-o—

"Fuck. It's really coming down out there." I shake the rain off my hair as much as I can, dropping the handle of the ice chest and giving silent thanks one more time that it has wheels.

Katniss looks up from where she's making a small fire just inside the entrance of the small cave where we've taken shelter. "I know. There's no way we can sleep in the tent tonight; it's probably already got a roof leak."

Madge follows me into the cave, her arms full of bedding. "A camping trip for Spring Break may have been our dumbest idea yet."

Hands on my hips, I survey our hastily gathered supplies, then reply, "I don't know. I think giving a medicated girl a violent hobby to deal with her stress is up there too."

Madge rolls her eyes. "It worked, didn't it? And she knows to wear goggles while she does it. Besides, don't say that you didn't find the sound of glass exploding into millions of teeny pieces cathartic. I know I did."

Madge has been keeping Annie in a fresh supply of glassware to throw at the walls we've covered with tarps on the balcony. She swears that it helps if you think about one thing that really bothers you – not a person, but more like a problem or a specific issue you're facing - then imagine that you're smashing it apart. And honestly, it feels pretty amazing. Even Dr. A approves of it. My only concern is that it puts razor sharp glass in Annie's hands regularly. Sure, she's responding to her meds. But all it would take is one bad day and she's got motive and means to do something stupid. I have to keep reminding myself that there's a million other ways for her to hurt herself. And it, along with her meds, do seem to be helping: she seems calmer. Happier. Even when Finn is a total cocksucker to her, she carries herself with more dignity than I can muster.

Madge shrugs and pushes her blonde hair out of her face. "So what happens next? It's not like we can do anything. You said this camping trip would be relaxing and fun. Now it's just… all washed up."

"We can still play cards or something." Katniss says thoughtfully. "What about Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall?" She laughs at my dirty look.

Madge frowns. "I was just going to suggest that we go home. I'm coldand wet." She shivers as if to punctuate her point.

I am vehement. "Madge, there is no way we can go home now: the guys will absolutely tell us I told you so. Remember how they laughed at the idea of us camping? Come on over to the fire and let's make s'mores or something."

Madge clearly does not have the same need save face, because she fires back, "Maybe they were right, Jo. Maybe camping in the L.A. National Forest in March wasn't a great idea. What if this rain turns to snow? We don't even have tire chains."

I can tell from the frown on Everdeen's face that she's buying Madge's argument. But I'm still not willing to give in and call it quits, though: this is our Spring Break. So I scoff at them both, "What are you two, pansies? We said we were coming out here to have the best Spring Break girls' night out ever and all you're doing is griping about how cold it is. Hell, I bet Katniss has killed and skinned at least one bear back home. If worst comes to worst, she can make us a pelt to keep us warm." I shoot her a warm smile, but Madge is right. It's freaking cold even with the fire.

-o—

Three hours of staring at a campfire and about a half a dozen s'mores each and even I'm ready to call it quits. We're bored and there are only so many rounds of Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall that someone can sing. Madge's teeth are chattering and Katniss has lapsed into sullen silence as she stares into the fire. I have to admit that I'm freezing too: even my Uggs and two layers of sweatpants can't stop me from being damp and cold. Plus, we're going to run out of dry firewood if we stay more than a few more hours.

"I'm sorry, guys." I sigh. "Maybe you're right and we should just pack-"

"Catnip! Madge!" Katniss looks up suddenly and both hope and annoyance flash across her face.

Madge hops up. "Kitten, over here!" She sounds happy to see Hawthorne, despite the fact that this was supposed to be a girls' weekend trip. Of course, he is her boyfriend.

Which would make me happy too. If I had a boyfriend.

I sigh and turn back to the fire. I know I'm not going to hear the end of it when Gale herds us back home like sheep. He'll probably laugh at us and ask what we were thinking-

"What were you thinking? It's freezing rain out here!" Gale kisses Madge soundly and wraps his arms around her.

Just the idea of shared body heat makes me envious. I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them. I make myself a deal: if I make it through the rest of this weekend, I can find a nice, thick, juicy one-night stand when we get back to campus. Frankly, this happy-couple bullshit is just so hard when the only thing I'm riding is the Purple Monster. Or maybe I can just skip the messiness of the DNA cannon and splurge on a new boyfriend named Hitachi.

She laughs, obviously happy to see him. "We're having a perfectly good girls' trip. What are you doing here?"

"We came to rescue you. Finn and Annie told us where you came to camp. Annie was concerned that the weather had turned."

We? And that's when I spy Peeta, who has Katniss backed up against the wall of the cave. He's kissing her like he hasn't seen in her forever, when it's only been, like, two days. Even I'm warm at the way he's cupping the back of her head with one hand while the other tangles in the belt loops of her jeans.

I seriously owe myself the Hitachi.

Katniss breaks off the kiss. "We don't need to be rescued. We're fine on our own." She says this as Peeta's licking and nibbling at her neck.

I smile into my knees because this is why I love these women: even though we privately agree that it might be time to turn back, we always stick up for each other. We're united. Even if they each have someone to bone and I don't.

Gale snorts. "Yeah. Sure. At least you made a good call on the cave. Let's start getting stuff together so we can pack it up."

Katniss glares at Gale. "Stop being such a dick, Gale. How many times have I had to save your ass in the woods back home?"

"We can fight about this when we're down the mountain. Alright, Catnip?" How Gale misses her gritted her teeth every time he calls her that stupid nickname, I'll never know.

"I don't think that's going to be an option. The visibility's lousy and the roads are slick. With the temperature dropping, we're looking at good odds that they'll freeze. We should just wait for it to clear." a familiar, if maddeningly logical, voice says from behind me.

Of-fucking-course they brought him. It's like my own personal hell: being stuck with 2 other happy couples and Brue. In a cave. For the night.

I still haven't forgiven him for scaring the living daylights out of me that night downtown. And I certainly don't examine too closely how I feel about him helping me, like at the beach. Or how it is that I'm hurt whenever I linger on the fact that he hasn't made so much as a single move on me this semester. I know I'm out of practice, but those kisses at the Christmas party were pretty hot. Right? He can't possibly still be under the impression that I have a thing for Finn.

-o—

Peeta's brought along enough baked goods to make us all hibernate and we make tea and cocoa. It's funny how I've never noticed that Peeta doesn't drink cocoa, but he eats sweets. Brue is exactly the opposite: he pulls out beef jerky and chases it with cocoa loaded with mini marshmallows. Katniss makes hot dogs for dinner, and we're all pretty full of junk food as the afternoon turns into evening. I'm still cold and watching the other couples snuggle does nothing to improve my mood or my shivering.

Brue is, of course, impervious to the cold. Bastard.

Gale and Madge feed each other bits of chocolate. I know it's probably time to figure out sleeping arrangements when he swoops in to lick a melted smudge off her lips. Brue must have the same idea because he asks how we all want to settle in for the night.

"Madge and I will take the car. Why don't you guys stay in the cave?" Gale isn't even looking at us. He's just staring at Madge as she licks chocolate off her fingers. It's as if we don't even exist.

I glance at where Everdeen is sitting in Peeta's lap. Although his hands are chastely wrapped around her waist, I can tell by how he is nuzzling her neck that it's going to be about five minutes in a sleeping bag before things get heated in a way I do not want to witness, no matter how hot that beach kiss was. I'm pretty sure I'd rather take my chances with a leaky tent.

"Good idea. Why don't you guys take the car, Peeta and Katniss can have the cave, and Jo and I will crash in my truck." Brue makes it sound like that's the best option. Maybe it is. But I can't help feel like it's splitting the difference between swimming with leeches and being caged in a small space with a tiger. Or freaking evil monkeys. Evil monkeys are the worst.

Brue sees the look on my face and raises an eyebrow, like it's a dare. A fucking dare? Really? Like he hasn't learned that I'll take whatever he dishes out in the year and a half we've known each other. It's on like Donkey Kong, buddy. I get to my feet and gather up the things I think I'll need for the night, waiting for Everdeen to protest. She knows how I feel about Brue, especially after everything that's happened.

Her protest doesn't come, though, probably because she's too busy preparing herself to be penetrated by Peeta's Typhoon-class skin-submarine. I mentally stick my tongue out at her. Didn't she once tell me that friendship should come before sex? Yeah. That must have been before she was getting laid.

Brue waits patiently for me at the entrance to the cave. I realize I'll have to follow him because I have no idea where his truck is. "Ready?" he asks.

I nod. I'm as ready as I'll ever be to spend an entire night alone in an enclosed space with him. "Sure thing, Cody Simpson."

We make a break for it and are pretty soaked by the time we get to the unlocked silver Escalade. I wait while he folds down the seats so we have a flat area in the back and we pile in, breathless as much from the pelting, icy drops of rain as the run. Our jackets come off and Brue flings them in the front seat like they need to be as far away from us as possible. I figure now is not the time to tell him that the bedding I grabbed is also cold and wet. I'll let him figure that out when he lays down on the damper of the two pillows.

What can I say? I'm generous like that.

"Nice car. New?" I busily arrange pillows and blankets, and take off my sweatshirt. Anything to keep from facing him in the enforced quiet of the SUV.

"No. I borrowed it from my dad. He's out of the country again, so he won't even notice." Brue struggles to get his own sweatshirt over his head and I try not to focus on the strip of skin revealed by his shirt as it rides up. I swallow, hard, and look away, suddenly very warm in the enclosed space. I distract myself by remembering that Brue's dad is some sort of big wig in the music business. It's one of the reasons he wanted to go into it as well. Looking at the pimped out SUV, I can't blame him: it feels bigger than my dorm room last year.

"Ah. Well, um…do you mind if I read for a little bit? I went low-tech and brought a book with me on this trip." I hold up the latest Jack Reacher novel.

Brue frowns as he tries to read the book cover. "Reacher? Please tell me you didn't see the movie."

I'm affronted. "Of course not. Tom Cruise is way too tiny to play a believable Reacher. He's like…gummy bear-sized."

"Gummy bear-sized?" He laughs, teeth flashing in the dim light. I'm always stunned at how he seems like a different person when he laughs. It's disconcerting. I look away before I can do something stupid, like touch him.

"Yeah," I hold my index finger and thumb up to represent a few inches. "Gummy bear-sized."

"Who would you have had play Reacher?" Brue leans back on his elbows. He looks relaxed. And his shirt is still showing a little bit of skin that makes me want to trace it with my teeth. Don't look, Jo.

"I don't know. Michael Clarke Duncan? The Rock? Hulk Hogan?" I throw out all of the big guys I can think of.

"Aren't two of the three of them dead?" Brue asks. He lazily scratches right above his belly button, which moves his shirt up another inch. Fucker. I bet he's doing it on purpose.

When I recover and shake my head, he clarifies. "Michael Clarke Duncan…and Hulk Hogan."

I'm aghast, "Hulk Hogan is not dead. Don't you watch the WWE? What kind of man are you?"

"Uh, no, I don't. We're not all into every bit of pop culture like you are, Jo." He rolls onto his side and pulls off his shoes.

"Why are we even having this conversation then? Who would you pick?" I tap my finger on the floor impatiently. At least his happy trail is decently covered when he turns back to me.

He shrugs. "Geoff Stults?"

"Who?" I don't even know who that is.

"The guy from The Finder. He's big enough. I think he played pro football somewhere." Brue answers thoughtfully.

"Wasn't that a comedy, not a drama? Sure, he's big enough. But it's not just about size, it's about presence," I answer vehemently. Suddenly, we're not talking about a movie or book. I feel my face heat as his eyes lock on mine. The moment spins out, the only sound the heavy drumming of the rain on the roof.

"I've got to pee." I hope he doesn't get the I-need-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here subcontext. I pull my sweatshirt back on and clamber out of the car, running away.

-o-

It's gone from gray to full-dark when I get back to the car and I'm shivering. I slide inside, hoping Brue's asleep or at least forgotten my blush. He doesn't need to know I'm aware of him physically. It's just going to make tonight that much more awkward, especially with his indifference to me that past few months.

He turns and looks me over quietly as I take off my soaked sweatshirt and slide out of my shoes, trying not to get mud everywhere. I ignore the look on his face and lay down facing away from him. I'm a chicken and I hate it, but I just need to get through this night without him knowing that he gets to me.

I can do that, right? One night. I can do anything for one night.

He slides closer to me, spooning me up against his warmth. It feels great, considering how sodden the outer layer of my sweatpants are. "Jo, you're soaked," He says like I'm a five year old.

"It's nothing. I've got another layer on underneath."

I exhale sharply when he puts his arm around my waist and tugs the drawstring. "Then take the top layer off. You'll be much more comfortable."

I grit my teeth because he's right – which I hate - and sit up to slide my sweats off my hips before he can lend a helping hand. It's hard enough admitting that I don't want to lose a layer of protection between our bodies without him freaking helping me take my clothes off. That I cannot handle. I lay back down and he pulls me into him so we're flush, my noise against his chest. It's a position that's new for us and it fills me with all sorts of yearnings that I immediately tamp down. He smells of rain, soap and, faintly, of chlorine. I try to focus on the comfort of that smell.

"'Night, Jo." His breath tickles my ear as his arm tightens possessively around me. I know it's just reflex.

I have to clear my throat so my overwhelming hurt doesn't creep into my voice. "Goodnight, Brue." I lay tense for a long time until his breathing evens out; part of me savors every inch of him against me while another part of me can't wait for morning to come.

-o—

I awaken to the sound of rain on the roof, unsure of where I am or who's holding me. It comes back in pieces: the camping trip; the rain; Brue, Peeta, and Gale; Brue's SUV. It's his hands that are under my shirt against the bare skin of my stomach. I freeze, pulse leaping, at the telltale movement that signals he's dreaming. I send up a silent "thank you" that he's still sleeping, since it will give me time to get my pulse under control. Except it doesn't. As soon as I try to control my breathing, sliding my hands between my skin and his to break contact, his muscles tense in such a way that I know he's awake.

And I realize something else: he's rock hard against me. Rock. Fucking. Hard.

Fuck. I want to hiss at the rush of power that surges through me. Sure, it could be because we're still teenagers, but I don't care. Because Brue Fucking MacLeod wants me: he's not oblivious. This isn't like the last time, when I threw myself at him. No. This is his body giving him away. Finally, a signal from him I can read.

It's about fucking time.

So when he pulls his hand away, I hold onto it as I roll over and slide it up and under my shirt deliberately. My other hand reaches out to stroke the front of his sweatpants. I watch his eyes pop open at the movement, barely his fingers tense against my ribs at the shock of me touching him.

He breaks the quiet. "Jo…are you sure?"

I almost laugh at him. Duh. I feel a little better knowing he must be oblivious to how much I want this. It makes us even, somehow. So I lean forward and kiss him, reaching lower to cup him fully. If my lips don't tell him that I want him, I don't think my hand is leaving much to the imagination.

He hisses. I love it.

He rolls me onto my back and slides his fingers up my ribcage. It's my turn to hiss when his fingers stroke my bare breast. "No bra, Jo?" He makes short work of the buttons on my shirt, sliding the edges apart and licking me in tightening circles. I clench involuntarily and roll my hips toward his.

"Your skin is amazing." He breathes it against me, nibbling the underside of my breast. I smile to myself: I had almost forgotten that quiet, intense Brue is a talker during sex. I'm wet just at the thought of the things I might make him say.

His hair tickles a little, so I use that as an excuse to run my fingers through it and down to his t-shirt. I want it off so I can return the favor. His nipples are butterscotch disks, sweet when I lick them to peaks that make him groan even as his hands palm my breasts. I bite him lightly and he hisses again. His hips roll into mine in a way that tells me he likes it and I do it again, just so I can feel his reaction. I'm barely listening when he says in a low voice, "I want you to leave a mark." Who am I to tell him no? I'm more than willing to play possessive tonight. So I push his shirt out of the way, scrape the waistband of his sweats downward, and lick my way to his hipbone. The fleshy part just inside his hip is an easy target and I suck the skin until I know there will be a tiny mark there tomorrow.

"Yes," he moans.

I want to wrap my legs around him, but our pants are in the way. I certainly don't want to stop touching him. I compromise by I stroking him while tugging his pants and underwear down his legs. It's not graceful, but it gets the job done. He has the same idea, but stops when he realizes that I'm not wearing anything under my sweats.

"Commando?" He growls. "Get these off. I need to see you."

The second they're off, he's between my thighs, cupping me with his hand while one talented finger slides inside me. It feels so startlingly good that I arch into him as he sets a slow pace.

"You're so tight. So wet. I remember this from last time. " He licks a nipple, then blows on it. I can't tell what to concentrate on first: his hands or his lips. "I remember you riding me but I never got to see you. I'd like to watch you this time, Jo."

Fuck. I'm pretty sure that he just ratcheted the intensity up a bunch of notches. Especially because he sounds so polite while he's touching me. The combination of naughty and nice has me I trailing my nails up is spine and gripping his shoulders.

"Tell me what you like. Slower?" He slows the movement of his hand so that my hips have no choice but to writhe to create more friction. My breath hitches. "Faster?" The pace changes to tiny, shallow thrusts that tease. "Deeper?" He's cupping me and I'm suddenly fuller. I bend a knee so that he's even closer, driving further into me as I moan. "Ah. I think you like that. Can you come this way?"

I don't think I have to tell him yes. Not when my hips are driving upward to meet every thrust and my knee is bent up to my chest to deepen the angle. He must want something more from me, though, because he moves his hand away.

I mewl and open my eyes to find him smiling a self-deprecating smile.

"Yes, I can come that way," I answer belatedly in a husky voice that doesn't even sound like me. But that's not what he wants.

"Come here?" He lays down and arranges my legs on either side of his shoulders. At this proximity, he's got a clear view of me hovering over him. I thank God that it's dark and that the rain pelting the windows is going to hide whatever we're doing from anyone outside.

"You're beautiful." He looks up at me, eyes holding mine captive as his fingers glide against me. I rise up toward them, bracing myself on the window, lost in how desperate this position makes me feel. How in control. "How do you think it will feel if I lick you instead?"

My head rolls back as he does exactly that: his hands hold my hips toward his mouth while he brings me to the brink of begging as I tremble above him.

He shifts me slightly so he can take a deeper breath. "Do you want my mouth? My fingers? What do you want, Jo?" He strokes a finger inside me, suddenly deep. "Ah, what about both?"

I'm sensitive, but I buck toward him anyway. I want release. I want to fall like the rain against the roof, hard and fast and over and over.

He balances me so I am kneeling directly over him so his hand has room to move. The extra depth and friction and the wetness of his tongue and lips slipping over me have me quivering almost immediately. I think for a split second that I might be too turned on, too sensitive, to come but he twists his wrist and something blossoms inside me quickly. My hand flexes on the cold window as I cry out.

I have to move away from him, too sensitive for even his breath on me. I grab my purse and root around inside it, fingers closing around one of the foil packets I keep next to my tampons in my little lady's emergency kit. I know I need an angle that will give time to recover, so I sit astride him facing his feet while I sheathe him in latex, then slide him inside me.

"Jo? What are… Oh. Oh, wow." He props am arm behind his head for a better view. I'm pretty glad he can't see the hunger on my face as I ride him: if I was desperate while he tongued me, the idea of him watching us come together is enough to make me throb. I'm not disappointed when he says, "I can see every bit of us." His hips move experimentally as he tries to go deeper. From this angle, it feels like all sorts of friction and I'm rapidly losing control of the pace. "Are you going to come again? Because I want to watch when you do…"

I shatter before he even finishes his thought. His breath catches at whatever it is he sees and feels. Then his hips crash into mine as he moans his own release.

I collapse until I'm holding onto his feet and idly thinking about how nice they are for guy-feet. I drop a kiss on the top of one, thankful they're not too hairy. I know it's probably time to move when I feel him shrinking and wetness trickling out of me. I can't help but wonder if we've made a wet spot on the floor of his dad's car.

"Come here." He ties off the condom, throwing it in a trash bag on the floor and rolls back to one side. I join him when he pats the space next to him and he kisses me with such intensity I'd swear it was foreplay, not after. I can't help but be tense. I mean, is he going to want to talk about this? We've never really been around each other once we're…done.

He lets out a sigh, pulls the covers over us and drops a kiss on the top of my head before tugging me closer. "Thank you. Now, stop thinking and go back to sleep."

I want to tell him to stop telling me what to do, but my eyelids are heavy. I tell myself it was just the great sex combined with relief from not having to talk about our relationship that has my breath slowing. My last coherent thought is that I fit against him perfectly.

---

A/N: This story really should be called "The Kindness of Strangers and Friends". Thank you so very much for reading it and staying with me through some of the more serious parts of this story. I know Jo appreciates it, and so do I.

Special thanks to the dynamic duo – Doc and Kika – for performing beta duties on this monster. This is the longest chapter I've ever written. When I think about it, it's 25% the size of my NaNo submission, Cookies for Mellark's. Wow.

Glass therapy is real. For those of you who are interested, a Google search of Glass Breaking Therapy will provide some details.

Jo's gift to Madge is courtesy of Dick-n-Jane dot com. They have an awesome blog where they discuss sex toys as well as experiences.

Madge's little speech regarding S&M comes largely from research and lurking on the blog of asleepylioness dot tumblr dot com. She and several of her followers have very interesting perspectives on being submissive. I also used Switch by Megan Hart as a reference point.

Barring any outtakes, last minute additions, or other insanity, we have 7 chapters left. I say that so that some of you can prepare yourselves: the ride gets a little wild from here on out. Jo does not go gently into that good night. Hopefully, I'll still be able to inject some fun along the way.

You'll let me know if I get off track? I hope so.