A/N: In which the Games begin.

remifoster1313: I wanted to make this Quarter Quell different from the way I wrote it in The Sterling Nightingale, so I got a bit creative and decided to take my time with it in this story. Elara and Beetee will definitely make quite a team though! As for what Gloss ends up doing, well, I'll apologize in advance for the oncoming self-pity that our two characters are about to dole out. It'll all be worth it! (I feel like I say that a lot lol)

LoveFiction2019: It was a bit sad. But who knows if they'll be together again? Besides me ;)

MegaxXxMonster: Well I do like happy endings, but I also like to make everyone suffer, so I'll just let you wait and see what happens! I actually had a lot of fun writing the Quarter Quell in this story though, so I hope you enjoy it!

Hope you all have a good week!

Chapter Thirty Six | In hopes of summarizing this state.

"Then love-devouring death do what he dare –

It is enough that I may but call her mine."

2.6, 7-8 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

The first time Gloss calls her on the telephone, he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He's had her number for ages now, shoved into the drawer of his nightstand and left there. She'd given it to him on a whim, had laughingly stuffed it into his blazer jacket as if she was pretending that everything between them was new and scintillatingly fresh, despite having been sharing each other's beds for a while. He'd given her an amused look, but hadn't had any intention of actually using her number. It's funny though, because despite this, he hadn't been able to bring himself to throw it away. It's been pressed into his nightstand drawer for months now, blazing up at him whenever he opens it as if the numbers are a minor part of a greater symphony that is yet unfinished.

The first time he dials the numbers into his phone, he's had a few drinks. Admittedly, it isn't really his best moment. The sound of her voice when she answers is a balm he hadn't known he needed until then, and it lifts the pressing loneliness that shudders at him from all sides within seconds.

"Hello?"

He never knew one word would make him feel so incredibly relieved. He closes his eyes.

"…Hello?" she asks again when he doesn't respond, sounding wary.

Gloss immediately clears his throat and blurts, "Winston."

The silence that blisters through the line makes his momentary relief disappear, like so many scattered words left unsaid.

"…Gloss? Is that you?" Elara wonders. This time, she sounds incredulous, and he is immediately left reeling at the tone, feeling extremely out of his depth. Has he crossed a line? He frowns.

After a pause, he firmly reminds her, "You gave me your number, remember?"

He can still recall the smirking way her eyes had captured his when she had slid the piece of paper into his pocket then proceeded to grasp the lapels of his blazer and drag him into a kiss. The blazer hadn't stayed on him for very long after that.

Elara draws a blank. She hesitantly says, "That was a long time ago. I thought you lost it."

He pauses, too, feeling suddenly very awkward. Maybe he should have just thrown it away after all.

"…I didn't," is all he says in response, and then purses his lips to keep himself from saying something else that is equally as stupid.

Elara's voice is very amused when she drawls, "So I see."

He keeps his mouth clamped shut. She chuckles.

"Are you in the Capitol?" she asks, leaning against the kitchen counter as she holds the phone to her ear. The question is easy and he latches onto it in hope that it might keep the awkwardness at bay. Honestly, he feels very unprepared in the face of said awkwardness. He can't recall it ever being present between them before. A casual relationship like theirs shouldn't be trapped within such heavy lines, or so he thinks.

He sweeps a hand through his hair and replies, "Yeah. I'm heading back to District 1 in a few days." Then, because he figures he should probably have a reason behind this sudden urge to hear her voice, he asks her, "When's your next visit?"

She chews on her bottom lip and shrugs, "Mid-January. You?"

She hears him exhale loudly as he responds, "February. I guess we'll miss each other."

And, even though his words make it clear that he's referring to their schedules not lining up, he thinks that he'll miss her in other ways, too. He glances over at the door of his bedroom and imagines her leaning against the threshold of it, dressed in one of his shirts because apparently his clothing is more comfortable than hers. He knows it isn't, but she looks so good in his things that he's never told her otherwise.

If he's being honest with himself, he already misses her. There's just something so compelling about having her around him. Her presence is a magnetic pull that suckers him in. Whenever she's near, he's able to forget that his life isn't as rosy as it's made to seem on national television.

Elara hums over the line. It hasn't been very long since they started their strange relationship, but they've already gotten used to each other in a way she hadn't anticipated at the start of it all. Of course, she hadn't expected him to call her out of the blue like this, either.

"I guess so," she mirrors, and they both fall silent. It feels very awkward, so she hurries to ask, "What's the weather like? It must be cold." Then she cringes, because she can't believe she had just brought up the weather, of all things. Gloss, apparently, can't believe it either.

His voice is a perfect mixture of incredulous sarcasm when he snorts, "Really? You're asking about the weather?"

Elara shoves a fist against her mouth and groans, "Sorry. This is kind of weird, talking to you over the phone."

He hums dryly in agreement. "Well you just made it weirder when you asked if it's cold. It is, by the way. I'm freezing my ass off. I hate coming here in the winter."

She snickers. Gloss's hatred of the cold is not shocking at all. Winters in District 1 are hot and dry. He hadn't even seen snow until he became a Victor and had to make frequent visits to the Capitol.

"Poor thing," she says unapologetically. "You must be beside yourself, wondering what all that white stuff is floating down from the sky."

Gloss purses his lips at her teasing, pressing his smile away even as it threatens to capture him completely. "Are you harassing me, Winston?" he demands, though his tone is light and amused. Her laughter is ridiculously addictive.

Elara hums out a sigh. "We had a blizzard come through day before yesterday. Amelia nearly bit my head off when I made her help me shovel the walkway. I swear she gets worse with every year."

Though the Capitol gets snow each winter, it isn't nearly as bad as what District 5 gets. During bad winters, they'll have mountains of snow to plough through. The district isn't as destitute as some of the outer ones, so they are able to send trucks out to deal with the streets, but it's still a hassle.

Gloss can't even imagine it. He furrows his brow and says, "That sounds like hell."

Elara laughs again, and once more he tries to memorize the sound of it. She tells him, "It's not that bad. I doubt you'd last a day in a snowstorm though."

He immediately returns with a scoffing, "You are harassing me."

They fall silent again until he chuckles. She soon joins in.

After a moment, Elara wonders, "Why did you call, Gloss?" The question has been nagging at her for ages now, worsening with every teasing word that they've exchanged. She can't imagine what reason he would have.

He hesitates. She waits with baited breath, until he slowly says, "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to hear your voice."

Elara Winston is not a romantic, but this admission does something very strange to her heart. She swallows, looks down at the tiled floors of her kitchen, and smiles.

He must misinterpret her silence, because after a beat of it he quickly adds, "I won't call you again. If you don't want me to." Then, aggravated at the awkward cadence of his words, his head drops back and he clamps his mouth shut again. He can't remember ever feeling so awkward in his life, and he's been in a lot of strange situations that should have been ten times as awkward as this one.

Elara stands up straighter and immediately blurts, "No!" She pauses, clears her throat in embarrassment, and says more calmly, "I mean, you can call me. Whenever you want."

She feels herself blush and is glad that Gloss isn't around to see it. He's equallyas glad that she isn't around to see the grin that splits over his face.

"…Yeah?" he asks with a laugh. He isn't sure what he's laughing at now. Maybe it's the fact that even in the face of all this awkwardness, it's still so easy to be around her.

She chuckles too and responds, "Why not? I did give you my number, after all."

And, though she can't see it, Gloss can't seem to stop smiling. It will be a long time before he realizes why she brings out such a reaction in him, and when he does, it will shock him with a fear that he will feel rather unaccustomed to dealing with…but for now, he revels in it.

Elara barely sleeps that night. By the time her and Gloss part ways, it's well after midnight. He tells her to try to get some sleep, but she's far too anxious about the Games to manage more than a light doze before nightmares plague her. She wishes she had him beside her to keep the dreams at bay, but all the Victors will be rising early the next morning to prep for the arena, and they can't risk being discovered. So she just lays there, trying to sleep but resigned to getting no rest, until the morning dawn slowly breaks out over the horizon and she finally has reason to get up.

The Games start at noon. Ignatius will want to start preparing her for the arena as soon as he can, but Elara knows that she's got a few hours before he even wakes up. It's barely six o'clock and he is no doubt sleeping peacefully in his room, and will be for a while yet.

With a sigh, she steps up to her dresser and pulls on a sweatshirt and jeans. After tidying herself up a bit, she heads into the suite and hunts down a cup of coffee. Then, after linger silently in the kitchen for a few minutes, she decides that she needs a change of pace and heads up to the roof. She's expecting to be alone, of course, but fate seems to have other plans.

Peeta is leaning against the railing as she steps onto the cement. Upon first glance, his posture seems relaxed and casual, but it doesn't take long for Elara to notice the tense shoulders and twisting hands. It isn't strange to be anxious on a day like today, but it does surprise Elara a little because Peeta has always been so calm and collected.

When he hears her approach, he tenses even more and spins around, eyes blazing intently until he sees who it is. And then, though his eyes still blaze, he relaxes just a bit and turns back to face the waking city in sullen silence, hardly acknowledging Elara's presence at all.

She acknowledges him, though not immediately. For a few lagging minutes, they just stand at the railing, side by side, quietly studying the bustling city below. It is a creature that never seems to sleep, even when the soft morning light pours out over the slate grey lines and every dip and cranny of its skeleton.

Then, after what feels like an age all to itself, Elara says, "I used to hate this place. Every part of it disgusted me."

Peeta doesn't react immediately, though he seems a little surprised at her sudden words and the seemingly random way they are construed. He peers at her out of the corner of his eye and frowns, "But you don't now?"

She doesn't look at him, instead keeping her eyes trained the far horizon, where the sun's warm fire is breaking the sky into a thousand blushing shades of pink. She traces the rim of her coffee mug and shrugs, "Oh, I still hate it, but…I've made a lot of memories here, and not all of them are terrible."

Mornings like this one, long past, with the glowing sky and a cup of coffee in her hands and Gloss in bed beside her, still fast asleep with the sheets shucked down low. Visits to Bella Donna's, the Italian take out restaurant just down the street from her apartment. Her and Gloss had gone there so many times over the years that they ended up becoming friends with the owners, and they'd find free additions to their meals every once in a while, which they'd fight over just for the hell of it. Secret kisses behind closed doors, where none but them could ever know the full extent of their desperate feelings. Pain and heartbreak to say goodbye – and joy like nothing she's ever felt to say hello again when that separation had come to its end.

There are many memories here, in these streets, and though most of them are ones that haunt Elara's dreams and make her recoil with disgust…many of them are hallow too, like the sweet sunrise that presses its whimsical rays towards the earth.

Peeta rests his chin on his palm and wonders, "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

He asks it with a voice that makes it seem like he's asking after the weather, or what kind of coffee she's drinking or what she'd like for breakfast. His tone is easy, like a soft breeze; so far removed from being judgmental that it hardly even feels like a question at all.

Elara turns her head to look at him, only to find that Peeta is already looking back at her. A part of her half expects to see some hint of shrewdness in his eyes, but it is not there. He looks only curious, and nothing more.

She hums. "Do you find that strange? Loving a man like him?"

She dares not utter Gloss's name. She doesn't know why. The wind that shudders over the edge of the building erases their words before any potential taps can pick them up. Maybe it's just a habit borne from years of secrecy and silence.

For the first time since she arrived, the corner of Peeta's mouth lifts in a small smile. He shakes his head and murmurs, "Love itself is strange, don't you think?"

At this, Elara chuckles, smiling back at him. "It is," she agrees, and turns back to the city. They fall silent again, until she slowly muses, "You know, last year during the 74th Games, I thought for sure that Katniss and you were just putting on an act." She sees him looking at her, but she just watches the horizon again and softly tells him, "But Gloss…he was convinced that it was real between the two of you. He said that the look in her eyes was the same look he had when he was figuring out how he felt towards me."

Peeta doesn't show it overmuch, but he's frankly shocked to hear this. Gloss Augustine is hardly a trustworthy character, at least in his current opinion. The man is a Career and a trained killer. He'd been ruthless during his Games, and his sister is no better. The pair of them would surely skewer him without a second thought if they crossed paths in the arena. The way Elara speaks of him though…it goes against all of his preconceived thoughts of what sort of man he is. It goes against everything.

Elara notices, of course. She used to people seeing her lover in a certain light. She did too, once, before she had realized how gentle he can be and how soft he is when he makes love to her. Gloss is a conundrum; a blend of opposites that shouldn't make any sense, but somehow does. He's physically imposing and gruff and even cruel, sometimes, but Elara knows the other side of his character. The side that he doesn't always show.

She sends Peeta an amused smile and says, "We're all the same, us Victors. It doesn't matter what district we're from or how we spent our early years. At the end of the day, we are a breed all our own, and no one else understands what it's like to be in our shoes." She pauses, then adds, "Gloss and Cashmere are no different. They don't want to go into the arena any more than you do. They aren't bad people…they just grew up with a different notion of what's important in life."

She shrugs, and Peeta hums. He's not sure what to think of Elara's speech. His mind is too swept up in other worries.

"Good luck in there, Peeta," Elara tells him after a while. He glances over at her and nods haltingly. She smiles.

"…You too, Elara," he returns as she starts walking back to the door.

He watches her until she disappears, and then turns back to the city with a musing expression. He's heard plenty of things about Elara Winston, too, over the years. That she's sarcastic and biting, that she spends a lot of time in the Capitol. That she can be cruel with her words.

None of those things seem to fit the cast of the woman he sees her as now, though. Perhaps she is right about one thing: that the Victors are all the same, at the end of the day. That they all a breed of their own. He sighs and blinks down at the streets, which are busy even now, and hopes that Elara is right. If she is, perhaps they all have a chance in the arena. If she isn't…well, this Hunger Games will turn out to be just the same as any other.

Gloss manages to find her before Ignatius wakes up. Elara returns to the kitchen and is pouring herself another mug of coffee when a hesitant knock sounds at the door. When she opens it a moment later and sees Gloss on the other side, she quickly glances behind her to see if anyone had wandered into the main room. They are still alone though, for now, and so she pulls Gloss inside with an adamant movement that makes him chuckle. The sound of it fades when Elara grabs his collar and forcefully drags him down to kiss her.

He does, without a second thought or a shred of hesitation, as if he's been waiting for her to do this for hours even though they haven't been parted from each other for very long. His arms loop around her, heaving her solidly against him. The strength of his grasp nearly crushes her, but Elara dares not complain. She only tries to get closer, pitching herself into his arms with a wilderness that has marked many of their previous couplings. Except – all of those times, they hadn't been going to their deaths, questioning if they would ever see each other again, and trying to say goodbye just in case but not wanting to do it in such a final way.

Instead of verbal goodbyes, they settle for this. Truly, they have become masters at the unspoken word; at brandishing their goodbyes in such a way. They have parted so many times that it is all water under the bridge now.

He sinks into her kiss with a shudder, fisting the back of her shirt with tight hands, moving his lips deeply with hers. She touches as much of him as she can, fluttering her fingers through his hair and over his stubbled jaw and against his broad shoulders. She tries to press this moment into her mind, to memorize the feeling of his mouth against hers and the warmth of his hands and the insistence of his kiss. She can feel his emotions brimming over that kiss, pouring into her in ways that he so rarely allows. She tries to memorize that, too, and the way she can read those emotions as clear as day in the cadences of his lips.

After several minutes that feels more like seconds, he pulls back, but he doesn't pull away. Instead he lingers there like one atom spiraling around another, lifting his hands to cup her face as he stares down at her with piercing eyes. He doesn't say a single thing, but the expressive way those eyes flicker into hers says everything Elara needs to know.

"…Go," she breathes to him, already hearing movement in one of the other rooms. The stylists will be up and about any moment now, ready to get the day started. Gloss can't be seen here when they do show up.

He knows that, but he's never been very good at letting her go.

He brushes his thumbs over her cheeks. Words rise up within him, wanting to be released, but they are all an incoherent jumble. There is nothing, really, to say in this moment. They have already said so many goodbyes that this one is just one more, and he has already used up all the words that might explain how desperately he wishes he could stay by her side. Those words have formed mountains between them, and he fears that no amount of them will bridge the gap that he already feels, drawing them apart once more.

He sighs out, presses his mouth to hers one last time, and pulls away. He does not say anything at all. He just gives her a brief, strained smile and steps back, and back, and back, until his hand blindly grasps the doorknob and he's turning it around. It takes him several more seconds to work up the courage to leave. He lingers there, staring at her, trying to memorize the planes of her face and the curve of her features, as if he thinks that he will never see her again.

For a split second, the phrase that he has so often tried to speak comes unbidden to his lips, but he does not get the chance to tell her that he loves her before the sound of footsteps approach. Once again, those words are left hanging between them like bullets gone awry, and the target gets smaller and smaller with every passing breath until –

He turns to leave, and shuts the door behind him, and swallows tightly around the lump in his throat.

He does not know it, then, but someday he will get to say those words to her. When that moment comes, he will desperately wish that he had the courage to say them before. For the moment in which he is utterly honest about his feelings towards Elara Winston will also be the moment in which all his hope is in shambles on the ground, dropping away from him like a ship sinking to the bottommost corner of the darkest ocean.

The dread that Elara has felt for the last two weeks seems to compress around her as she steps into the tube that will take her up into the arena. Ignatius has dressed her in a strange spandex suit. She can only guess at what landscape she is about to delve into. Nothing is certain in the Games, and even the barest hint of the temperature that her attire gives is shaky at best. The Gamemakers love to throw the tributes off by making them think one thing while doing everything in their power to take them off guard. It isn't surprising. The Hunger Games is the biggest, most bloodthirst reality show to ever grace a screen, and every bit of drama is stoked and allowed room to fester.

Despite her effort to remain impassive though, when she rises up into the arena, she is taken by surprise. Once her eyes adjust to the glaring bright sunlight and she sees the expanse of water around her, she feels her heart begin to thrum wildly in her chest. The funny thing about the fear that wedges itself into her heart is that she isn't afraid for herself. She knows how to swim. There's a huge lake around District 5 that is the root of many childhood memories. If they were allowed, she could probably swim to the far shore of it without breaking a sweat.

She isn't afraid for herself. She's afraid for Gloss.

With wild abandon, she searches for him, eyes spinning over the other Victors that stand on the pedestals around hers. It seems that there is no rhyme or reason to the position of each Victor. Usually, tributes from the same district are next to each other, but this time everything is all mixed up and confusing.

She sees Chaff on her right and Wiress on her left. Further down the line is Peeta and Seeder. She thinks she sees Cashmere's shocking pile of blonde hair but can't be sure, and there's no sign of Gloss's hulking frame at all. Clenching her jaw, Elara looks to Wiress instead, and sends her a firm nod. Wiress doesn't physically respond to her, but Elara knows she sees it by the way she rolls her shoulders back and hunches down into a determined crouch.

Elara follows suit, listening to the Gamemaker's voice countdown the seconds. Her heart beats to match, thrumming like a steel drum in her chest. Time slips through her fingers, and the flimsy plan she's formed in her head seems weaker than ever as her doubts frantically spin through her. She already knows before the countdown is up that the comradery of the last few days has come to a bitter end. There will be no mercy here, and she will not look for any.

The moment the countdown finishes, she propels herself into the water with a burst of energy bred entirely from the harrying pump of adrenaline that presses through her veins. The brine of salt water immediately surrounds her. She can taste it on her tongue as she swims for the nearest jut of rock that spans outward around the cornucopia. It is very different than swimming in the lake around her home.

This is no calm freshwater pond with tickling reeds and minnows that shoot about the water like wisps of sunken clouds. No - it is a hectic press against the waves that lap at her, threatening to displace her forward movements. She grows tired the more she pushes herself through the water. Her swimming skills are a bit unpracticed, and certainly unequipped for this salty environment. By the time she reaches the rocky jettison, she's gasping. Luckily, most of the other Victors are still swimming, which allows her some time.

Pulling herself up, she casts a short glance over her shoulder at Wiress, who is still floundering through the water. She wants to wait for her and help her to safety, but she's already pressed for time as it is and needs a weapon first. So, pursing her lips against the quick beat of betrayal that she feels against herself, she leaves the District 3 Victor behind – for now. She tells herself that she'll come back for her once she has a weapon, but she doesn't remember just how frenzied the Bloodbath is when you're right in the middle of it.

It's been eight years since her Games, and even though she's mentored many tributes since then, she's quite forgotten how frightening it is to be thrust in the middle of such chaos. When she reaches the cornucopia, she soon discovers that she is not the first one to reach the center of the small island.

"Winston! Catch!" Finnick calls, and tosses her a couple of knives the moment he sees her. She barely catches one before another is being thrown, but she only feels a shard of annoyance at his reckless throwing. She's mainly just happy that he isn't throwing them at her with the intent to kill.

"Where's Katniss?" Elara asks, chest heaving from the strain of her swim as well as the curdling anticipation of the oncoming slaughter. She isn't naïve enough to think that just because most of the Victors are friends, they won't kill each other when they have the chance. Only a small number of them know about the rebellion, after all.

Finnick hefts a large, gleaming silver trident out of a pile of weapons and strides out of the cornucopia. He's got a belt of knives slung over his shoulder. He pauses beside Elara and quickly says, "Don't know yet. You and I are the first ones here – "

His words cut off abruptly as he catches sight of Mags, whose age has made her journey to the jettison more difficult. The moment he sees her, Finnick starts forward, waving his hand to catch her attention as she hangs onto the rocks.

"Go to the beach! We'll meet you there!" he shouts to her, and she gives him a short nod before releasing her hold on the rocks and starting to swim for the shore that surrounds the cornucopia a short distance away.

Elara is securing the knives to her waist as he's stalking back to her, tying a leather belt about her that she found in the cornucopia. She glances up every other moment to see if any of the other Victors have reached the rocks yet. Some of them have and are pulling themselves out of the water even now. The sight of it has her fumbling with the loop on the belt, trying to be as quick as she can. Once it's secured, she draws a knife and clenches down around it, hoping that she won't be as useless with it as she'd been during training.

She doesn't have time to look for another weapon though, before Katniss is suddenly lurching into their midst, grabbing a bow and a quiver, and stringing her weapon with fierce dark eyes. She's pulling the bow back and aiming it at Finnick before Elara is prepared for her arrival. Thankfully, Finnick seems to have expected such a response from her. In fact, Elara would wager that he's been waiting for it.

"Hey, hey, didn't anyone ever tell you not to stick arrows into your friends?" Finnick asks with a smirk, but Elara notices the way his fingers flex around the handle of his trident, as if he's seconds away from throwing it at Katniss.

The Girl on Fire notices too.

"You're not my friend," she immediately barks, and pulls the bow further back with fingers that are starched white.

Finnick merely flashes his wrist at her and drawls, "But I am your ally."

Elara frowns in confusion before remembering Haymitch's words from before. The gold bangle that flashes on Finnick's arm is a symbol of the alliance. She doesn't have one, but then again, Finnick seems to have taken her under his wing for now, for he grabs her arm a moment later and pulls Elara to his side. Katniss's gaze flickers between them for a short moment before a movement to their right draws her attention elsewhere.

"Peeta?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at the thrashing figures in the water. There is a telltale sign of blonde hair that flashes out of the water, and it immediately has Katniss pushing her bow down and shouting, "PEETA!"

She starts for the edge of the rocks, no doubt intent on swimming to her district partner to save him from the other Victor who is wrestling him into the water, but Finnick reaches out to stop her.

"I'll go. I'm a better swimmer. You and Elara head to the shore," he quickly says. He doesn't give Katniss any time to argue before he's diving into the ocean, trident and all. He's cutting through the water so quickly that Katniss can only gape at him, looking both anxious and furious at the same time.

"…Come on, we shouldn't linger here," Elara says after a moment, glancing around and shifting on her feet. The bloodbath is now beginning as the Victors begin to arrive, and if they stay any longer then they will be caught up in it.

Katniss clenches her jaw and swears. "Fine. Let's go," she barks, pushing herself into the water and making for the shore without waiting for Elara.

Elara is quick to follow, but – she can't help but glance around one last time, searching for Gloss amongst the other Victors who are starting to search for weapons that will soon be bloodied with their friends' life force.

And then…

She finds him. He's already looking at her, though his attention is only partially on her as he runs into the cornucopia and searches for a weapon to defend himself with. But their eyes clash briefly, and the intense yearning in her chest nearly keels her over before she forces herself to dive into the water and not look back.

She prays to whatever god exists that he makes it out of the bloodbath alive, and that when she does see him again, the dreams they've skirted around for years will actually have a chance to turn into something concrete.

She doesn't have a lot of hope for it in this moment though. Her faith is shaken as she hears canons begin to go off behind her, and feels tears well up in her eyes as she wonders if one of them belongs to him.

The salt water washes those tears away, but the intensity of her terror is not so easily soothed.