Chapter 38:

I am in utter confusion as to what is happening in the arena- I can't see anything but the fog, though there is some distant rumbling in the background. When I look over at Haymitch, he looks perplexed, but there is just a hint of a sly smile on his face. He obviously suspects something about this mysterious white gas that I do not.

"What is it? What?" I ask him impatiently.

"I'm wondering….if the electric field around the arena has been breached," he replies thoughtfully. "As I told you before, dry ice sublimates- so if the protection around the arena were suddenly compromised, and warm air rushed in- well, that would explain the fog, it could just be from the ice. The gas might be as simple as carbon dioxide. It's pretty cold, of course- but once it's gone the arena will warm substantially."

I ponder the implications of what Haymitch has just told me. "Do you think that …," I can't bring myself to finish the sentence, as if merely saying the words will jinx it. But Haymitch immediately understands what I'm talking about.

"It's the work of the rebels?" Haymitch completes my unfinished sentence. "Well….maybe. God, I hope so."

We sit in silence at the bar for a few more minutes, though the action in the arena has spurred chaos around us- yelling and screaming and drinking and wagering. It quickly becomes apparent that the gas is harmless- and after a while, in certain areas, things begin to clear up and we begin to see the vague outlines of the tributes. As the forest had the least amount of dry ice anyway, that is the first area to clear completely. And by the reaction of the tributes, it has indeed grown significantly warmer- Annella immediately peels off her snowsuit, revealing a skintight top and leggings….no doubt a strategy to pull in even more sponsorship. Not that she's really needed it, though, with the alliance and her fishing capabilities. The tributes all look around in wonder as the white gas continues to escape into the sky. Haymitch and I are mesmerized as well- we can't stop staring at the TV.

But nothing happens- at least with regard to the rebels. The alliance sets to work with reorganizing their camp in light of the drastically changed weather conditions, looking up in interest when there's a particularly loud rumble of noise. But there is no televised arena-break or rescue that we can see. I even begin scrutinizing the TV footage in hopes that I will see video being looped- like the mockingjay in District 13. But after some time the noises and fog cease, and the tributes in the alliance carry on as everything is fairly normal. Well, at least as if everything is normal in the Games.

I look over at Haymitch, and I can't help but feel sad that the seat next to him is conspicuously absent. I suddenly realize that I really wish that Peeta was here- though of course I understand why he isn't. I sigh audibly, loud enough for Haymitch to hear me over the sounds of the bar.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, he'll come around," Haymitch says gently, putting his arm around my shoulders. I find it slightly eerie that Haymitch seems to know exactly what I'm thinking at the moment- we've spent entirely too much time together lately.

"And what if he doesn't?" I question him. "I'm, um, not entirely sure that I would, if the situation were reversed."

"Yeah, well the two of you are different, and feel differently about each other," Haymitch replies. "You like him and appreciate all he's done for you and apparently are willing to make out with him if it means that you can keep your mind off of your sister for a little while. But he's head-over-heels in love with you. There's a bit of a distinction there."

I blanch at Haymitch's assessment of Peeta's and my relationship. "You're wrong," I counter him. "I didn't make out with him just to keep my mind off of Prim. I-…" I realize what I'm about to say reflexively the millisecond before it slips out of my mouth, and I stop short. I was about to say that I love Peeta, too. But I am not good with words, and these words in particular are hard enough to get out to the person to whom they should be directed, never mind anyone else.

I decide, right then and there, that Peeta needs to know how I feel- as awkward as I may feel saying it, he needs to know that those words coming out of my mouth the last time weren't just me feeling loopy and affectionate from the green drink. I am determined not to miss any further opportunity to help Haymitch, but this won't take long.

"…I- I have to go," I finish the sentence with an entirely different sentiment than when I began it. "I'll be back really soon to help if you need me." With that, I spin the barstool around and jump off before tearing down the hallway toward the elevator.

When I finally reach Peeta's room, the door is still locked. Breathless and sweaty, I pound on it. "Peeta!" I shout to him. "Peeta!" I exclaim again.

Silence. For several moments. Then, finally, a testy response. "What do you want?"

"I need to tell you something!" I want to say it to his face, but I'm also a chicken, stalling for time. "Can you open the door?"

I can almost hear him considering, as I hear a shuffling sound, as he presumably comes closer. But he doesn't cave all the way. "What is it?" he asks, the door still a protective buffer between us.

I don't have time for this. I need to get back down to the wagering bar. I dive in. "Look, I've felt this way for a while now, it's just that I've never been very good with words, not like you are. I just- I can't stand the thought of you turning away from me like this. Anyway, I haven't had a single green drink and I'm still here, and I need to tell you something." My voice drops practically to a whisper. "I- um…. I- I- love you." I'm willing to say whatever he wants if it means that he won't turn away from me anymore.

Silence. For a few moments. I wonder if he even heard me. Then, without warning, the door bursts open. Peeta is grinning. "Say that one more time?"

This one is easier. Because suddenly I have no fear that he's going to reject me. It was easy to picture him walking away when I was saying it to the door, but now, as much as he might be trying to test me, he has a gleam in his eye that's impossible for him to conceal. I say it again, looking right into his eyes. "I love you, Peeta. Please don't shut me out."

In response, he opens his arms wide, and I jump into them for a huge hug. He pulls me close and we hug for what feels like a very long time. After a minute, however, I pull away. "I need to get back," I whisper. "I'm going back to meet up with Haymitch at the wagering bar. I just wanted to let you know."

Peeta nods in understanding, but a sorrowful look fills his eyes. "You'll understand if I don't watch the Quell anymore, won't you?" he whispers. "I….I…don't think I can…."

"It's okay," I reassure him, hugging him again. "I understand. But at the same time I hope you'll understand that I have to."

Peeta nods. "I'll be praying for Prim," he says softly, before giving me a kiss on the cheek. He takes me into his arms again, before murmuring in my ear, "But no matter what happens, I love you, too, and I can't wait to marry you when this is over."

I smile before turning around and heading back down our hallway to the elevator.

When I get back to the bar, nothing has changed. I give a huge sigh of relief before plopping back down on the barstool next to Haymitch. At this point, he is communicating with sponsors all over the bar- they are buying each other rounds of drinks and gesturing to each other across the room. I sit there for a while observing him, and I have to say that I'm impressed. He's given a few thumbs-up type signals, so presumably he's cemented a few sponsorships for Prim.

On TV, the cameras focus on the alliance, by themselves now, without fear of being hunted (at least by tributes). Now that they are in a warmer environment and have caught up on all of their chores around camp, they lie on their backs, looking at the sky (or the dome of the arena, who knows), talking to each other and laughing. Jack's leg looks remarkably improved. Annella and Prim braid each other's hair. For the first time since before the opening ceremonies, they look relaxed.

But it doesn't last long, because the tributes recoil in fear at the sound of the blaring trumpets.

"Attention, Attention," the voice of a Gamemaker booms into the arena, on the TV screen. It isn't Claudius Templesmith's voice, but otherwise I can't place it. "As you know, the rules of the Hunger Games expressly state that no tribute is to receive any outside assistance whatsoever, unless it is in the form of a gift- which must be provided only by their district mentors through sponsorships, and approved by Capitol Gamemakers." We are all on edge as the voice pauses for a second. After a sigh, it continues. "Today, barbaric attacks were perpetrated on the Capitol by rogue citizens of Panem Districts three, four, and eight. There was an attempt by these districts to breach the arena walls and remove their tributes, effectively ending their time in the arena. Fortunately, we were eventually able to contain the situation, but as this is an explicit violation of the Hunger Games rules, tributes from these districts are hereby disqualified from the Quell, effective immediately. Therefore, by default, the winner of the 75th Hunger Games and the Third Quarter Quell…..is Primrose Everdeen."