Hi! Another chapter...

KATNISS

I'm an inferno. A twisting, roaring ball of flames. I can hear the crowd shouting. Out of shock or awe, I don't know. Because flames are so high and dense I can't see a thing–which means they can't see me either. Don't let any emotion show on your face. Nod at the crowd, give them smiles, acknowledge their support. But don't act as if you yourself are surprised. So I control my face into a cool, calm mask, silently willing Peeta to do the same. Because the flames are starting to stream behind us, clearing from the front of my body.

The crowd was screaming. But it's turned into a roar. A chant.

Twelve, Twelve, Twelve.

Everything is slowed down. I think I'm in a sort of shock. Because when I find our faces on the banner, it doesn't register as me. The woman wreathed in flames looks like a goddess. Yet as I lift my head, she does too. Her eyes are burning.

When Peeta lifts our linked hands in the air, the world speeds up again, the crowd's full volume reaches my ears–they're going crazy. Flowers fall into our path, over our heads, but we don't move. Just stand there, unflinching, as they throw themselves at us. Throw their support. Sponsors. A small smile graces my face, and I nod to acknowledge them. Peeta does the same.

They only stop chanting as Snow steps up to the podium, the horses coming to a stop. I can't hear him over the rushing in my ears. The only thing grounding me is Peeta's hand, gripping me tightly. His speech is short, but I don't catch a word. The only thing that indicates the end is our horses starting to move again.

I glance at the banners, making sure my face is arranged exactly as I want; the cameras are sure to get another shot of us down the runway. Sure enough, the banners let me know we're getting more than enough air time. It's easy to see why. In the dark, Cinna's creation draws the eye even more so than at dusk.

As we pass through the gates, the bars slam down, and Cinna descends with a fire extinguisher. The white cloud billows out, then dissipating to reveal our teams surrounding the chariot.

"Oh that was amazing–"

"You had everyone's eyes–"

"They all loved you!"

The combined six members of our prep teams talk over each other, squealing and clapping. I'm not even that bothered. Because they're right. I could kiss Cinna for his creation, but my legs refuse to work. As soon as Peeta lets go of my hand, I stagger to hold the sides of the chariot. There's so much adrenaline pumping through me that my legs are shaking. Peeta doesn't seem affected, he just hops off the open back and turns around, waiting for me to climb out. But I don't want to risk looking like a fool in front of the Careers. Because they're all glaring at me. Along with most of the other tributes.

Only little Rue is beaming at me. I smile back, but the glare Cato is giving me wipes it from my face. He's livid; I don't want to be anywhere near that temper. So I put my pride aside, reaching a hand to Peeta, hoping he'll understand I need some support coming out of this thing. He takes it, snickering.

"Oh shut up," I grumble. But the moment I take a step, the leg buckles, and his hands wrap around my waist, lifting me off the chariot with ease.

The prep teams start talking again, but I ignore their chatter and glare up at Peeta. He's holding me up, forcing me way too close. "Let me go," I whisper harshly.

He raises an eyebrow, leaning down so our words aren't heard. "Are you sure you can even stand?"

"Of course I can stand!" Probably. The jitters are wearing off.

"Didn't look like it." His eyes are dancing, failing to conceal his amusement at the situation.

"Let me stand on my own," I hiss, trying to keep my voice quiet. "You're making me look weak."

"No, but you would have if you looked weak if you'd collapsed trying to walk. I don't get any thank you?"

Anything to make him shut up. "Thank you. Now let me go."

"So you're saying you did need help?"

I'm staring daggers, trying to look him straight in the eyes, but the height difference means I have to tilt my head up. And the way he's looking down at me, like I'm an adorable little pet, makes it clear he's nowhere near intimidated as he used to be. Before all of this, he still had a bit of wariness before he made a joke about me, a little hesitation. Now that's gone. Which means I'll have to work harder to get him to stay away.

I let out a growl, grabbing on to his shoulders for balance, standing on my toes. "Listen Peeta, I'm trying not to make myself a target before this starts." I press closer, aware of the little remaining space between us. The amused smile is gone, and something's flashing in his eyes. I'm still for a moment, before gripping his wrists. "So let me go."

His hands abruptly leave my waist, causing me to sway backward before regaining my balance. We stand there, staring at each other, until I realize the Prep Team's talk has ceased. Their gaze is latched onto something else. When I see Cato's glower, I take an unconscious step toward Peeta, not bothering to think of the implications. Until I see Cato's face twist into something even more terrifying. A smile. Fuck.

"Let's go." Haymitch's voice is uncharacteristically serious. I'm frozen until Peeta puts his arm around my shoulders, turning me to the elevator. Effie's blabbering away, but I can't focus on her words, not with the pricking on the back of my neck. Just before the doors close, we lock eyes. And the smile widens, turning into a terrifying grin.

For the thousandth time, I realize the luxury of the Capitol is disgusting. First it was the Justice Building, then the train, then the food, now my room. While my family starves in Twelve, the Capitolites get instant food. I wear dirty, patched clothing, while they practically wear money. While I'd never had a warm bath, they have showers.

But I can't deny that it's lovely. The shower washes all traces of the makeup with a setting I stumbled on my accident, trying to find a button for soap. Another lathers my hair, making it the softest I've ever felt. The plate instantly dries my body and hair, untangling the long strands. The closet's options were overwhelming; it took forever to find a simple outfit. Sweatpants and a light grey tee. There's a food microphone in my room, but I know I should eat with the team. It's the first real chance to get Haymitch to talk strategy.

I round the corner, seeing all of them huddled around the huge TV. Caesar Flickerman is talking against the background of the runway. But the sky is glowing, the sun starting to set. The replay. They always broadcast the main events more than once. The Reaping, the Tribute Parade, the Interviews. As if anyone missed it.

In the Districts, the big parts of the Games give us time off. Students get out early, the miners have a shorter shift. But no one really enjoys it. Except the small school children. They're not old enough to understand why; they watch the Games but don't truly realize what's happening.

Effie jumps up, spotting me. "Oh! Good, I was about to go get you. They're replaying the Parade!" She fuses over me, and it takes an enormous amount of restraint to not slap her hands away. Cinna smiles at me, clearly aware of my thoughts. It's good to have someone I like around here. The only spot left is between Haymitch and Peeta. So I drop on the floor in front of Cinna, leaning my back on the armchair.

The trumpets blare out of the speakers, indicating the start of the Parade. District 1 comes in, looking likable and open, but still cloaked with the hard shell of gems. District 2's look is scary. There's no other way to put it. Cato, over six feet and bulging with muscles, makes his district partner look even smaller. She's shorter than me, but there's a glint in her eye. One that promises a long, painful death. I'm not looking forward to seeing them. The other pair that catches my eye is District 11. If the height difference between Two was apparent, Eleven's is comical. Thresh is even bigger than Cato; next to him, Rue's shoulders barely clear the chariot's lip. But that thought is wiped from my mind when we enter. The camera locks on us, both staring straight forward. Determined. Steady. And then the suits explode in flames. It's a fireball, hiding us from sight while the crowd shrieks. But it adequately hid our faces, covering the few moments of shock.

In an instant, the raging fire streams behind us, revealing our faces. We're breathtaking. The banners didn't do it justice. The flame twists around the front of our suits, merging with the flow from behind. It runs up my braid, fire reflecting my eyes, making them even more striking. The crowd loses it. I hear their chant rise–an echo of the hours before. Our hands are lifted in the air, entwined, already raised in victory. We look unstoppable. Inseparable.

Which is a problem. Because if I know one thing about the Games, it's that branding matters. And Cinna has just marketed us as a pair. It'll be fine for the first week or so–we are in an alliance. But what about after? The easiest way is for him to die, of no fault of mine. But if we do survive? We'll either attack or split. Leave early so we don't have to try and kill each other. But if we walk away, he'll take his sponsors, and I'll take mine. Fighting might be worse. All of those Capitolites that would have followed him, then coming back to me after his death would be gone, for good. But there's nothing to be done now. I'll just have to do my best in swaying them to me.

Hah. I give out a quiet snort, ignoring Peeta's eyes on me. Because there's no way I could compete with his personality. Charming, charismatic, being a genuinely good person. Anyone would pick him over me. Hell, I might too.

I risk a glimpse at the couch, finding Peeta staring back at me; he doesn't turn away, so I don't either. I realize I like him better without the makeup. On-screen, he looks intense, beautiful. But it hides the gentleness that I see in front of me. His face is softer, kinder, without the dramatic contours that give sharp angles. There's a look he's giving me; one full of emotion, though I can't tell what it is. But it's making me feel weird, so I shift on the floor, unsure of what to do. When he's not the one to look back at the TV, I tear my eyes away–but they catch on Haymitch, glancing between the two of us. When he notices my gaze, there's no smirk. Just a long, tired look. His eyebrows draw together before he turns back to the TV, staring blankly.

Effie jumps us, blocking my view of Haymitch. "Ah! My Tributes! You were both so handsome and fierce." She ushers everyone into the dining room, dissolving the tension that had been in the air.

PEETA

Capitol food is so good. Which is an understatement. And when the cake comes out, burning like our suits, I know our bakery's attempt at a recreation would be dust compared. Without even tasting. I can see the rich frosting, smell the sweet tang. Cinna's telling Katniss that he had ordered it custom. Almost all of the cakes we made were special orders; they were too expensive to make on a whim, a hope that someone would buy it. I've had cake a few times. Mini ones, with a thin layer of frosting. Just enough that we could spare. Though when Nick turned eighteen, we had a real one. I'd made it. As much as the artist in me loved decorating those cakes, the hungry boy enjoyed licking the extra piping more.

I hold in a moan biting in. It's sweet, but has a slight tang. They tell me it's lemon. I try to stretch out my piece, eating slowly. When there's a few bites left, Portia lifts her untouched slice onto my plate.

"I can't take it." I shove the plate to her. I know we could order another treat within seconds, but Cinna said this one was custom.

"I'm not a fan of lemon," she says, sliding the plate back to me. I don't believe her for a second.

"Portia–"

"Eat it Peeta. I know you like it. You should have all you want from the Capitol's bakery. I have it every day."

I give her a halfhearted glare, resolve already weakening. "Cinna said it was a special order."

"Yes. And all I'll have to do is order it again." She puts the slice on my placemat. "You'll need the fat in the Arena. How would I feel, knowing it was my selfishness contributing to your hunger?" She says it jokingly, but I see the hint of honesty. So I pick up my fork to take another bite.

We eat and talk and laugh for a while more. It's nice. Even with the looming threat of death. I'm comfortable. Happy, even. When Effie wraps it up, letting us there's a 'big, big, day tomorrow!' I'm sad to leave. But I know I'll need the sleep; training is sure to be exhausting. I stand up, Katniss doing the same. I follow her down the hall, transfixed by the loose hair that falls between her shoulder blades. I'd never seen it out of the braid. When she first walked in to watch the Parade, I'd stared. Wondered if we hadn't been reaped, if I'd have been able to see it like that. One day. To run my fingers through the long, dark strands. She'd caught me staring, but didn't glare at me. I don't think she realized why I was looking. Though I'm pretty sure Haymitch did. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, watching the two of us. When he's not a stumbling drunk, he's smart.

We're almost to the doors when Haymitch calls out. "Kid."

I turn around. He's standing at the beginning of the hall, face blank. I can't tell what he's thinking. But a scowl quickly forms. "Yeah boy, you. Come to the couch. We're going to talk." He walks away, leaving me to follow.

I look to Katniss. "What'd you think he wants?" But I'm pretty sure I know.

She shrugs. "No idea." Her voice is carefully nonchalant. She opens the door before turning back to me. "Will you tell me in the morning?" It's said casually, but I know her better than that.

"Sure," I reply, with the same disinterested voice. No. Not if I'm right about this.

She looks unconvinced, eyeing me with distrust. "Ok."

The door closes.

I am not looking forward to this.

Next chapter should be interesting...

Thanks to Owlthewriter, I am your tribute, and fire1 for reviewing!