A/N: And we're back in Panem in the Tributes' Tower. Going down...

Thank you to everyone who is joining me! :)

Chapter Five: The Parade

"You look fine, Hawthorne, so get over here. We have to go."

They took the elevator down to the ground floor. The basement of the Tower was where the Tributes would be training as of tomorrow, but that night, no one was working with any equipment. Instead, the Tributes were being tended to by their Stylists while all the biggest wigs of the Capitol found seats in boxes that lined the Avenue of the Tributes.

It was a scene out of an old comic book, Gale had often thought. Grand towers on either end of the Avenue, the way was paved with a distinctive pattern. All angles and edges, to contribute to the feeling of tension and order, which certainly was communicated. At the other end of the Avenue, President Coriolanus Snow was preparing to take his seat with the highest echelon dignitaries. Not far from them, Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith were already giving their pre-Parade commentary, their faces dominating every screen in Panem for the Parade of Tributes.

It was required viewing. Everyone in Panem had to bear witness to another collection of teens and children who would be sacrificed for a rebellion that had taken place before their grandparents had been born. This year, even more than the year before, Gale felt infuriated and powerless.

Katniss was marked for sacrifice. His Katniss. He could not let her end like that.

He saw her, there with Peeta and their respective Stylists, down at the end of the waiting line of chariots. He felt his breath catch in his throat and resolutely did not look at Haymitch to catch his reaction to the costumes their Tributes were wearing.

District 12 was in charge of coal. Of fuel. Not sexy fuel like the power plants, but the dirty kind. The Stylists for their District usually dressed the Tributes like coal miners…to represent the people of their District. It was so common, so expected, that it was practically believed to be a rule. District 12 had to be coalminers.

District 12 was also known to be the very last District chosen by Stylists, so they were generally offered the newest and greenest and most nervous of the Stylists to be employed for the Hunger Games. Gale had fully expected to see Katniss and Peeta decked out in overalls of one sort of another. Maybe Katniss might have had shorts on hers, or Peeta might have been shirtless—the younger man did have a great pair of shoulders. Gale himself had been sent to the Parade with only suspenders on his chest, holding up a pair of trousers. His Stylist had taken her sweet time oiling down his skin to make it appear hot and sweaty.

Gale had been well aware of how he'd appeared, and what that image had led to, for his Games and for Haymitch's ability to get him help when he'd needed it. If his Stylist had been assigned to Katniss or Peeta, that would have been a good thing, in his estimation.

But the man down there right at the moment, the one who was checking the shoulders and the back of the legs of Katniss's costume, was not his Stylist. He could see the man explaining something to Katniss and Peeta, something about their costume, perhaps.

Because that costume? Well, it needed an explanation.

"Well, that's…different," Haymitch murmured next to Gale.

Gale swallowed. "Yeah." Katniss looked…breathtaking. There was no other word for it, he guessed. In what looked like a black bodysuit that could have been painted on, she looked nothing like the coal miners they saw year after awful year. Her hair, too, had been artfully styled, braided elaborately all over her head. A moment later, the Tributes had to take their places in the chariot, and he could not help watching how she moved. She was not comfortable; that was evident to a man who had been watching her for years as he had been, but she was entirely eye-catching.

The big screens flickered to life there in the staging area, but Gale still couldn't look away from the chariot for his District. Peeta looked eager, but cautious. Katniss's face was flat and expressionless. She didn't trust anyone, it seemed, though she had at least spoken with the Stylist a minute ago. "Who is he?" he asked Haymitch.

"We were lucky," the other Mentor replied, rocking back on his heels as the screens showed the blue-haired Flickerman start his descriptions of District 1's Tributes. "Cinna asked for our District, Hawthorne. He wanted to work with Katniss, after the Reaping. He asked to be reassigned."

"Well, damn. Sure hope he knew what he was doing."

"Portia, too. They both asked to be assigned to our District." He smacked Gale on the arm. "Maybe you are still making an impact."

Gale choked. "I just wish we could stop it," he said under his breath.

"Watch it. Okay, look, there they go."

The chariots were moving slowly to the Avenue, and as they went, Gale kept his gaze on his Tributes. Peeta saw him and nodded, lifting his hand half-way. Reciprocating, he smiled a little. Encouraging the Tribute would be a plus, right? Haymitch hadn't done it, but Haymitch had still acted like a drunken wretch until after the Games were over and Gale was in recovery.

Katniss glanced their way as well, and Gale offered her the same nod and smile he'd given Peeta, as the chariot rolled slowly at the end of the line. She nodded back, but he didn't see her smile. Her smiles were rare…unless they were in the woods.

Would they get to return, the two of them? If she won, she wouldn't need to hunt, but…he missed those times. Why that hit him so hard just at that moment he couldn't have said, but he felt a sharp ache in his chest that nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Slowly, as if pulled by invisible strings, the Mentors from all the Districts gathered in the staging area after the chariots began the Parade. He knew some of the Mentors by sight, of course, and he'd seen Victors every year on the Games broadcasts, but it was a different experience standing on the same piece of cement floor.

There was an air amongst them, when they were congregated as a group; he'd noticed that on the train, though he had been preoccupied with his words and actions and hadn't studied the other Mentors as closely as he ought to have, perhaps. There wasn't a man or woman in that select group who had not killed another human being. Maybe more than one, but certainly at least one. It was a stain on what Gale thought of as his soul, and they each bore it. Combined with the further humiliations and obligations they were all subject to, there was always an undercurrent when Mentors gathered in a group.

He could understand why Haymitch drank.

His former Mentor mingled among the others, sometimes shaking hands, sometimes just nodding. While that was happening, though, Gale kept at least one eye on the screens as Katniss and Peeta rolled onto the Avenue. And caught fire!

A collective gasp echoed throughout the staging floor. Mentors and Stylists alike choked on their own tongues to see District 12 make the most incredible entrance of any District ever. The sleek black bodysuits had flame flaring off the backs! Both Katniss and Peeta were on fire and all of the Sponsors and spectators on the Avenue were on their feet cheering.

Gale couldn't seem to tear his attention from them. Neither could Flickerman and Templesmith, though when the split screen showed their President's ill-impressed gaze, it seemed as if some of the enthusiasm was dialed back.

"Gale, you should meet their Stylists," Haymitch said, breaking into his fascination with the Tributes. Just as Peeta and Katniss thrust joined hands into the air and Flickerman gushed with amazement, Gale had to refocus. "This is Portia, Peeta's Stylist, and this is Cinna, who's working with Katniss."

Portia was a brightly smiling black woman with yellow-hued hair that was shaped around her head rather like an umbrella. It certainly made her look distinctive, as did the bright reds and yellows of her ensemble. She was the colorful Stylist. Her counterpart, Cinna, was much more subdued. His skin was darker than Portia's, his hair cropped closely to his head, but he sported multiple earrings and gilded eyeliner. His suit was a plain black with a red dress shirt, as somber an outfit as any he'd seen on any Stylist ever.

He shook both their hands. "Thank you, both of you. Peeta and Katniss look amazing."

Portia beamed. "They're really making a statement!"

Cinna nodded thoughtfully, watching as their Tributes flamed their way to the gathering in front of President Snow. "I saw her—Katniss—at her Reaping. Someone that brave deserves more than…the usual."

Gale studied him. That kind of inventiveness and creativity could not have happened overnight. "Are those flames dangerous at all?"

Cinna's smile was a little smug, a little fierce. "Not at all. They look it, though, don't they?"

"They sure do," Haymitch assured the Stylists. "We owe you."

Both Cinna and Portia slid their entire focus to Haymitch for a long moment. "We'll talk about reciprocity later," Cinna murmured under cover of the other Mentors' speculations.

Ah, Gale understood, and felt a jolt of energy surge down his spine. Could they really do it? There had to be a way to stop the damned Games!

He grimaced as he watched the President's short speech. The man's eyes were dead, like a corpse's.

Dead President Snow. He could do that. He could, couldn't he?

Not tonight, Hawthorne. Now, we've got a job to do.

The chariots returned and all of the Mentors hurried to their Tributes. Gale didn't feel in the least conspicuous as he talked up the impact he felt Katniss and Peeta had made, praising Cinna and Portia as he did so. If anyone was listening via some secret device, he would hear a Mentor doing his job.

And if he had to keep shifting his focus from Katniss to Peeta…well…she was his friend, right?

Right.

They moved as a group away from the chariot, just as the other District teams were doing. "We'll get you out of the costumes," Cinna said, his tone smooth and warm. "And send you back up to your floor."

"You'll join us, of course," Haymitch said, meeting Cinna's eye.

"Of course. Thank you." Portia grinned at them all in an expansive manner before putting one hand on Peeta's shoulder to lead him away.

"Do they have names, here?" Katniss whispered to Gale while unobtrusively nodding toward the red-headed Avox who was waiting upon them at the dinner table an hour after the Parade.

The…servants, former rebels, slaves…were a background concern for Gale, in his view for how his world could be better. Never seen in the outlying Districts, they were part of the invisible workings of the Capitol. "I've never asked, Catnip," he whispered back, relishing the quick flash of amusement with which she responded to her nickname. They were standing a bit back from the dining table, while the rest of the team settled around it. Effie was there, of course, though he'd missed her at the Parade assembly. She and Haymitch were sniping at each other, just like always. Gale had wondered, last year, if that was their way of flirting.

It could happen. But he'd never asked either of them. Wouldn't be prudent.

Cinna and Portia were talking to Peeta about something or other. Gale had heard something about their training schedule?

Katniss seemed reticent about joining the rest of them. "What's the matter, anyway?" he asked her quietly, appreciating the way the fancy chandelier lights caught in the new waves and highlights of her hair. The Prep Team had sent bleached streaks through his the year before, though they'd grown out easily enough and he'd cut them himself, but there wasn't a lot that was off the table when it came to enhancing a Tribute's appearance.

She pressed her lips together, looked up into his eyes for a moment, then dropped her own gaze. "Can we talk later, maybe?"

He nodded without even thinking about it. "Tonight? After everyone's…"

"Yeah."

"Of course." He remembered all of Haymitch's cautions. "I'll find a good spot, okay?"

"Okay."

They moved as one to the table, then, and he pulled out a chair for her as his dad had taught him, years ago, to do for his mom. Katniss seemed surprised and flashed him a glare. "What are you doing?"

"Being a gentleman like my dad taught me," he said, making sure he was being overly formal so that even Peeta chuckled. "Didn't your folks teach you that, Peeta?"

"Oh yeah," the baker's son said, nodding and smiling in that way he had that was already being noticed. "I got Portia's chair for her, didn't I?"

"He surely did," Portia chimed in, lifting a water glass in salute.

Haymitch was sitting at the head of the table, indicating wordlessly that Gale should take the foot. This way, they could see all the faces, all the time.

Peeta was nodding at something, filling his plate quite well, but he had a vacant look to his face before he took a bite. Concerned, Gale was about to say something, but Effie spoke first.

"Eat up, you two! This is so delicious! I know this is all very new and difficult, but right now? You should enjoy what you can. You have the nicest suite in the Tower, and you can even have dessert! They don't let them in District 1, I heard." She was arranging her food on her plate with meticulous care as she rattled on. And on.

She wasn't eating, either.

This was a marked difference from how Gale remembered the 73rd Hunger Games. Tension was like a blanket hanging over them, invisible but unmistakable. It seemed that Cinna and Portia were doing their best to pretend it wasn't there, Effie spoke as if reading a script read several times too often at a backcountry play, and Haymitch was brooding, drinking only water, and occasionally stabbing a piece of meat with his fork.

Gale didn't know if he should be trying to bring in polite conversation or move on to Games business. Because there was lots to talk about. Training began the following morning. They would be on their own, there.

After a moment, he went for the vegetables and made himself take two bites before he decided to just go for it. Ignoring that invisible blanket of tension overhead, he made his tone deliberately businesslike. "You'll want a good dinner," he advised. "Tomorrow's the first of three long days. Training can be brutal."

Haymitch angled a brow at him before waving him on and letting him run with it. He was about to, when Peeta dropped his silverware with a clatter to the tabletop. "How do they expect us to eat?"

"Peeta," Effie began, her tone conciliatory. She'd likely done this many times before. "You'll be fine, really. You know you all start on the same foot for the Games. All with the same training opportunities."

The young man pushed back from the table and swept his gaze over them all. "You know what my mom said, yesterday? She said this year could be the very first year Twelve won two Games in a row. Last year," he went on, eyes dark and glittering with emotion as he spoke mostly to Gale, "she cheered you on as if you were her son and told me it was a good thing I hadn't been Reaped. I'd never have been able to do what you did. And she was right!"

"Peeta…" Katniss turned her chair and, her voice soft as if she were coaxing an animal out from the brush, said, "She wants you to win! Of course she does! Why're you so angry?" The others supported her, their words filling the air between the table and the tension.

"She didn't mean me! She meant you, Katniss!"

"Me?" Katniss jerked as if slapped.

Peeta started pacing and everyone decided that dinner was on intermission. The Avox in the corner was watching avidly, as well, as Peeta spoke. "Did you know that Katniss can hunt?" he asked the room at large, but he ended up focused on Gale. "You do. I know you do. My dad says she hits squirrels square in the eye. He's bought game from you, too," he went on, heedless of the fact that he was basically saying Katniss had broken the law on numerous occasions. "You hunted together. I know you did."

Which was true, and Gale would always be proud of hunting for his family, hunting with Katniss, but still. This was the Capitol. He didn't address it, though, because Peeta's statement shifted everyone's concentration.

"You'll want to get to a bow if you can, then, but not tomorrow," Haymitch stated, leaning back in his chair with his face in hard lines and lips thin as he spoke. "You want to keep that hidden from the rest of the Tributes. Save it until the third day, all right?"

Clearly bewildered, Katniss nodded and jerked herself around to resume her spot at the table. Peeta joined her. "I don't have any special skills like that," he muttered.

"Peeta's strong," Katniss asserted, nodding. "I've seen him lift bags of flour that weigh a hundred pounds, right over his head."

Haymitch nodded and Gale watched. This, this is why we're here. "So, no throwing flour bags tomorrow," Haymitch drawled, though his expression was still dead serious.

"They're going to have all kinds of weapons there tomorrow," Gale added, figuring it was his turn. "And that's great. But there's other stuff that's important as well. Like…how to light a fire."

"A match can mean the difference between livin' and dyin'," Haymitch said. "And we, your Mentors, will do our best to make sure you get what you need, but you still need to learn to do it without help, if you can."

Effie was nodding, and the Stylists were as well, though they were swirling small amounts of wine in their glasses. As Stylists, they had to prepare clothing for the big interviews, but they weren't responsible in any personal way, during Training. They could afford to drink.

Gale and Haymitch really couldn't.

"They'll be watching you," Haymitch continued after tossing back what was left of his water. Gale noted he'd only eaten that one initial bite of beef, that night. Like Effie, he'd pushed the rest of it around on his plate. Cinna was eating, but it was an absent-minded exercise, for him. Portia was taking tiny nibbles in a clockwise direction around her plate. Everyone was focused on Haymitch, though, regardless of what they were doing with their food. "The other Tributes and some officials, as well as anyone else who can buy their way in. They won't talk to you, and you can pretend they aren't there if you want, but there will be plenty of people keeping an eye on you and they all talk to someone." He picked up his knife and used it as a pointer. "Watch. Learn. Do not antagonize anyone. You know about alliances?"

Katniss nodded and glanced Gale's way with a rueful light in her gray eyes. He had had one alliance last year, with the guy from District 7. Who then tried to set him on fire two days into their supposed alliance. Gale sighed. "Yeah, well, the thing to remember about them is that they aren't to be trusted, not really."

"Maybe not," Haymitch allowed with a nod, "but they can be useful while you're learning your way around."

"And we have to learn our way around," Peeta repeated. "And try not to die."

"And make friends at the same time," Katniss added, glancing that time to Cinna, who nodded with a knowing light in his gold-lined eyes.

Gale frowned inwardly. No, he wasn't jealous that Katniss had conversations with other men. Of course he wasn't.

He'd have one with her of their own. Later. He knew where to go to avoid detection; his Mentor had shown him the year before.

"Eat up," Haymitch said after the quiet had gone on too long. "Peeta, you had them cheering for you before you got off the train. And the Parade? Y'all did a great job. They love you."

Effie nodded vigorously, the silver mini-hat on her big, big wig bobbing with the motion. "They were calling you the Girl on Fire, Katniss. Remember that. Sponsors like that."

"So they like Peeta and they've given me a nickname that has nothing to do with me. Great," Katniss groused before picking up a dinner roll and picking at it.

Cinna grinned. "Oh, keep that nickname in mind, Katniss Everdeen. Everyone loves it and will be using it again. Trust me. You want to be identified. Liked. Favored." He nodded, his expression flattening until it was pensive. "Your families will be watching, and they know—like we do—that these details matter, out there."

Haymitch's knife caught the light. "These are the details that will get you medicine. Water."

"Matches," Portia added, setting aside the rest of her wine. "Food. This is my third year as a Stylist and I think this year?" With a grin, she took in both of the Tributes. "I'll have a winner."

Peeta seemed to take comfort in that, but Gale couldn't. Not really.

A winner. Portia might have a winner. One. Singular.

He met Haymitch's look down the length of the dining table. "We'll probably have to choose just one," the man had said only two days before.

Gale was always going to be upholding Katniss, but…how could he just abandon Peeta after all he'd heard?

I hate these Games.

E/N: Gale's got a lot on his mind, yeah? Chapter Six: The Roof will be posting Monday. If you're signed in and accepting PMs, you can get a sneak peek upon request. Just drop me a line saying, "I volunteer!" and I'll get it off to you. See you next week! ~LJ