Chapter Eleven | Each silvered note the very stars astound,

"Why, such is love's transgression.

Grief of mine own lie heavy in my breast,

Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest

With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own."

1.1, 184-188 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

"Tell me about District 1," she asks him one night. They're both coming down from the high of being together, wrapped up in the blankets to stave off the chill of early winter. Gloss isn't used to the cold as much as she is, and he's got the blankets tucked over his chest as they lie side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Soft silence cascades around them, broken only by the sound of her sudden and rather odd question. She's never bothered asking about his home before. She'd never much cared to know more about him, but for some reason she wants to know everything in this moment.

He turns his head to look at her and asks, "District 1? Why?"

It's an understandable question. They've never spoken about their personal lives. Not the ones that aren't dictated by the Capitol, at least. Somehow, it always felt like an invasion of privacy to bring the subject up. Almost as if it is a barrier that shouldn't be crossed.

Elara is curious, though. Her mother always said that her curiosity would be her undoing.

She catches his eye and shrugs, lifting her arms over her head in a soft stretch before replying, "We might as well talk about something while we're lying here." There's a slightly sarcastic drawl in her tone that makes him snort.

"I don't like pillow talk," he tells her gruffly, but the shard of amusement in his gaze informs her that he doesn't really mean it.

She nudges his side with an elbow and laughs, "Fine. I'll tell you about District 5, then, and you can just lay there and listen until you fall asleep on me."

This time, her voice is joking, but her eyes are serious. To be honest, she is waiting for him to fall asleep. He looks exhausted. He'd mentioned before, briefly, that his schedule is hectic this week. That he can't wait to get back home so he can actually sleep. She's suggested that they do this again at some other time if he's so tired, but Gloss had just pulled her into him and that was that. Now, though, his eyes are drooping and his breath is deep, and even though he's blinking at her from the other side of the bed, he looks like he's seconds away from falling asleep.

Still, he manages a smirk. "Do whatever you want, Winston."

She does, as usual. Her stubborn nature is strangely addicting to him, as well as the confident way she rolls over, props herself on her elbows, and begins to spin a picture of her home. To his surprise, he actually finds himself paying close attention to her. She's got a way with words. When he closes his eyes, he could almost imagine the landscape that she paints for him.

"Of course you've heard about the Coriolanus 9 plant," she begins, resting her chin on her hand. "It's huge – you can see it from anywhere in the district. On a rare day when it's actually sunny, the panels on the sides shine like silver. It's usually overcast, though. There's a gigantic lake just outside the district that we use as our power source – hydroelectrical energy, you know? – and no matter what time of year it is, everything's always cold and damp."

Gloss hums dryly, "Sounds awful."

She chuckles, "You get used to it. It rains a lot. There's nothing like the sound of the rain though. It's comforting."

He opens his eyes to peer at her. "…I hate the rain. It's depressing." It's also rare, in District 1, which is probably one of the reasons he's never developed an appreciation for it.

Elara raises her eyebrows at him and insists, "It isn't depressing! It's invigorating. Haven't you ever run through a heavy rainstorm before? It makes you feel alive."

He thinks she's being a little silly, and he doesn't hide that from her. With a scoff, he mutters, "It's just water."

Elara laughs and shakes her head. In a soft voice that's a little more serious, she murmurs, "I do that sometimes. When I need to feel something. I just stand there in the rain and imagine that it's washing everything away…"

She doesn't know why she tells him that. While it isn't necessarily a personal secret she keeps to herself, it does feel a bit too personal for their haphazard relationship. She turns her head and picks at a thread that's coming undone from the seam of the pillow in front of her. She can feel Gloss's eyes on her, studying her expression. He doesn't respond for a while, but when he does, it's to quietly admit, "The only time I feel alive is when I'm with you."

Surprised, Elara turns to stare at him, eyes wide. He stares right back at her in the very same fearless manner that he often exhibits, before turning back to the ceiling and murmuring, "You look like you think I'm insane."

The gruff way he mutters it makes her smirk. She hums wryly and quips, "You are insane."

She doesn't tell him that she feels the same way. That being with him makes her feel more alive than she's ever felt, even before her Games. That she's not sure what she'd do without him, whenever she has to come to the Capitol and sell her soul to keep Snow happy. She catches his eye, though, and there's something that looks like understanding in his gaze. Perhaps she doesn't have to tell him. Perhaps he already knows. Why else would she keep coming to see him?

He seems amused by her retort. With a chuckle, Gloss mumbles, "Tell me more."

She rolls onto her back and sighs, "Well. My parents were scientists. They worked in the Grid, in the hydroelectrical department. That was where I would've wanted to work too, if I didn't get Reaped of course."

He peers at her and asks, "What kind of job is it?"

She shrugs and explains, "There are a lot of departments. You could be an engineer and develop blueprints for new technology, or be a researcher, or work with the power plants themselves. That's what my father did. My mom was a researcher, though. She was working on a new model when she…died."

She trails off for a moment, and then clears her throat and asks, "What would you have done, if you hadn't been Reaped?"

Gloss is watching her carefully, knowing that this is a caustic topic. At her question, though, he furrows his brows in contemplation and shrugs, "Not sure. My dad worked at the Factory. I probably would've followed in his footsteps."

Everyone knows at least something about District 1's impressive Factory. Like the Coriolanus 9 power plant of District 5, the Factory is a major structure in District 1. She remembers seeing it in the distance during her Victory Tour, though she knows little about what actually goes on inside of it. Turning her head to look at him, she asks, "Doing what?"

A wry look catches his eye. He shucks the sheets further up his muscular chest and drawls, "Wouldn't you like to know."

Surprised at the sudden joking tone of his voice, Elara laughs aloud and edges closer to him, fitting her body into his side to lean over him. She catches his wrists and tugs them over his head, and he lets her. He could doubtlessly overpower her any time he wants – she's felt the blistering effects of his strength many times in the past – but Gloss merely lays there and allows her to pretend as though she's got the upper hand.

"I would like to know," she responds, hooking her leg over his waist and rolling on top of him. His eyes dart down her body, appreciating the sight of her above him. She can see it in his gaze, that appreciation. It makes her shiver.

"This conversation is getting a little circular," he tells her, and grits his teeth when she shifts her hips against his. The thin sheet that separates them is paltry, when he can feel the heat of her core pressed diligently against his.

She looks beautiful, sitting above him in the dim light that the lone lamp allows. Her skin glows vibrantly, and her hair turns to shards of copper that spiral over her shoulders. She hasn't cut it in a while, and it reaches the tops of her breasts in a thick curtain of ember red. But it's her eyes that make him crazy. They're dark blue in this lighting, and they burn with a desire that is soon pressed into his own skin, his own heart, his own thoughts, as he peers up at her.

She silently leans down to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. His hands shift up her body, and soon they are moving together as lovers often do, hips roiling as they exchange breaths for kisses.

It's only later, when Gloss sleepily rests his head against her breast, that he quietly murmurs, "My father designed furniture for the Factory. They'd send most of it to the Capitol. I'd probably be doing similar work, if I wasn't a Victor."

He closes his eyes and wonders what life would have been like, had he been allowed to live out such a role. Elara imagines it too, picturing him sketching out design plans for tables and chairs and operating machinery to build prototypes of the designs himself. She could picture him in a workshop somewhere, hard at work on some new product, dusty from wood shavings, hair strewn into his eyes. She looks down at him and hums, "I could see you as a carpenter."

He's got the right build for it. The right demeanor.

He laughs.

"Maybe one day," is all he says in reply, but they both know they're empty words.

One day will never come.

The Gamemakers are getting impatient. There are only three tributes left: Katniss, Peeta, and Cato from District 2. The Career tribute has been camped out at the cornucopia for days now, and the District 12 pair are heading right towards him. They probably don't realize it. Elara doubts they're aware of anything but the mutts on their heels, chasing them through the forest with eyes that gleam with the remnants of the other fallen children. It's sick, but then again, these are the Hunger Games, and the Capitol does love its dramatic plot twists.

After her outburst the day before, Elara's been keeping to herself. Harley avoids her, sitting himself down in the public viewing room near Chaff and the others who are closer to his own age. She mainly stays put in the District 5 suite, occasionally going down to watch the end of the Games with Johanna, Gloss, or Cashmere. There are only three Victors now who are watching the games with any real interest. Brutus and Enobaria are practically glued to the screen as they root for Cato, whereas Haymitch is taking a quieter but no less occupied role further back, gripping the glass he's constantly drinking from with white knuckles.

Gloss had left Elara in her suite after she'd stopped crying, deciding that it would probably be best if he didn't linger. The others might question why he's locked them both in her bedroom, so he had sent his sister up to check on Elara in his place later that day. Cashmere hadn't complained. She doesn't often say it out loud, but Elara's grown on her over the years.

There's not much to do now but wait for the end. If the Gamemakers keep to their current pace, said end shouldn't be too far off. And, as expected, it is as bloody as it usually is.

Elara watches Cato's death with heavy eyes. Though he isn't her tribute, he's still just a kid. It doesn't matter that he volunteered for this. She can see the fear in his eyes as he drops off the side of the cornucopia, and it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. Katniss ends up shooting an arrow into his heart, giving him a quick death. Had she not been merciful, it most likely would have taken a long time before he died. These mutts seem to enjoy playing with their food.

The moment he's gone, the entire arena changes. The dark night that had crept up on them now shifts to bright sunlight, and the mutts howl as they run off, leaving Katniss and an injured Peeta to their fate atop the cornucopia. There's a split second when the both turn to each other with relief in their eyes, thinking that they can both be crowned Victors. Elara leans back and waits for the inevitable announcement that crushes their hopeful expressions, knowing that it will come. The Capitol cannot have two Victors. It would undermine their entire system.

She's not at all surprised when the announcement comes mere moments after. A Gamemaker's voice informs the pair that the deal is off, and only one of them will be crowned the Victor. The expression that captures Katniss's face when she hears this is frightening, almost. Elara thoughtfully rubs her lower lip as she watches the girl. She wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of one of those looks, that's for sure.

"Kill me, then," Peeta tells her. Katniss steps away as if she's been burnt.

"No. I won't," she retorts angrily, and throws down her bow. With frustrated fingers, she wrenches her quiver from her back and tosses it off the side of the cornucopia. It clatters to the ground, hitting the sides of the metal frame loudly. Some of the arrows fall out of it.

Peeta swallows tightly. "Katniss, you have to go home. To Prim, remember? She's waiting for you."

The reminder makes her eyes scrunch with pain, but she still doesn't move. Elara thinks back to what Gloss had said several days before, when they were watching the pair exchange kisses in that cave. Katniss isn't going to kill Peeta. She can see it in her eyes and in the stubborn set of her jaw. It would ruin her and she knows it. She would never forgive herself.

Elara can't help but think that she's a far better person than most as she watches the girl's plight. The average tribute wouldn't hesitate to kill the remaining one if need be. She wouldn't, either. In fact – she hadn't.

She doubts she'll ever forget her last kill. It had been particularly gruesome. She hadn't meant for it to be, but the urging need she'd felt to make it back home alive had been overpowering.

Katniss though…she's calm. Well, as calm as anyone could be, when someone asks you to kill them.

"You've got your family too," Katniss responds. "…You have three brothers."

His eyes flash at her. The family card clearly isn't working, despite it being Katniss's one motivation these past few week. So instead Peeta haltingly says, "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I killed you."

She clenches her jaw and growls, "I'm not going to – "

"DO IT!" he shouts at her, stepping forward in a threatening manner, as if he's hoping that it will rile up some inert instinct that will get the job done. When she doesn't react, he runs a hand over his face and angrily exclaims, "I love you, Katniss! Don't you get it? If I killed you, I'd never forgive myself. The guilt would crush me."

She raises her chin and staunchly says, "It would crush me, too."

But he just laughs and reaches out to hold onto her arms, grasping her tightly as he haggardly tells her, "You'd get over it, eventually. You're strong, Katniss. You're the one who deserves to live."

Her eyes blaze at him. She looks like she wants to yell at him – scream, shove him off her and drag him closer all at the same time. Her emotions play out over her face as she falls silent. The Gamemakers let her think. No doubt they're glued to their screens right now, obsessed with watching the tragic end of this love story. Katniss suddenly reaches into her pocket, and what she pulls out is very tragic indeed.

Elara stares at the nightlock berries with a blank expression. Does the girl mean to give him an end that does not require her to kill him herself? Or – does she mean to end her own life so that he can live another day? She frowns, watching intently as Katniss holds up the berries. Peeta looks equally as confused, until Katniss says, "If we refuse to kill each other, then let's end this on our own terms."

Elara raises an eyebrow as she watches the girl pluck a berry from the pile and hand it to Peeta. They both take one. It's almost poetic, when Katniss smirks and drawls, "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Then, with matching looks of resolution, Katniss and Peeta both pop the berries into their mouths. The instant they do, a Gamemaker quickly announces, "Wait! Wait – ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games!"

And, as if Katniss had merely been waiting for the words, she spits the berry out. Peeta does the same. Elara stares in total shock. She can't believe that the Capitol fell for their ruse! That they're actually crowning two Victors! With shaking legs, she stands up, still staring at the screen as trumpets blare victoriously and the pair of District 12 tributes are lifted out of the arena on a hovercraft.

This is unprecedented. It's never happened before in the history of the Games. There have never been two Victors in one year. She can't help but wonder what this will mean for the rest of them. Surely Snow won't let this go? He won't let Katniss and Peeta off the hook, but will his rage extend to the other Victors too? She feels at once sick, and she rushes off to the rooftop immediately to get some air and to think upon this new twist.

That's where Johanna finds her, an hour later.

"Your lover is looking everywhere for you," she says by way of greeting, fearlessly saying the word aloud. She knows that it is too windy for the words to be captured, but Elara still cringes a little. She's used to the fear that's attached to the term – used to being wary about listeners.

"I'm not hiding," she responds in a clipped tone, and Johanna raises an eyebrow.

"So I see," she says. They fall silent.

After a long moment, Elara murmurs, "Snow must be furious."

The reason for Elara's behavior is made clear at the words. Johanna nods, understanding crossing through her eyes as she glances over at her friend. Johanna herself doesn't have anything to worry about. She doesn't have anyone to lose – Snow made sure of that years ago. But Elara has Amelia, and Gloss, and Snow surely knows at least a little of her affair with the Victor from 1. He might not know just how much she cares for him, but he must be aware that they fool around on the side. He must know that Gloss means something to her.

"Katniss and Peeta will get the brunt of his fury," Johanna reasons. She's right, of course, but Elara wonders if Snow will turn his anger on the rest of them, too.

"Still," she murmurs, looking over at Johanna with careful eyes. "…What if – "

With a roll of her eyes, Johanna cuts her off with an abrupt, "Just stay under his radar, Winston, and you'll be fine."

Elara sighs. She should've known better than to turn to Johanna for comforting words. The Victor is hardly accustomed to easing worries. Still, there is something uplifting about Johanna's brusque nature. It makes Elara feel better, even if it's only because of the familiarity of the woman's tone.

It's something, at least, but it doesn't help her from avoiding the nightmares, when they come later on.

She dreams of the boy she'd killed, in order to go home. She'd been frozen with fear when she'd kicked the tribute off of her and into the lake that she had rigged. Her knowledge of electricity had come in handy that day. She had used the lake as a conduit, had wired it to create the ultimate trap that would lure her victim in and do the job for her. But his screams as he writhed in the water, as his body was fried and the electricity shot into his heart…she will never forget the agony of his voice, or the way he had begged for her to get him out.

They were just kids playing a game neither of them wanted to play; fighting like little Gods who dictated life and death. She'd been lucky. She had gotten enough sponsors by that point to fund her trap, but it had cost her in other ways.

She wakes up tangled in her sheets, a scream blossoming in her throat. Swallowing it down takes tremendous effort, but she does. She stares up at the dark ceiling, a heaving, panting mess of fear and guilt. It takes her a total of five seconds before she's throwing herself out of bed and stumbling to the door. Morphling, alcohol, medications – she's tried them all, but there is only one cure that makes her nightmares vanish entirely. It's a cure she doesn't often have access to, because he lives hundreds of miles away from her.

Gloss is sleeping when she silently enters his room on the District 1 floor. She's careful when she slides into his bed. She's learned from past mistakes to not make any sudden movements when he's in this vulnerable state, lest she wants to startle him. There's been many times where he'd had his hands around her throat, thinking that she was a facet of his own nightmares. She's learned how to approach him now, how to keep her movements quiet and gentle even as she lays herself down on his chest and pulls the sheets over her body.

He shifts beneath her, inhaling sharply as he becomes aware of her presence, and she quickly whispers, "It's only me."

The sound of her voice calms him immediately. He wraps her up in his arms and exhales slowly, head falling back into the pillow. Silence falls between them, until he tiredly inquires, "Nightmare?"

Her only response is a hum of agreement. She's already close to falling back asleep, now that she's in his protective grasp. Whenever she's with him, it's like he drives away her nightmares with the sheer force of his presence. He works better than any of the medications she's tried. It used to confuse her, before she figured out why he makes her feel so safe.

He doesn't ask her if she wants to talk about it. Instead he just sleepily drags her closer, tucks her head beneath his chin, and drowsily mumbles, "'M here now. You're safe."

Nestled against his body as she is, Elara believes him. Gloss is safety personified.

Silence falls again. His breathing evens out. She thinks he's fallen back asleep, so when she buries her face against his brawny shoulder and whispers, "I don't want to go back to District 5," she assumes that he doesn't hear her.

She's surprised, then, when he sleepily murmurs, "It's just for a month or two. Our schedules will line up eventually."

Lifting herself up on her elbow, Elara looks down at his face. His eyes are closed, his expression set in sleepy peace. She leans down to kiss his cheek, allowing her lips to linger against his skin as she breathes, "Wouldn't it be nice if we could just see each other whenever we wanted?"

His eyes flutter open. His room is dark, but they're close enough to see each other, especially with the dim glow of the city that comes in through the window. She can see the wariness enter his eyes, the slight purse of his lips when he whispers, "It's dangerous to talk like that, Elara."

She exhales, a long sigh that hints at her exhaustion. It isn't exhaustion from lack of sleep. This time, it's a bone-deep fatigue that consumes her far more solidly. She's so tired of her life. She's tired of having to mentor children who are destined to die. She's tired of having to rely on her revolting clients as a means to see Gloss again. She's tired of being stuck in District 5, wondering where he is or how he's doing. She's tired of not being able to love him, of having to lie to the country that she feels only a sisterly love towards the man she'd give her entire self to without question.

Gloss sighs too. He reaches up to cup her cheek, eyes locking with hers through the darkness. He's heard that sigh before, many times. He's tired, too.

"Come here," he murmurs, because there's nothing to say, really. He can't tell her that things will change, that everything will get easier, because it won't. He can't tell her that if he had the choice, he'd never leave her side, because that would only bring on more pain.

She doesn't argue as she nestles back against him. He tucks the blankets around them and pulls her close, turning his face to press a kiss to her forehead and whisper, "Go to sleep."

And she does. She falls asleep quickly in his arms, once she forces her mind to quiet itself of its incessant worries. But Gloss – he remains awake for a long while, even as his body longs to follow her into sleep. He memorizes the warm press of her body against his, the feeling of their entwined fingers, the even sound of her soft breathing. He memorizes her scent, the softness of her hair, the way she fits into his arms like the missing puzzle piece he's been searching for his whole life.

Tomorrow, they will part ways again. The Games are over, and there's little need for them to stick around in the Capitol. He doesn't know when he'll see her again. How many weeks will pass before he'll get the chance to hold her like this? How many endless nights will he endure without her by his side?

So he just lies there and listens to her even breath, and feels her warmth, and tries to stay awake for as long as he can, because he knows that their time together is running out.