After eating with my family, I walk across the lawn to Haymitch's house. Inside, he is only just waking up and accepts the mug of stew I offer him without comment.

We sit there almost peacefully, watching the sun set through his living room window.

I hear someone walking around upstairs and assume it's Hazelle, but a few minutes later Peeta comes down.

I want to flee, but I settle on scowling at him across the distance as he comes and tosses a cardboard box of empty liquor bottles on the table.

"There, it's done," he says, staring only at Haymitch.

It takes all of Haymitch's effort just to focus his eyes on the bottles.

"What's done?" I ask.

"I've poured all the liquor down the drain."

This jolts Haymitch out of his stupor, and he paws through the box in disbelief. "You what?"

"I tossed the lot," Peeta says.

"He'll just buy more," I mutter.

"No, he won't," says Peeta. "I tracked down Ripper this morning and told her I'd turn her in the second she sold to either of you." He never wants me drunk again. "I paid her off, too, just for good measure, but I don't think she's eager to be back in the Peacekeepers' custody."

Haymitch takes a swipe with his knife but Peeta deflects it so easily it's pathetic.

Peeta has managed to not look at me during the whole conversation. Was he angry… or ashamed about what happened last night? Was I not the only one who wanted to forget the whole opening up and sharing stuff?

"What business is it of yours what he does?" I snap.

"It's completely my business. However it falls out, two of us are going in the arena again with the other as a mentor. We can't afford any drunkards on this team. Especially not you, Katniss."

"What?" An indignation I knew I should not have hit me. It would have been more convincing if I wasn't still hung over, but I couldn't help that. "Last night's the only time I've ever been drunk."

"Yeah, and look at the shape you're in," Peeta says right back, looking at me for the first time.

I am the first one to break eye contact.

I don't know what I expected from him after my race to get away last night.

I turn to Haymitch. "Don't worry, I'll get you more liquor."

I say it in spite of the blonde boy, just to show him that I won't be weak to this.

"Then I'll turn you both in. Let you sober up in the stocks."

"What's the point to this?" asks Haymitch.

"The point is that two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor and one victor," says Peeta. "Effie's sending me recordings of all the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers. One of us is going to be victor again whether you two like it or not!" He sweeps out of the room, slamming the front door.

Haymitch and I wince at the bang.

"I don't like self-righteous people," I say.

"What's to like?" says Haymitch, who begins sucking the dregs out of the empty bottles.

"You and me. That's who he plans on coming home."

"Well, then the jokes on him," says Haymitch.

I eventually get up and walk over to Peeta's house. This time, I knock, and it takes a few minutes before Peeta answers.

"If you're coming over to argue, don't bother," he says as he opens the door, but that's all he has time to get out before I step forward and kiss him.

Peeta pulls away almost instantly. "What are you doing?"

"How am I supposed to gain your trust?" I ask. "When you can't even look me in the face?"

He is still flustered by the kiss. "That was nothing. I thought you were still angry... you don't want me to back off?"

"No, that's not the point," I say, frustrated. "If we're the ones in the arena together don't you think it's important that you trust me and that I know you do?"

"I do trust you," Peeta says, and makes that sound like it's been really very obvious.

I weigh that for a moment, then turn and leap down his front steps. I hear the door close just as I open mine and go in search for my sister. There are only so many weeks I have left with her and I should not waste them trying to puzzle out what has always been a mystery to me.

After a few days, Haymitch and I agree to act like Careers, because this is the best way to get Peeta ready as well.

Every night we watch the old recaps of the Games that the remaining victors won.

I realize we never met any of them on the Victory Tour, which seems odd in retrospect. When I bring it up, Haymitch says the last thing President Snow would've wanted was to show Peeta and I – especially me – bonding with other victors in potentially rebellious districts.

Adjusting for age, I also realize some of our opponents may be elderly, which is both sad and reassuring.

Peeta takes notes, Haymitch volunteers information on the victors' personalities, and slowly we begin to know our competition.

Every morning we do exercises to strengthen our bodies. We run and lift things and stretch our muscles. Every afternoon we work on combat skills, throwing knives, fighting hand to hand; I even teach them to climb trees.

On top of all the training, there is the tension. I am unsure if Haymitch notices it, because after so many years of abuse his body resists improvement and he's paddling to keep up with us as it is. A few extra glances or talks between Peeta and I go below his radar. He has not noticed that anytime Peeta and I are within a few feet of each other, he gets irritable and I get snappy.

Otherwise, Peeta and I excel under the new regimen. It gives me something to do. It gives us all something to do besides accept defeat. My mother puts us on a special diet to gain weight. Prim treats our sore muscles. Madge sneaks us her father's Capitol newspapers with its predictions on who will be victor.

Even Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, although he's got no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and he teaches us all he knows on snares.

One night, as I'm walking Gale back into town, he admits, "It'd be better if he were easier to hate."

"Tell me about it," I say. "If I could've just hated him in the arena, we all wouldn't be in this mess now. He'd be dead, and I'd be happy little victor all by myself."

"And where would we be, Katniss?" asks Gale.

I pause, not knowing what to say.

Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me, and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances?

Except, there would still always be the reaping looming over us, over our children. No matter what I wanted.

"Hunting. Like every Sunday," I say.

I know he hates my answer, but this is as much as I can give. Even the thought that I had killed Peeta or let him die makes my heart pound.

On the third week of our training, I wake to find Prim loitering by my bedroom door.

I sit up. She looks timid and I invite her in. "Is something wrong?" I ask.

Prim twists the end of one of her pigtail braids nervously. "You'd tell me if something was the matter, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," I say. There is something off in her tone, like she's hurt. "Why? Have you heard something?"

"No. You just never tell me things anymore. You know you can trust me, right? I would never tell anyone. You've looked so upset lately. Haymitch said you were being mean to Peeta, too. I'm not so little, you know. I'm almost fourteen, now. I can handle it. You don't have to worry about frightening me or anything..."

"Prim," I start, but then I stop, not knowing what I want to say. The look of hurt in her face increases until I can do nothing else but lean forward and clutch her head to my shoulder. Her arms slip effortlessly around my waist.

"You don't have to tell me," Prim whispers. "But you know you can, don't you?"

"Yes." I nod and screw my eyes shut, burying my face in her hair. "I know." There are just so many things I don't want you to hear. "I can handle them. You don't need to worry about me."

"But I do," Prim says. "I worry all the time. I'm scared sometimes that when you leave the house that you won't come back. And now..."

"Shh." I rock her. "It'll be okay. Somehow. I'll figure something out. I always do."

"Yes, but let me help you," Prim begs. Her arms around me tighten. "I can help."

We pull away and I stare down at her. "What do I say?"

"Anything. Tell me… about what scares you."

Everything. You, me, Mother, Gale, President Snow, going back. "Something else."

Prim pulls out the tie holding my braid together and flattens the crimped plait across my shoulder. Intently, as she runs her fingers through it and re-braids, she say, "Tell me about Peeta."

A long breath escapes me. This one is hard, but not as bad as her last request. If it were anyone else, then I would have left already and gone out to clear my head. Instead I look somewhere over Prim's head, trying to gather what I can share.

It suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea where Prim stands on the concept of Peeta and I. How much does she know? How much has she guessed or has been told? Does she know that it really was all a sham? Did she really think I wanted to marry him?

"Peeta... is complicated."

"He loves you," Prim prompts. "I can see that. Everyone can." Her eyes find mine, inquiring, a million questions hidden there that she's been holding back. "I didn't know you knew him, before. But during... when you were with him, it seemed like you've known each other for years."

"I knew him, but not really," I say. "He helped me once when you were too young to remember. It meant a lot, but I never thanked him for it. There was never a time. Then, the reaping... and it just didn't seem..."

"I can understand that," says Prim. The braid is finished, but she doesn't seem to like it, so she unties it and begins all over again. "Peeta said that I should ask you, when I came to him, about why you two weren't talking after the Games..."

Haymitch, Peeta… who else has she been talking to? Trying to get close to me, forced to talk to strangers just in the attempt?

"There was a misunderstanding."

"And there's another one, now? Because of the Quell?"

"Yes... no. It's complicated."

Prim curls her knees up under her and sits a little straighter. "I can listen. I have time."

Girl talk – it's always something I struggle with. I take a breath, steeling myself. What do I tell her? The truth? A few stalling jokes?

"I care about him. He's my friend. You don't just go through something like we did and not care. Except I don't... I don't think I love him… not the way he loves me. I don't think I can. Then there's Gale and I love him… I have to. The things we've been through lasted so much longer and we were each other's best friend for so long. It wouldn't be fair that I disregard all of that. Except..."

"You care about Peeta?"

"Yes," I force myself to say. "I care."

"And the Quell, you've talked about it?"

I shrug. "A little."

"What does he want?"

"To go in with me to make sure I win this time. Only me..."

Prim examines my face. "And you don't want him to die."

"No." I can't lie to her. "No, I don't want him to die. I'd rather–"

"You'd rather die for him," Prim finishes with the words that I would never have expressly used, but it's the truth.

She finishes the braid and this time it is perfect, and she flicks it behind my shoulder.

"I won't be angry," she says. "You can say it."

"No, you should be. I shouldn't think about dying and leaving you here alone. You need me."

"I have Mother and the Hawthornes," Prim says. "I don't need you, Peeta does. He doesn't have anyone."

"He has a family and friends… and Haymitch," I correct, but it sounds stale even to me.

"Are you mad because he wants to die for you? Or something else?"

"I'm not mad," I lie. "Just worried. Like I am now." I get up from the bed and begin to dig around for something decent to wear. "Haymitch and Peeta are going to come hound me if I'm not out in time for our run." I pause on my way into the bathroom and look back at Prim. "Thank you… for doing my hair."

She smiles shyly. "It's nothing."

I close the bathroom door, brush my teeth, take off my pajamas and wiggle into the clean clothes. Even when I pause to splash some cold water into my face, I know she'll still be out there, waiting.

"Thank you, for sharing," I hear her call.

I nod, then realize Prim cannot see that.

"And you? There's nothing you want to share with me?"

I wait, pausing with the zipper of my jacket half-way up, before finally, Prim says, "Well, it's nothing big or worrisome. Not really. It's just..."

"Just?" I move to the door and pull it open. Prim is sitting in the middle of my bed, hugging her knees to her chest. "You can trust me."

"I know," says Prim. "You don't usually like talking about this, I know, but Mother gets so fidgety whenever I do. All my friends they're... well they're not you." She bites her lip. "Rory, he's been..."

I cannot say what I expected my sister to ask me about. I have always thought about how different we are, but by her telling blush I know that this has to do with all the complicated things in my life that I have never been able to sort out.

"What has Rory been?" I say, maybe a little sharper than it should be.

"No-thing," Prim exclaims, dragging out the word. "That's the problem, he won't even talk to me" – I sigh in huge relief at that – "I don't know what I did or said, but ever since a few months ago, during the Victory Tour, he's been avoiding me."

Slowly I make my way back to the bed, and say, "Maybe he's just having some issues at home. Gale and Rory have been clashing over letting him hunt in the woods. Especially since what happened with me. He's just..."

Hormonal? Going through a stage? Worried about the cousins thing?

Prim rolls her eyes before I can find the right phrase. "Peeta says that he's probably scared I'll give him cooties still. But I know he just said that so Rory wouldn't hurt my feelings."

"You've told Peeta about this?"

"Yeah." Prim shrugs, looking at me with startled eyes. "Why not? He's always around and nice."

"Yes, but, he's... he's just..."

I'm your sister, not him.

"He's just…? Your fiancé? I thought I could trust him." Then she adds, as if trying to defend him, "He really does give good advice. Sometimes he'll take me to the bakery, and he'll let me give cookies to some of my classmates. Do you not want me to?"

"No… no, it's fine," I say, running a hand along my scalp. "I just didn't realize you spent so much time with him."

"I try to spend time with everyone. Haymitch doesn't really like it when I try to talk to him, he says I'm just following him around, but he really likes the goat cheese I make." She smiles. "And Gale, I showed him the best way to wrap hands, since there's so many miners who just don't have gloves anymore. There's Penny too, from town, she's..."

Prim continues to tell me a couple of things that I listen halfheartedly to.

All I can really think is: Where was I?

I know the answer. I was off trying to stop and start a rebellion in the same move, hoping for the downfall of the Capitol and tiptoeing right where President Snow has told me to.

Prim only stops when there's a soft knock on my bedroom door. We both look up and our mother calls through, "Haymitch is downstairs, Katniss. He's wondering if you mean to join them in training this morning."

"Yes," I say. "Tell him I'll be right down."

"Will you promise me something?" Prim rushes when I move to leave, and she crawls to sit on the edge of the bed. "Nothing big, nothing like last time."

I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob, then nod.

"Whatever you do in the Games, will you promise me you'll do it for yourself. Not because you think it's right or because it's the best option, or someone else told you to do it. Will you do it for you… for love. The same way you chose to volunteer for me."

"Of course," I say, wondering where this had come from.

Prim saw the question in my eyes.

"If you can't come home knowing Peeta's dead, then don't come home just because you think I need you."

It is difficult, but I manage to make myself say: "I promise."

I am two steps out the doorway when Prim says, "And Katniss?"

"Yes?"

"Did you thank him?"

I turn back. "Thank who?"

"Peeta. For what he did for you when I was too young to remember. Did you ever get to thank him?"

"No... not yet."

Haymitch is furious when I finally arrive. "If you think you can get away with skipping out on this Career nonsense, then I'm smuggling the liquor from your mother's cabinet."

I laugh. "I hear the stocks are quite warm, actually."

"Yeah and going into the Hunger Games is about the most comfortable life choice one can make."

The day before the reaping a hundred Peacekeepers arrive in District 12. The town in a flurry to prepare for the event and we are all too anxious to continue training.

That night, I stand on the front porch. This is the last time I will see District 12 in the night. My home. The place I grew up.

If anything, the talk with Prim has only increased my guilt. While she has given me permission to die, I am not sure how I feel. There's a difference between dying in the arena despite my best efforts to survive and choosing to die in order to allow Peeta to live. The first is most likely, since I have doubts President Snow wants to see me as Victor, but on the off chance I am given the choice… even if I know I will choose to save Peeta… there is the guilt.

The sooner Prim and Mom, and Gale lets me go, the better.

As I am rehearsing my speeches for them, I see a figure exiting Haymitch's house across the way. I spot Peeta's stocky frame. I call him over before I remember that we're still not talking.

"Katniss?" Peeta says. "You should get some sleep. The reaping is tomorrow."

"I couldn't." I sit down on the front steps.

He says nothing and stare down at his shoes. The silence drags on until I can no longer stand it.

"I miss you," I say.

I miss talking to him. I miss laughing with him, and I do not like this new Peeta who bosses Haymitch and I around. I know he means well, but I miss the real Peeta.

"We've been together for the past three weeks. I see you every morning." He lifts his face and the porch light accentuates the confusion in his eyes. "I'm not avoiding you."

"But it's... you're... acting different."

Last night, I dreamed of him. The dream had started out as a nightmare, but when I thought I woke, he was there holding me. That fire, that hunger, rose inside of me with him so close. I had taken advantage of that closeness, of this new desire that he caused. Until, I realized I was still dreaming, and I woke alone, sweaty and panting.

"I don't mean to be," Peeta replies.

I realize I have been staring at his lips and look down.

I wonder if this is what he feels when he's looking at me, dreaming of me… kissing me. I wonder if he still wants those things.

"Katniss," Peeta says. He sits next to me and takes one of my hands into his.

The feel of his thumb running along the back of my knuckles makes my heartbeat pick up. That's never happened before.

I look up at his face to find him flushed and staring at our hands. The night looms over us, pulling vacuum tight around us. It is only us. No Panem, not yet. I can feel his knee and calf leaning heavily against mine, burning through my skin.

"Katniss," he repeats, stronger this time. "I wish... I wish that you knew. That you could understand. I wish I could help you see the world as I do. You are just... stubborn." He smiles at that. "I like that about you. You are – were – always the girl I would never know. And now… now, I know everything I could have wanted to."

At first, I struggle to understand what he's doing, and then it hits me. We are still fighting… we are still arguing over who lives and who dies. And this is his speech for me, his goodbye.

I know what he means, that he knows more than just the complicated stuff about me. Yes, I took him to my woods, and he knows about my father's bow and arrow, but he knows my favorite color, too, and my love for cheese buns, everything.

"You're right. I don't understand," I tell him.

"I won't have a future once you're gone, and you know it." Peeta runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "Tell me, honestly, who do you think out of the two of us, cares about the other more?"

I wince and refuse to answer. It is obvious and painful to say.

"How can you argue about which of us should move on?" Peeta continues softly. "I love you, Katniss."

"Do I need to love someone not to want them to die?" I say back. "You are my friend Peeta. You matter –"

"Yeah, how much?"

I bite my cheek.

Peeta sighs and makes as if to leave, but instead of letting him go, I pull him closer. Our lips are locked before I can remember why or how.

Yeah, how much? and I don't know how much, only this much.

Any reluctance or uncertainty, all of it, all the complicated back and forth that has piled up for weeks inside of me, falls away, into the flames.

It is as if I have never walked in my skin before, as if I have never known what it was really for. I could just float here, lose myself to him, in these kisses. Forget that torment waiting for us out in the cruel world.

But then, the fire spreads, turning from something harmless and breathtaking, into a warm ache, igniting somewhere deep inside of me.

I break away, getting to my feet.

Peeta sits on the stairs, chest rising and falling, staring at me with wide eyes.

"It's late," he says, abruptly.

"Yes," I agree hastily.

I hurry inside, and crawl into bed. All night, all I can think of is the taste of him, the way his hand gripped my hip… the burn of his breath against my cheek…

By the time Mother comes to wake me for the reaping, I have not slept a wink.