I wake up with my body morphed up against Peeta's back.
I know I should roll away, but the feel of his skin against mine is warm and comforting.
I feign sleep when he wakes up. I have never gone to sleep in just my underclothes with him, and as he stirs from sleep and notices that I am partially undressed, he withdraws.
At the sound of him reattaching his artificial leg, I say, "Peeta."
He does not turn back to me. "Katniss..."
"Come back."
After a few minutes, Peeta stiffly lays back against the pillows, but his eyes are cast to the ceiling. It is hard to read his expression.
"I should go," Peeta says.
"Stay."
He struggles to word what seems different between us, just as I had, and his face turns ten different shades of red. "What are you doing?" he asks, earnestly, as if hoping this is not some mistake or trick or attempt to change his mind about who will get out of this Quell.
All I can think is: I am not doing anything that will hurt anyone.
"Close your eyes," I say aloud.
At first, my hand is hesitant, but then I grow surer, and I take his hand into mine. I roll closer, one leg pressed against his, and he lets out a nervous series of exhales.
"Trust me," I tell him.
"I do," he says.
I pull his arm around me, his hand flat against my middle back.
Peeta begins to shake his head, eyes still closed, but I grab his face and force him to meet my stare.
I can see the fear in him, but also the love, and the desire, and the kindness…
He kisses me.
My hands grip at his hair and his tighten around my waist. I feel a pliable as dough in his arms, as he traces and maps out the shape of me.
As my mouth moves to his neck, my thighs are suddenly thrown apart by his knee.
I gasp, jarred by the action. I can feel my desire like lightning inside of me, splintering itself all the way through my shoulders and back.
Peeta draws back, worried.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he says, as if embarrassed.
"Why not? Because we're not married?" I'm breathless, and the joke comes out harsher than I meant it to. "Because we're going to be dead in a few days?"
"Is this really what you want?" he asks me, as if needing me to voice my consent aloud.
"I want you," I tell him, and it is true. While I had no idea how far I planned on going with this, I know at the very least that I want him, and to experience and explore this desire while I still can.
"I want you, too," he says, his eyes full of love.
We kiss. He rolls onto me. The weight of him is consuming, like we are one. His hands travel along the sides of my torso. I arch into him. He smiles against my mouth.
He draws back suddenly. He holds my face in between his wide hands. He looks at me as if I am a thing to be devoured, a thing to be savored, and I wonder if my eyes reflect the same desire.
Peeta traces the line of my collarbone. "You are so beautiful," he says.
I reach up with a finger and trace the bow of his swollen lips. I marvel at how soft and red they are.
Then there is a knock on the door.
Peeta throws himself away from me, and I sit up, clutching my knees to my chest.
Effie's chirping calls through my bedroom door, "Time to get up! It's another big, big, big day! Don't be late for breakfast!"
We hear her heels clicking away and manage to catch our breath enough to laugh.
"I should go get ready," Peeta says, smiling and straightening his clothes.
I nod and watch him leave. At the door he peers outside of it, as if it is some great stealthy mission and winks at me before it closes behind him.
I sit there smiling like an idiot.
Eventually I drag myself to breakfast.
I am not sure what there is to discuss. Every victor already knows what everybody else can do. Or used to be able to do, anyway. It is of course expected that Peeta and I will continue to act in love and that's that.
My mind wanders briefly to the nightmares of last night. A violent chill runs through my body. What bothers me the most was not the blood, or even Prim being violently ripped away from Mother, but it is the look on Snow's face as he leered ravenously at my pregnant belly. It is of course exactly how he would feel if I had a child: fodder for entertainment, control over me, and a message to every victor and every future victor. Except, thank the odds, perhaps most fortunately, he has made this reality impossible. I did not plan on making it out of this arena, and so I am not doomed to this future.
When I finally arrive to breakfast, Haymitch's face is flushed with drink and anger. On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames–this must be his concession to Effie's matching-token plan–that he twists unhappily. It's a very handsome bangle, really, but the movement makes it seem like something confining, a shackle, rather than a piece of jewelry.
"You're late," he snarls at me.
"Sorry. I slept in after the nightmares of– " my voice caught there. I did not want to say anything about children, not when I know Peeta's nightmares are so similar.
"Alright, never mind," Haymitch says. "Today in-training you've got two jobs. One, stay in love."
"Obviously," I say.
"And two, make some friends," Haymitch continues over me.
"No," I say. "I don't trust any of them, I can't stand most of them, and I'd rather operate with just the two of us."
"That's what I said at first, but—" Peeta begins.
"But it won't be enough," Haymitch insists. "You're going to need more allies this time around."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because you're at a distinct disadvantage. Your competitors have known each other for years. So who do you think they're going to target first?" he says.
"Us. Nothing we're going to do is going to override any old friendship," I say. "So why bother?"
"Because you can fight. You're popular with the crowd. That could still make you desirable allies. But only if you let the others know you're willing to team up with them," says Haymitch.
"You mean you want us in the Career pack this year?" I ask, unable to hide my distaste.
"That's been our strategy, hasn't it? To train like Careers?"
"And who makes up the Career pack is generally agreed upon before the Games begin. Peeta barely got in with them last year."
I think of the loathing I felt when I discovered Peeta was with the Careers during the last Games. "So we're to try to get in with Finnick and Brutus. Is that what you're saying?"
"Not necessarily. Everyone's a victor. Make your own pack if you'd rather. Choose who you like. I'd suggest Chaff and Seeder. Although Finnick's not to be ignored," Haymitch says. "Find someone to team up with who might be of some use to you. Remember, you're not in the ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are all experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in."
There's a slim chance he's right. Only who could I trust? Seeder maybe. But do I really want to make a pact with her, only to possibly have to kill her later? No. Still, I made a pact with Rue under the same circumstances.
I tell Haymitch I'll try, even though I think I'll be pretty bad at the whole thing.
Part of me just wants to cut ties, pull Peeta behind me and push through this. I think I could do it, even though logically it seems idiotic. It's just what I want to do, rather than dealing with the other loose ends.
Effie shows up a bit early to take us down because last year, even though we were on time, we were the last two tributes to show up.
Haymitch tells her he doesn't want her taking us down to the gym. None of the other victors will be showing up with a babysitter and being the youngest it's even more essential that we come off as self-reliant. So she had to satisfy herself with taking us to the elevator, fussing over our hair, and pushing the button for us.
As soon as the doors are shut Peeta turns to me.
"If you're expecting a kiss, I think now's not really the place."
He rolls his eyes. "Sometimes I think you consider me a complete idiot."
"Well, what else am I supposed to think?" I retort.
Peeta smiles it off. "I thought we should talk about this morning," he says, but his statement is cut short by the doors dinging open.
I hurriedly take him by the hand.
In a low voice, I tell him, "We can talk about it later."
He nods and the topic is mercifully put off for another time.
Effie needn't have fret over us being the last to arrive. Only Brutus and the woman from District 2, Enorbaria, are present.
Enorbaria looks to be about thirty and all I can remember about her is that, in hand-to-hand combat, she killed one tribute by ripping open his throat with her teeth. She became so famous for this act that, after she was a victor, she had her teeth cosmetically altered so each one ends in a sharp point like a fang and is inlaid with gold. She has no shortage of admirers in the Capitol.
By ten o'clock, only about half of the tributes have shown up. Atala, the woman who runs training, begins her spiel right on time, unfazed by the poor attendances. Maybe she expected it. I'm sort of relieved, because that means there are a dozen people that I do not have to pretend to make friends with. Atala runs through the list of stations, which include both combat and survival skills, and release us to train.
I tell Peeta that I think we'd do best to split up, thus covering more territory. He agrees readily enough, snagging a kiss before he goes off to chuck spears with Brutus and Chaff, and I head over to the knot-tying station. Hardly anyone ever bothers to visit it, even though I told him we were splitting to cover more people, I just don't know how well I could do that.
I like the trainer and he remembers me fondly, maybe because I spent time with him last year. He's pleased when I show him that I can still set the trap that leaves an enemy dangling by a leg from a tree. He took note of my snares in the arena last year and now sees me as an advanced pupil, so I ask him to review every kind of knot that might come in handy and a few that I'll probably never use.
I'd be content to spend the morning alone with him, but after about an hour and a half, someone puts his arms around me from behind, his fingers easily finishing off the complicated knot I've been sweating over. Of course it's Finnick, who seems to have spent his childhood doing nothing but wielding tridents and manipulating ropes into fancy knots for nets.
I watch for a minute while he picks up a length of rope, makes a noose, and then pretends to hang himself for amusement.
I narrow my eyes, then roll them at his ridiculous expression, heading over to another vacant station where tributes can learn to build fires. I already make excellent fires, but I'm still pretty dependent on matches for starting them. So the trainer has me work with flint, steel, and some charred cloth. This is much harder than it looks, and even working intently as I can, it takes me about an hour to get a fire going. I look up with a triumphant smile only to find I have company.
The two tributes from District 3 are beside me, struggling to start a decent fire with matches.
I think about leaving, but I really want to try using the flint again. Plus, I might as well try to make Haymitch happy. They're a bearable choice. Both are small in stature with ashen skin and black hair. The woman, Wiress, is probably around my mother's age and speaks in a quiet, intelligent voice. But right away I notice she has a habit of dropping off her words in mid-sentence, as if she's forgotten you're there. Beetee, the man, is older and somewhat fidgety. He wears glasses but spends a lot of time looking under them.
They're a little strange, but I'm pretty sure neither of them is going to try to make me uncomfortable by doing something to tease my 'pureness'. Plus, they're from District 3. Maybe they can even confirm my suspicions of an uprising there.
I glance around the Training Center. Peeta is at the center of the ribald circle of knife throwers. The morphlings from District 6 are in the camouflage station, painting each other's faces with bright pink swirls. The male tribute from District 5 is vomiting wine at the sword-fighting station. Finnick and the old woman from his district are using the archery set up. Johanna Mason is naked again and oiling her skin down for wrestling lessons. I decide to stay put.
Wiress and Beetee make decent company.
They seem friendly enough but don't pry. We talk about our talents. They tell me they both invent things, which makes my supposed interest in fashion seem pretty weak. Wiress brings up some sort of stitching device she's working on.
"It sense the density of the fabric and selects the strength," she says, and then becomes absorbed in a bit of dry straw before she can even continue what she was saying.
"The strength of the thread," Beetee finishes explaining. "Automatically on its own. It rules out human error." Then he talks about his recent success of creating a musical chip that was small enough that it could be concealed in a flake of glitter but could hold hours of songs. I remember Octavia talking about this during the wedding shoot, and I see a possible chance to allude to the uprising.
"Oh, yeah. My prep team was all upset a few months ago, I think, because they couldn't get a hold of that," I say casually. "I guess a lot of orders from District Three were getting backed up."
Beetee examines me under his glasses. "Yes. Did you have any similar backups in coal production this year?" he asks.
"No. Well, we lost a couple of weeks when they brought in a new Head Peacekeeper and his crew, but nothing major," I say. "To production. I mean, two weeks sitting around your house doing nothing just means two weeks of being hungry for most people."
"Oh, that's a shame," says Wiress in a slightly disappointed voice. "I found your district very..." she trails off, distracted by something in her head.
"Interesting," Beetee fills in. "We both did."
I feel bad knowing their district must have suffered much more than mine has. I feel I have to defend my people. "Well, there aren't many of us in Twelve," I say. " Not that you'd know nowadays by the size of the Peacekeeper force. But were interesting enough, I guess."
As we move over to the shelter station, Wiress stops and gazes up at the stands where the Gamemakers are roaming around, eating and drinking, sometimes taking notice to us.
"Look," she says giving her head a slight nod in their direction.
I look up and see Plutarch Heavensbee in the magnificent purple robe with the fur-trimmed collar that designated him Head Gamemaker.
I don't see why this merits comment, but I say, "Yes, he's been promoted to Head Gamemaker this year."
"No, no. There by the corner of the table. You can just..." says Wiress.
Beetee squints under his glasses. "Just make out."
I stare in that direction, perplexed. But then I see it. A patch of space about six inches of it, in the shape of a square at the corner of the table that seems almost to be vibrating. It's as if the air is rippling in tiny visible waves, distorting the sharp edges of the wood and a goblet of wine someone has set there.
"A force field. They've set one up between the Gamemakers and us. I wonder what brought that on," Beetee says.
"Me, probably," I confess. "Last year I shot an arrow at them during my private training session." Beetee and Wiress look at me curiously. "I was provoked. So, do all force fields have a spot like that?"
"Chink," says Wiress vaguely.
"In the armor, as it were," finishes Beetee. "Ideally, it'd be invisible, wouldn't it?"
I want to ask them more, but lunch is announced. I look for Peeta, but he's hanging out with a group of about ten other victors, so I decide to eat with District 3. Maybe I can get Seeder to join us.
Except when we make our way into the dining area, I see some of Peeta's gang have other ideas. They're dragging all the smaller tables to form one large table so that we all have to eat together. Now I don't know what to do. Even at school I used to avoid eating at a crowded table. Frankly, I'd probably have sat alone if Madge hadn't made a habit of joining me.
I think about sitting next to Peeta, but the thought that he might distract me seems certain. Still undecided, I take a tray anyway and start making my way around the food-laden carts that ring the room. Peeta catches up with me at the stew.
"How's it going?" he asks.
"Good. Fine. I like the District Three victors," I say. "Wiress and Beetee."
"Really?" he asks. "They're something of a joke to the others."
"Why does that not surprise me?" I say. I think of how Peeta was always surrounded at school by a crowd of friends. It's amazing, really, that he ever took any notice of me except to think I was odd.
"Johanna's nicknamed them Nuts and Volts," he says. "I think she's Nuts and he's Volts."
"And so I'm stupid for thinking they might be useful. Because of something Johanna Mason said while she was oiling her breasts for wrestling." I bit my cheek the second the words were out.
"Actually I think the nicknames have been around for years. And I didn't mean that as an insult. I'm just sharing information," he says. His tone is cautious, but he is not going to say anything that could lead to something else.
To the outsiders it just looks like we are whispering together, like perfect little love birds.
"Well, Wiress and Beetee are smart. They invent things. They could tell by sight that a force field had been put up between us and the Gamemakers. And if we have to have allies, I want them." I toss the ladle back in a pot of stew, splattering us both with gravy.
"What are you so angry about?" Peeta demands, wiping the gravy from his shirtfront. "Because Johanna? Because I teased you?" Then he pauses, pursing his lips before scanning the area and whispering, "It's not about this morning, is it?" He looks pained. "What were you saying earlier, in the elevator?"
"Forget it," I say tersely with the shake of my head. "It doesn't matter, what I said. This is not about this morning. That was just... not bad." Peeta shifts his weight onto his opposite foot and I bite my cheek now, to hide a smile. "It's just a lot of things."
"Darius," he guesses.
"Darius. The Games. Haymitch making us team up with the others," I say.
"It can be just you and me, you know," says Peeta, placing a gentle hand on my lower back.
I like the idea, especially coming from him. He must have seen the light in my face because he's suddenly smiling. "Is that what you want?" he asks.
"I... don't know." I don't want to let on how much I like it. Plus, "Maybe Haymitch is right about the ally thing. Don't tell him I said so, but he usually is, where the Games are concerned."
"Well, then, you can have the final say about our allies. But right now I'm leaning towards Chaff and Seeder," Peeta compromises.
"I'm okay with Seeder, not Chaff."
"Come on and eat with him. I promise, I won't let him kiss you again," he assures me.
I agree to it, and Chaff doesn't seem as bad at lunch.
After lunch I do the edible-insect station with the District 8 tributes; Cecelia, who's got three kids at home, and Woof, a really old guy who's hard of hearing and doesn't seem to know what's going on since he keeps trying to stuff poisonous bugs in his mouth.
I wish I could mention meeting Twill and Bonnie in the woods, but I can't quite figure out how.
I start to like Cecelia. She talks calmly and sweetly to the bewildered, dazed Woof, where I would have lost my patience. She tells me about her kids, all boys, and she confesses that if she ever had a daughter, she would have wished her to be like Prim. Cecelia recalls almost every word that Prim has said in the family interviews and the ones they took during the Victory Tour.
Cashmere and Gloss, the sister and brother from District 1, invite me over and we make hammocks for a while. They're polite but cool, and I spend the whole time thinking about how I killed both tributes from their district, Glimmer and Marvel, last year, and that they probably knew them and might even have been their mentors. Both my hammock and my attempt to connect with them are mediocre at best.
I join Enorbaria at sword training and exchange a few comments, but it's clear neither of us wants to team up.
Finnick appears again when I'm picking up fishing tips, but mostly just to introduce me to Mags, the elderly woman who's also from District 4.
Between her district accent and her garbled speech–possibly she's had a stroke–I can't make out more than one in four words. She can make a decent fish hook out of anything though: a thorn, a wishbone, an earring.
After a while I tune out the trainer and simply try to copy whatever Mags does. When I make a pretty good hook out of a bent nail and fasten it to some strands of my hair, she gives me a toothless smile and an unintelligible comment I think might be a praise.
Suddenly I remember how she volunteered to replace the young, hysterical woman in her district. This cannot be because she thought she had a chance of winning. She did it to save the girl, just like I volunteered last year to save Prim. I decide I want her on my team.
Now I have to go back and tell Haymitch I want an eighty-year-old and Nuts and Volts and the most maternal victor in all of existence for my allies. He'll love that.
So I give up trying to make friends and go over to the archery range for some sanity. Maybe I could work off some of my frustration. It's wonderful there, getting to try out all the different bows and arrows. The trainer, Tax, seeing that the standing targets offer no challenge for me, begins to launch silly fake birds high into the air for me to hit.
At first, it seems stupid, but it turns out to be kind of fun. Much more like hunting a moving creature.
Since I'm hitting everyone he throws, he starts increasing the number of birds he sends airborne. I forget the rest of the gym and the victors and how miserable I am and lose myself in the shooting.
When I manage to take down five birds in one round, I realize it's so quiet I can hear each one hit the floor. I turn and see the majority of the victors have stopped to watch me. Their faces show everything from envy to hatred to admiration.
After training, Peeta and I hang out, waiting for Haymitch and Effie to show up for dinner. It is mostly spent loitering in the television room, in sight of the Capitol attendants, so we cannot get around to talking or doing anything of importance.
When we're called to eat, Haymitch pounces on me immediately. "So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally. I know it can't be you sunny personality."
"They saw her shoot," says Peeta with a smile. "Actually, I saw her shoot, for real, for the first time. I'm about to put in a formal request myself."
"You're that good?" Haymitch asks me. "So good that Brutus wants you?"
I shrug. "But I don't want Brutus. I want Mags, and Cecelia, and District Three."
"Of course you do." Haymitch sighs and orders a bottle of wine. "I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind."
After my shooting exhibition, I still get teased some, but I no longer feel like I'm being mocked. In fact, I feel as if I've somehow been initiated into the victors' circle. During the next two days, I spend time with almost everybody headed for the arena. Even the morphlings, who, with Peeta's help, paint me into a field of yellow flowers. Even Finnick, who gives me an hour of trident lessons in exchange for an hour of archery instruction.
The more I come to know these people, the worse it is. Because, on the whole, I don't hate them. And some I like. And a lot of them are so damaged that my natural instinct would be to protect them. But all of them must die if I am to save Peeta.
With Haymitch constantly hounding us from dawn to dusk about strategy plans, and Darius that haunts the hallways by night, Peeta and I have found very little time to talk and even less time alone, to continue or not to continue whatever it is that I started. When dinner ended the night before the final training day, and Haymitch is so drunk and exhausted that he merely wanders off with his bottle of alcohol, Peeta catches my eyes and we both excuse ourselves from Effie's presence.
I am just opening my bedroom door, when Peeta rests a hand on my elbow.
I turn to look up at him.
"Maybe... we should talk out here?" Peeta asks.
"What if Effie or Haymitch come along?" I say, shaking my head. "If you really need to talk about what happened, then come on. I don't have all my life."
Inside, I sit on the bed and Peeta stands nearer the door, clearly on edge.
There's no beginning explanation, no indication at all to what he's talking about, and Peeta says, "Aren't you worried? At all?"
"Worried about what?"
Peeta makes a frustrated, hand motion. "All of this. You are acting so different…"
He looks away from me. He chews on his lip. I think about chewing on his lip for him.
"I know I asked you on the train if you love me. Well, I guess I told you that I believe you do… and you denied it, but do you?" Peeta says, turning back to look at me. "Do you love me?"
I shift uncomfortably under his intense gaze. He looks at me as if me admitting it might change his whole world, as if it might change the fact that we are both trying to die for the other.
I search my mind for a way to answer him.
"I want you," I say, hoping it is enough.
"You want me, but do you love me?"
I look down at my feet. I could not deny that him and I have been closer than ever before. I cannot deny the feelings his eyes, his mouth, his hands draw from deep within me. Is this love?
Did it matter?
"I need you."
I wait for him to say something more. An objection? A confession? Outrage? Anything.
My fingernails dig into my forearm, waiting.
"I need you, too," he whispers.
I look up. His eyes are burning into mine.
"Then what's there to worry about?" I ask.
"Effie," Peeta says, smiling. "She might catch us."
He moves across the room to kiss me.