Chapter 28: Put Your Hands on Me

I am standing on the roof of the Training Center, dark bags under my eyes. Effie needed to wake me up to make sure I was ready on time this morning. The hovercraft's rotors are lazily spinning, and glancing into the belly of the plane, I can see that a handful of the other tributes – Cato among them – are already strapped into their seats. I don't want to release either of these kids into the Capitol's hands, to perhaps even sit next to the kid who could become their murderer.

Eyes swimming with tears, I wrap my youngest son in a tight hug. My voice cracks, and I don't care a bit, as I whisper out hoarsely, "I love you. I'm thankful every day that you're my son."

Peeta draws back, a weak smile of concern gracing his face. "Mom…? It's OK…." I can probably count on one hand the number of times he's seen me cry – his grandmama's (my mother's) funeral. The day Glen Everdeen died. I still can't find the effort to halt my tears. I could very well lose him – my baby – in less than an hour.

Then, I turn to Katniss, hugging her close too. Considering how Katniss freely gives her affection with only a select few people, I am quite honored that she hugs me back. "Always did want a daughter…" I murmur. "You're the closest one I've got."

Katniss leans back out of the hug, her own eyes glassy. She appears truly touched. I lay hands on both of my kids' shoulders. "When the gong goes off, both of you get out of there – immediately. Run, find water. The rest will follow after that."

They both nod, and I smile sadly. "Well… I'm afraid it's time." Turning them both to the plane, I have to work to get my hands to nudge them towards the thing, away from me, possibly forever. Sweet Panem, I hope the crazy plan that Chaff and I have concocted actually works! I wait until the hovercraft is but a speck in the sky, and I turn away.

I take the elevator all the way down to the street, and cross the busy thoroughfare and up one block to the Victors' Control Center. My hands are shaking so much, I doubt I would be able to competently hail a cab for the quick drive. Entering another elevator, I shoot up to the Mentors' Bar.

The bartender is dealing out drinks; Matthias Fletcher of District 5, who won on a bizarre technicality the year after Chaff (his final opponent went out in search of him, tripped and plummeted off a cliff) is already rooted to his usual stool and imbibing heavily. Nolan de Naro of 9 and Roan Tully of 10 are seated at one table, playing a game of cards and smoking. Nolan inhales a bit too much on quite the lazy drag and coughs.

"Careful, de Naro! That's fine Eleven tobacco!" Chaff admonishes his colleague as he approaches me to wrap me in a hug. Stepping out of the embrace, he gives me an easy smile and a little shake. "Relax, Maysie – they'll be all right. I've got it all worked out."

I smile weakly at him, even as I whimper, "Why don't I believe you?"

"You wound me," Chaff dramatically reels back, fake stung. "But really, I barely believe in myself, so you're not alone there." There's a raucous clamor of noise rearing up from where the Careers mentors are taking over their usual table and my friend takes the opportunity to lean in and whisper to me, "My contact on the inside is with us. He's enchanted by the Star-Crossed Lovers bit. He's going to use the arena to manipulate the public."

"And us?"

"We plant the seed with the media, but don't look like you're being intentional about it." As the natural white noise dies down, he leans back and flicks a loose strand of my blonde hair over my shoulder. "Got it?"

I nod, and head over to an empty table with him to turn on the mounted datapads. Check the gambling stats, the odds and most important of all, the gift prices. After a minute, Seeder joins us, stealing her arms around me. I lean into the touch like it's a lifeline and I hear the District 11 Victors murmuring low over my head:

"Looks like we got four kids we need to protect, Seeder, honey, not just two."

"Chaff Habarti, that soft heart of yours is going to get you in a lot of trouble someday. There can only be one Victor; you know that…" I have a feeling Seeder doesn't know about the plan – or maybe she does and is trying to act like she's in the dark.

"It's Maysie…" Chaff whimpers. "Seeder, this isn't like when other Victors have had their own babies go in – you and I have seen all of Peeta's baby pictures, for Snow's sake!"

Seeder exhales deeply. "What the hell is this, the Second Quarter Quell? Going through that shit once was enough!" My shaky laugh quickly turns into a sob, causing my friends to quickly stop their soft bickering.

I feel a looming shadow cast darkness over me and we all glance up to see Brutus's massive girth. Chaff glowers.

"Fuck outta here, Barsetti, and get back to your white apes!"

Brutus pouts. "What's with the hostility, Habarti? It's like my boy has killed yours already!"

Chaff barks out a dark laugh. "He won't."

I softly nudge Chaff away from me with a hesitant smile, and turn to face my old mentor. In the years we have worked together as mentors, he and I have been pitted against each other before. And in that time, District 2 has racked up four more wins to its name, two of those the result of Brutus coaching the eventual Victor personally. Whereas I have never had a single win. But something is clearly more charged about this year, as I have to watch my son and my goddaughter go up against a boy whom Brutus seems more excited about than he has about any tribute of his in years. Clearly, we both have a deeply personal interest in the outcome of these Games, and yet I have to remember the sportsmanship he and Ahenobarbus taught me: glory with honor.

"Hey: may the best tribute win." I reach out a hand.

Brutus turns away, cold. "He plans to." I lean back, blinking. As Brutus strides away to the Career tables (which are shaped like high-tech work tables that can be unclipped and wheeled around at will – particularly helpful when mentors have to glom together in an alliance), Chaff snorts.

"Fucking cunt. Cecelia must have rebuffed him again."

I swat at his bicep. "Language!"

He facetiously sneers at me. "Yes, Mama…"

A deafening swell of screams split the air and there is a mass rush of movement towards the front of the bar. From the curtained phone booths lining the far wall – that's where we go to telephone the families after their children die – Johanna Mason of District 7 stumbles out and races towards the group. Chaff chuckles.

"What, did Mason hide in there to make out with Finnick again?"

"She wouldn't do that – not when Annie's on mentoring duties this year!" It's not quite a guess on my part, so it is telling when Chaff concedes the point as though it is fact. He takes my arm and tries to lift me to my feet.

"Come on, honey…"

I fight to stay glued to my chair, suddenly paralyzed with fear. "No… I don't want to…"

"You have to, Maysie sweetie, it's the only way! Seeder and I will be right here with you…" Still, it takes both him and his old mentor to nearly carry me over to the bar, Chaff rudely yet adorably muscling people out of the way.

"Excuse us… pardon us… Eamon Sullivan, get the ever-loving fuck out of my face and find somewhere else to sit – mother of a tribute coming through!" A barstool nearly overturns as Eamon Sullivan of 7 (Blight's old mentor) topples out of it.

"And godmother…" I say weakly, thinking of my Katniss.

Chaff nods, remembering. "And godmother of a tribute too, might I add!"

"And your boy is wanking to her, Maysilee?" Someone hollers out; my eyes can't track to follow the voice. "Isn't that like incest?"

"Sad he won't share, are ya, Delacroix?" Chaff shoots back. "And incest – that's a right laugh, cause you would know!" Everyone howls at the putdown, and both Gloss and Cashmere Delacroix look like they want to stick Chaff with blades.

My eyes gingerly lift to the flatscreen TVs mounted above the bar, just in time to see the seal of the Hunger Games fade away and the cameras go live from one of the tributes' perspective. With the first-person view, I can't tell who it might be that's now rising up in the tubes, before emerging to look out at…

A forest of greenery. Trees seem to line every side of this arena, with the exception of a wheatfield stretching off to the west. The Cornucopia is set in a massive clearing; this year, the hull of the structure a gunmetal grey … as grey as my goddaughter's eyes…

My vision sweeps frantically, scanning for my two charges. Where are you… Where are you?!

There she is! Katniss is placed directly opposite the mouth of the horn. About five pedestals down from her is my son. I watch them share a look, and Peeta gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I have no clue what it could mean. Centered between the two of them as well as three others, Cato gets down into a crouch, an insatiable bloodthirst and open excitement in his eyes. Scanning my colleagues, I find Brutus within arm's reach of me. Grinning viciously.

"Strike first… strike hard… no…. mercy…."

Wait – I've never heard that one before –

The gong sounds.

And pretty much everyone, absent one or two people, runs for the stash of supplies.

Katniss sprints for something clearly in her line of vision about one hundred yards away, about two-thirds of the way to the horn. As she goes along, she snatches up a bright red-orange backpack without once breaking stride. Eyes gleaming, she reaches her target and snatches it up. My heart leaps with hope. A bow and quiver of arrows!

"Hey! That's mine!" My heart immediately reverses trajectory and stutters to a stop as Glimmer appears on screen, lunging for my goddaughter. Snarling, Katniss leaps back but Glimmer gets a hand on the bow and the two girls grapple for it. The Delacroix twins are leaping and hooting and hollering.

"Take the bitch out NOW, Glimmer!" Cashmere shrieks.

"Katniss, RUN!" I wail. A bow isn't worth it….

The field is rapidly congealing around the horn. But Katniss won't give up. Growling, she yanks the bow close, bringing Glimmer with her so that the blonde bombshell is off-balance. Katniss uses the motion to reverse quickly and now fling both opponent and object back.

Glimmer has no choice but to let go and she sails through the air…. connecting right with the metal hull of the Cornucopia. There is a sickening crack and she slides down the surface, blood pooling around her head. BOOM.

The Delacroix twins are both as stunned as Katniss now looks on the screen. Cashmere turns to me slowly, by degrees, her voice low and deadly as she shakes with blind rage. "What did your little bitch do….?!"

Meanwhile, Katniss quickly turns and flees, racing for the treeline. No one else gets into her path and tries to stop her, although Clove spots her and attempts to give chase. Her little legs have no hope of catching Katniss's long ones…

… But then Clove throws a knife with all her strength.

Katniss hears the air currents shifting and instinctively lifts the backpack across her shoulders up to cover her head. The knife impales itself into the fabric and Clove lets out a frustrated yell. I smirk at Enobaria's little tribute giving a weapon away.

Katniss has just reached the pedestals when she hears grunting and snarling and snaps her head to the left.

Cato has astonishingly made it not very far from where he started… and that's because my son has gotten in his way. The two boys are in a full-on fistfight, and I quickly deduce the reason: Cato must have made Katniss his primary objective, tried to weave left to cut her off before she reached the horn… and Peeta, anticipating this, must have moved to cut him off instead. As I watch in horror, Cato knocks Peeta to the ground and looms over him, ready to stomp on his head, or worse, get him in a chokehold. Peeta, come on, you know wrestling from your dad – do something!

He doesn't. Katniss does something instead.

"NO!" Her cry is high-pitched and plaintive, and an arrow is in the notch quick as lightning. She fires, right for Cato's head and Brutus bellows out, "DODGE, boy!"

Cato does – barely in time. The arrow's tip still manages to graze a trail along his forehead though, and he howls with pain. Had he moved a second later, it would have gone in his temple and been a ridiculous upset.

Katniss loads another arrow and fires again at Cato, whose attention she now fully has. Gritting his teeth and growling, Cato has to run to avoid the second barrage, and Katniss lets it go, knowing it will fly wide. She drove him away. She made him run.

Katniss and Peeta lock eyes. Leaping to his feet, he pelts for her. Eyes wide and frightened, the pair lace hands and run away from the Cornucopia together. The second they disappear into the treeline, I collapse, sobbing with relief, in Chaff's arms.

"They're all right… They're all right…" Chaff whispers to me, before letting out an enthusiastic whoop, nearly in my ear. "Wonderful girl! Might have to get in line behind your son because I'm beginning to like her!"

"Cool down, Chaff," Seeder chides.

Through the tangle of Chaff's limbs, I watch the rest of the Bloodbath with some semblance of calm. Blood pouring down into his eyes, Cato nevertheless gets his hands on a broadsword and sets to work in a blind rage. When all goes quiet, he, Clove and Marvel are standing back-to-back-to-back in a triangular posse ring, scores of bodies lying in heaps around them.

Bartimaeus Pastier of 2's jaw drops. "Holy Panem, how many are dead?!"

The cannons answer him – sixteen in all. That leaves these three Careers, Katniss and Peeta, and three others out there somewhere in the woods.

On Seeder's left, Finnick knocks back a drink before turning to draw an already weeping and rocking Annie into his side. "Worst. Bloodbath. Ever."

Chaff, Seeder and I hobble back to our table, and the Career mentors scramble to give their trio whatever gifts they can. Not that they need them – they have the run of the Cornucopia now. The only other mentor to lunge for his datapad is a falling-down drunk Matthias Fletcher, and that's when I realize: one of his tributes is still alive – the sly girl is now onscreen running through the woods.

If Finnick thinks this was the worst bloodbath ever, Caesar is practically giddy as he insists that it's one of the best, if not the best. Seeder is shaking her head sadly.

"I don't think I've ever seen a opening day kill count this high…"

I smile at her wanly. "My year had eighteen fall at the horn, nineteen by the time the sun went down. Don't you remember?"

"Well, yeah, but you had double the numbers. It's different…"

Caesar has now cut away from his commentary, back over to the three Careers – an unusually weak pack this year, he notes. With his only allies a ferocious, 5-foot-tall pixie and a half-retarded dolt, Cato easily assumes the role of Pack Leader. Crossing over to Glimmer's body, he kneels next to it.

"What happened here? Anyone see?" His voice is a growl.

Marvel raises his hand with the enthusiasm of a kindergartener. I am oddly reminded of poor old Beech Berryhill. Cato suppresses an eye-roll, pretending to choose between the only two other people standing in the clearing.

"Yes…. Marvel?"

"Stupid Glimmer got into a fight with the Twelve bitch over her bow. Got flung into the horn."

Cato swears and kicks at the dirt. "I should have known that was her weapon of choice – that must be how she outclassed me in Training!" He paces like a tiger. "Our biggest opponent is now at-large, armed and dangerous… and she's with her squeeze-toy, the Mama's Boy of that Donner woman…" He throws out his hands at the carnage wrought around them. "This is a disaster!" he declares. "What a terrible bloodbath!"

Clove and Marvel look at each other, clearly not sharing his opinion, though both are also clearly wary of Katniss. Clove doesn't bring up how she almost stuck Katniss with a knife, perhaps fearing if she did, it might get Cato even more upset… and maybe result in deadly consequences.

"So…. what do we do?" Marvel voices stupidly.

Cato sneers ferally. "Look to the sky tonight to see who else lives. Then… we go hunting."


By the time darkness falls, the Mentors' Bar has largely emptied out. Only a handful of mentors, including me, still have a stake in these Games. The phone booths on the far wall were ringing off the hook all this afternoon, a steady stream of Victors stepping behind the curtains to make that call no one wants to make.

We are at the Final Eight on the first day – a record, Claudius Templesmith gushes. Camera crews are having to scramble to get down to Districts 1, 2, 5, 11 and 12. Of the eight tributes remaining, six are still within intact district pairs – Cato and Clove. Both of my friends' tributes, Thresh and Rue. And Peeta and Katniss. Marvel and the District 5 girl, Demelza, are the only ones who have lost their district partner.

Brutus, Enobaria Malachite and the Delacroix twins are huddled low over their one table, heatedly whispering. Towards the opposite end of the room, the three District 5 mentors – Matthias Fletcher, Emrys Avery and Circe Montoya (their only woman) – are going through the list of items and prices on their datapads. Demelza has no weapon that I can see; she and Rue are the only tributes who didn't even try to make The Run, which was probably smart of them. She doesn't look like a fighter, and seems to prefer sneaking around and foraging what she can.

The blue light of the datapad illuminates Chaff's face as he ganders through the list of prices. Not only is he searching for something to send to Thresh and Rue, but he has taken to keeping an eye out for Katniss and Peeta as well. I am just beginning to recover from the terror of this morning, my nerves no longer totally shot.

The knowledge that Thresh escaped to take shelter in the wheat fields at the far edge of the arena did little to improve Cato's overall mood. Even he seems leery of trying to go in after the imposing black boy, but the forest is even more intimidating. One could easily get lost in those trees. Rue has taken to making the upper canopies of these redwoods and birches her home. Demelza is skirting along the edge of the forest, ringing around in a circular pattern – if she goes much farther, she'll enter the wheatfields where Thresh is hiding.

"Why don't we just split off now?" Clove asks aloud, the boys turning to look at her.

"What? And no melee?" Marvel pouts. Gods, he really is thick. If he thinks he would come out of a melee on top, then I'm President Snow.

Clove shrugs. "Two of the survivors are practically mincemeat, and hell, Lover Boy, Mama's Boy or whatever we're calling him is too." My eyes narrow into slits, the mama bear in me hissing. "That only leaves Thresh and the Twelve Bitch – each one of us could take them on in individual combat."

Cato emphatically shakes his head. "No. We act as a unit and hunt until it's only us left. Then we melee."

Clove scowls, folding her arms. "Fine. So who's our first target?"

As much as he doesn't like the idea, Cato points into the wheatfields. "The Thresh kid turned us down. He has to pay for that. Let's go."

"Wait," Marvel calls. "Shouldn't someone stand guard?"

Cato glances back like he could care less, but says, "Since you've volunteered, Marvel, you can do it."

Marvel nods, standing a little straighter with his weapon of choice – a spear – at the ready.

Cato signals Clove with a jerk of his head. "Let's go." And District 2 disappears into the tall grasses.

Seeder looks to Chaff. "Shouldn't we send him something?"

"We can't warn them about the arena's dangers or incoming tributes, Seeder," Chaff frowns. "Besides, Thresh has a scythe, he took down three at the Bloodbath – he can handle himself against Cato."

"And Clove with him?" Seeder presses, doubtful. He doesn't answer her.

Caesar now cuts away finally to my kids. Katniss and Peeta have come across a cave, and decided to take shelter in there for the night. They barely get in ahead of a driving thunderstorm.

"Can we light a fire?" my son shivers. I study the datapad to realize that the temperature is dropping dangerously low.

Katniss gropes and searches along the dank stone ground in the dark. "No flint, at least not that I can see." She studies the fabric of the jumpsuit across her shoulders. "These jackets have internal heating – as long as we keep them on, we should be safe." Though she doesn't sound confident.

The pair of them sit down, side by side, looking out at the sheet of water coming down ahead of them. There is a long and tense silence before Peeta gets out:

"Thank you. For saving my life."

Katniss turns to study him intensely. "Always," she breathes out. He lifts his eyes back to hers. The entire atmosphere, there and here in the Mentors' Bar is so tense, the air practically vibrates with it.

Finally, my goddaughter speaks: "Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"…. When did you first fall in love with me? Um… why?"

Peeta smirks at her fondly. "I think I can answer both of those questions at once: it was the first day of school, remember? We were in assembly, and the Teacher asked who knew the Valley Song and your hand shot straight up! You sang it for the whole student body, and every single bird outside the window fell silent… It was the most beautiful thing I ever heard." His voice has softened to a mere whisper.

Katniss's eyes are huge and sparkling in the moonlight as another memory washes over her. "You and I met in the schoolyard…" she breathed. "Under your mom's statue… and you told me… you were going to marry me." Even though it's almost pitch-black dark, I know she is blushing beet red.

Peeta beams, surprised and pleased that she remembered. "Exactly."

What little lighting the camera crews can manage when getting an angle in on the kids captures a single tear blazing a path down Katniss's cheek. Then another falls. And another. She is weeping now, pursing her lips and shaking her head. A tiny whimper escapes her. For Katniss to feel so acutely must be, at least for her personally, disastrous; for us watching in the audience, it is television gold.

"I don't know how I can love you the way that you love me," Katniss sobs. Peeta takes this to mean some kind of rejection, his face falling. Panicked, Katniss tries to better explain what she means. "No, I mean, it's just that… I'm not good at saying anything," she admits quietly. Taking a breath, she starts over.

"When… my daddy died… it destroyed my mother emotionally. She shut down… for a long time. Auntie Maysilee and your dad helped us out quite a lot, but for me, I saw how much in love my mother was with my father, and how losing him destroyed her. I promised myself that I would never fall in love with anyone the way she fell in love with him." She pauses, another tear slipping down her cheeks. "But then…"

"But then…?" Peeta prompts. We all lean forward eagerly.

Katniss doesn't meet the moment. But she does continue on to say, "I don't think I can love you the way that you deserve, Peeta. I'm not exactly a lovable person to begin with, and I know how I don't open up to many people – for good reason. I'm… afraid of getting hurt."

This is absolutely extraordinary. Never, in her entire sixteen years of life, have I ever seen Katniss lay bare her soul this excruciatingly. And my wonderful son knows just how to handle it, smiling at her soothingly.

"I think I see the problem," he concludes at last. "You are so afraid of loving someone else and then losing that someone, that love, that you've convinced yourself you're unworthy of love. You're wrong. You are trying to fight a feeling that can very much be irrational… with more irrationality." Katniss gawps at him, and fearing he has offended her, Peeta has to also more deeply clarify what he means. "That's not to say that what you're feeling isn't valid – it is. But you should be loved, Katniss. Everyone deserves to be loved – you, most of all. You're more than worthy of being loved in return."

Katniss is gazing at Peeta as though she has never seen him before. Slowly, she reaches out and caresses his face. The tears are a waterfall now, like the one cascading over the entrance of the cave, created by the downpour of rain. My goddaughter chokes down a sob. "You're not lying – you really do love me."

"I've always loved you, Katniss," Peeta gives her an absolutely smoldering smile. "You just weren't paying attention."

She laughs musically – a real, genuine laugh from her that sadly quickly dies out. "For all the good it does us now. We've just found each other, and at least one of us will have to die." She is doing that wringing of her hands that is a telltale sign that she is nervous, aided now by her one hand running through the braid in her hair, which is already starting to come loose. My goddaughter eyes Peeta askance. "If… if there was some way… we could be together…."

"But we can't…" Peeta bemoans.

"Let's just… pretend for a moment." She smiles weakly at him. "If we could leave this arena together… would… would you still want to have a Toasting?"

Claudius chooses this precise moment to interrupt my son's answer by cutting away from the coverage to ask what a Toasting is. Caesar and half of the studio audience yell at him to cut back, and he quickly does so, flustered by their enthusiasm.

Luckily, we didn't miss much, and Katniss is asking Peeta another question. If she was any redder, she probably would be on fire. "… Would you want to have children?"

"Oh, definitely," Peeta chuckles, and his normally brilliant blue eyes have clouded over with desire. "Nothing would make me happier."

Katniss looks away, appearing guilty. She is running her fingers through the strands of her hair more intensely now, so that the braid really is starting to come loose from its bands. "I couldn't. Have children, I mean. Babies are something to love only for them to become something to lose at the Reaping. Besides… I'd be a horrible mother."

"Katniss," Peeta grins at her easily. "I know your mother struggled after your dad died. But if she made any mistakes in parenting, that doesn't mean you would. Again, you think you don't have any love to give, but you do – you have plenty of love to give. And all you have to do is see what you did for Prim."

Claudius seizes on this thread to cut away from the broadcast again and replay Katniss volunteering at the Reaping. The audience's dramatic sighing quickly turns into impatient boos. They want to see more – more of the Star-Crossed Lovers! However, I have the most thrilling suspicion that they're booing more than just Claudius's poor splicing skills. Beside me, Chaff is grinning from ear-to-ear. He leans over to me and his breath ghosts my earlobe.

"Forget manipulating the media – these brilliant kids have done all the work for us!"

Claudius is even quicker to cut back to the broadcast this time and give the people what they are demanding. The feed cuts back in to find Peeta and Katniss making out rather ferociously. My goddaughter's hair is now free from its braid, the chestnut ringlets cascading down her back. To my astonishment, Katniss's fingers are groping down for the waistband of Peeta's trekky jeans. Peeta freezes against her, and breaking the kiss, Katniss does too. They gaze at each other with unmasked lust, which in Katniss's eyes is quickly mixed in with naked vulnerability and maybe a little bit of fear. Do they dare?

"Don't be afraid…" Peeta's voice is a hoarse croak.

"I'm not afraid," Katniss cuts across him sharply. She laces her fingers through Peeta's and guides his one palm to cup her breast. Her voice is breathless as she whispers:

"Put your hands on me, Peeta."

My son dives in to kiss her, and her tongue meets his eagerly. The audio is picking up Katniss moaning prettily as she lies back down on the cool stone, taking Peeta with her so that he moves to straddle her. Breathing becoming heavy and labored, she spreads her legs for him, opening her knees so that he can nestle there…

Seeder prudishly bristles. "They aren't seriously going to show…?"

Suddenly, a white-plated Peacekeeper approaches our table. "Mr. Habarti, Ms. Crue, Ms. Donner, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."

"Oh, come on!" Chaff roars. "We were just getting to the best part!"

"Now, Mr. Habarti." Over at the Career table, I can see a similar officer speaking quietly to Brutus Barsetti and Enobaria Malachite. Enobaria nudges Brutus to go with the Peacekeeper, opting to stay behind. We quickly join Brutus by the doors, and are marched into the elevator to ride down to the street. The dinky elevator music seems downright funny compared to the gravity of the scene we've just left. Compared to the gravity of what we might be walking into. I feel myself start to sweat. Have we been found out? Are we being outmaneuvered? Chaff seems almost buoyant, so I am less inclined to think so, though the paranoia is still there. And if this really were about the rebel plot being found out, then why would Brutus be conscripted into tagging along? He's no rebel – he loves the Games. Still, I feel the need to ask my District 11 friends:

"What is this about?"

"They only asked for mentors who still have both their tributes alive," Seeder deduces. "So it must be something about that."

When we emerge from the Victor Control Center, the scene on the street is an absolute madhouse. To my shock, I quickly realize: it is a protest. People are protesting and chanting, "They both must live! They both must live!" The Peacekeepers trying to hold back the tide – a task they are normally able to do so effectively – actually appear frazzled.

Seeder stares, mouth agape. "A protest… in the Capitol itself." The very idea of it is madness. Unheard of.

Chaff is practically skipping down the sidewalk as if the Winter Festival has come early. Over the sheer din, I manage to hiss in his ear: "Stop acting so damn happy! You'll give the game away!" But my own heart is beginning to swell with hope. Is it possible…?

The officers hail a cab for us, and our quartet is ushered in. The ride to the Gamemakers' Headquarters is strangely quiet. The Hunger Games can make for some very strange bedfellows – such can be the nature of alliances – but Brutus and Chaff are making a concerted effort to not acknowledge each other. Thinking back to one of the first times I saw them together – the first time I met Chaff, waking up in the hospital after leaving the arena – I have to wonder if they've had some falling out that completely escaped my notice. Both men won the Games only three years apart; they're peers. I put it out of my mind.

We stop in front of Headquarters and are spirited almost furtively into the building. Media and paparazzi have gotten wind of the four mentors being called in for some kind of meeting with Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane and his associate, Plutarch Heavensbee, and have obviously come to the conclusion that it must have something to do with the surviving tribute pairs.

"Seeder! Seeder! Over here!"

"Maysilee, is this about the protests over Katniss and Peeta?"

"Brutus, will two tributes actually be allowed to live?!"

"Preposterous!" Brutus snaps back at the reporter. "And you can quote me on that!"

"Chaff, care to comment?!"

We enter the building and are rushed into yet another elevator, which zooms us right up to the top floor. The Gamemaker Control Room. Guided down a path of catwalks, overlooking men and women in white lab coats studying a blue holographic schematic of the arena, I see that we are being directed to a fishbowl conference room. Two men – one with a fancily trimmed beard, the other a balding man with blonde hair – await us inside.

The Peacekeepers escort us in and close the doors behind us. The bearded man stands and smiles at us.

"Good evening, mentors. Congratulations on having both your tributes reach the Final Eight. I am Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker, and this is my Deputy, Plutarch Heavensbee."

The balding man rises with a smile and actually moves to shake each of our hands in turn. His smile widens when he gets to me, his eyes blazing with excitement. I feel Chaff surreptitiously nudge me in the ribs, but I don't need his signal – I know I am looking into the eyes of his rebel friend, the one who has somehow managed to infiltrate the Gamemakers and ride almost all the way to the very top.

"I am so honored to have you all here," Plutarch gushes, emphasizing the word 'honored' while looking at me. "In light of recent events, public opinion has swelled to such an unprecedented extent that we here at Gamemakers Headquarters are considering a monumental decision: a Rule Change, one that would allow two tributes to live if they are the last ones alive and if they are from the same district."

I resist the urge to have my eyes bulge. We did it. Chaff's and my desperate gambit actually seems to have worked. A Rule Change in the Hunger Game is very, very rare. I've never seen one as a mentor, mostly because outside of needing to stay on your pedestal for the first sixty seconds, there are no rules. Really, a Rule Change is kind of like an amendment. Older Victors, like Mags and Bovina Martinez of District 10, have told me that Rule Changes were a lot more common in the early years of the Games, mostly amendments to refine the process – there can be no cannibalism, for example. A rabid boy from 6 by the name of Titus nearly became Victor one year by butchering and then eating his victims. The Capitol citizenry couldn't stomach it, so Titus was taken out before he could capture the Crown.

Seneca raises a hand, as if to calm Plutarch down. "It would just be for this year, and… in the interest of fairness, we have determined that the tributes from Districts 11 and 2 are also eligible to benefit from this rule change."

I can feel Brutus glowering at me, livid at Seneca all but saying, This Rule Change is really to benefit Katniss and Peeta, but we don't want to look like we're biased so…. I can't imagine why he shouldn't be happy - Cato and Clove could still win this and thus walk out of the arena alive together, as much as I might not wish for that to happen.

"Before we announce it to the press and to the tributes in the arena, we want you all to agree to the proposal…" Seneca now glances around, as if realizing something. "Wait… where is Enobaria Malachite?"

"Previous engagement," Brutus rumbles. "She won't be joining us. She hopes you understand."

Seneca purses his lips. "I see. Well, then we'll just have to make do with you four. A simple majority of three will approve the proposal; no one may abstain. All in favor, say A…."

"Aye."

"Aye."

"Aye."

Chaff, Seeder and I all give our consent before Seneca has even finished giving us instructions. Brutus's jaw clenches as he stews. He is outnumbered, outflanked. He might not like the proposal, but he will have to go along.

"Mr. Barsetti?" Plutarch prompts. "We still need an answer from you."

Brutus grinds his teeth, once again glaring at me. I keep my expression passive. At last, he gets out:

"Nay."

Not that it will do any good. Plutarch said a majority was needed. He nods.

"Majority rules. We will announce the Change in the morning." He glances back to the TV mounted on the far wall, which is playing continuous Games coverage. I can see Caesar cutting to a rerun of a past Games. To my shock, I recognize it as my own - the X-rated version, which would show Haymitch making love to me in the forest grasses, as the footage now depicts. Then, another piece of old footage is aired, grainy. I don't recognize it, and the closed captioning from Caesar describes it as never-before-seen footage from the… 10th Games? I watch, astonished, as a girl in a yellow sundress embraces a boy from District 7 named Treech. The boy convulses, and the girl draws back regretfully, holding a rainbow rattler in her hand.

My jaw drops: it's Lucy Gray Baird.

I barely hear Seneca and Plutarch dismissing us. The latter stops Chaff and I, waiting until Brutus has stormed from the room.

"I'd like to talk to you two about some ideas I have for mentors'… increased involvement for next year. I think the Quell we have planned is something we'll never forget." Chaff nods once, seeming to comprehend the vagaries in this innocuous statement. It takes me a moment to catch up, but when I do, I also nod.

As we leave with Seeder, my mind is spinning. If what I digested is correct, then Plutarch has even more audacious plans to strike against the Capitiol. The rebellion could very well be at hand.

But first…. We have to get two tributes out of the arena alive. That means that Marvel and Demelza, the only singletons left, will have to die. And as much as I love Chaff, as much as I still have a complicated sense of caring for Brutus, the two tributes left standing have to be Katniss and Peeta.


It is the wee hours of the morning when the four of us get back to the Mentors' Bar. Coverage on the flatscreens is currently resting on Cato and Clove, who are combing the wheatfields by the light of the full moon and jumping at every little thing that goes bump in the night. The studio laughtrack is going almost ceaselessly, and I fight the urge to chortle myself.

Then Caesar gleefully suggests we check on our Star-Crossed Lovers from District 12. The camera opens into darkness, panning through the gloom and dampness of the cave. The broadcast switches, splicing in from another angle.

All at once, a hand slaps onto the glass of the hidden camera lens, fingers curling against the surface before sliding away, leaving a dewey print behind.

The camera zooms out, then dips down. Katniss's hand has fallen to claw at the rippling shoulder blades of my son, as he thrusts in and out of her sopping wet pussy while making tender love to her. Peeta's lips tear out of the passionate kiss they have been sharing to dip into her neck, sucking at the pulse point just above her collarbone.

"Huhh….. Uhhhh…" Katniss's head lolls to one side to grant him better access, her back arching as she grips Peeta's buttocks in her fists and furiously humps against him, matching him thrust for thrust. "Oh, gods….. Yessss… Faster…. Faster….. Harder – HARDER!" Her breathy cries turn into a plaintive wail.

"Shit, Katniss…." Peeta moans, slamming into her harder.

"Oh, Peeta….. love me…. I want you to love me…. I want you to fuck me…." she growls, spits out the last word like it's a curse.

Peeta rides her all the harder, and Katniss's moans turn into pretty squeaks. Finally, with a squeal, she convulses as she rides out her orgasm. Peeta made her cum. Another weak slam, two, and Peeta shudders. He looks like he wants to pull out, but Katniss clamps her powerful thighs around his middle.

"You're not going anywhere," she snarls ferociously. "You're going to cum deep inside me. And you can stay there as long as you like." Her words finally take my son over the edge, and he ejaculates hard into her.

There is a long silence, the atmosphere steamy and the hot mist from their lovemaking dissipating. Katniss and Peeta kiss again softly, and he pulls out, rolling off and tucking her into him, spooning her.

My goddaughter seems dazed, her voice having now taken on a dreamy quality. "So…." she murmurs, lying in post-coital bliss. "That's what it's like."

"What is?" Peeta grins goofily as he dips a kiss into her shoulder.

The camera gets a close-up of Katniss cringing on the word she says next. "Sexxxxxx….."

Peeta bursts into laughter. "Gosh, you're pretty amazing to do it so passionately when you can't even talk about it…."

Katniss also giggles, snuggling against him. "I've heard plenty of Seam girls at school talking about what it's like, what they do at the Slag Heap. I never understood what all the fuss was about." Craning her head to gaze at him, she smiles shyly. "Now I do."

Peeta beams at her, and they kiss lightly. His body is shuddering again, like it was when he was coming deep inside his lover, except he's no longer inside her. And Katniss notices.

"What is it?" she croons, softly caressing his cheek. "Peeta… are you cold?" I scan the temperature stats frantically, and realize she may have landed on the right answer: the night has dropped to almost intolerable depths, and after all, they are both naked. The body heat they have accrued from having sex won't keep them warm forever, unless they get dressed again and quickly.

"Don't worry," Peeta pants. "I'll be all right," even as he shivers violently. He releases Katniss and turns away, dropping into the fetal position as he continues to shudder. Katniss gazes down at him in sheer panic, lost in love.

"No…. no, please!" She wraps him in her arms again, presses herself against him in the hopes that their collective body heat might keep them both warm. "Please don't leave me…. please…." Katniss is full-on crying again, and then she says the three little words that I never thought I would hear her say to my son:

"I love you."