Hi everyone!

I'm uploading this on time (YAY) I got 5 more reviews, which gave me some motivation :D

On to the chapter...

Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games

KATNISS

The orange light from the sunset has faded, leaving the sky coal-black. As well as my room. I didn't bother to turn on the light when I first came in, just headed for the shower. I took way too long under the steaming water. It felt wasteful; in Twelve, I'd never had a shower or even a hot bath. But the Capitol spared no expense for this death shuttle. I'll lounge in comfort while heading to die.

At least the shower gave me something to do. Now I'm just lying on the bed stewing in the day's events, my words to Peeta. It doesn't help the weight on my chest, nor the headache I've developed. I need to distract myself. Dinner would be nice.

After leaving the viewing room, I'd gone straight to my compartment. By the time my shower was done, the train had settled down. I was sure they'd already served dinner, but I wasn't that hungry. More sick than anything. But now my stomach is growling softly.

I didn't see a car dedicated to dining, but I'm sure I can find it. And if not, there's always the Capital attendants standing at the ready. Even if I'd rather not talk to them.

The door opens silently and I slip into the next room. I've gone about four cars with no luck, not that I expected anything there. I'd already seen them on the way to my room. The next door slides open and I'm just over the threshold when I spot Peeta. I thank whoever oiled those doors as it closes without a sound. It's the viewing room; he's lying on the couch I sat in earlier. His last words run around my head. 'When you're ready to talk, I'll be here'.

I do want to talk. Desperately. But not to him.

I don't even know who I'd want to see.

I'm away from home for the first time in my life. Sent to die. But he's the only one that can understand.

And if I'm being honest, I feel guilty. It's not something I experience often. But he's only ever been kind, and I was ruthless.

It's a bad idea. I'd just severed our tie hours ago. Talking would only make me more confused. Because I know Peeta. He'll convince me that we should work together.

I shouldn't talk to him.

But my feet carry me out of the shadows.

PEETA

The couch is so comfortable I could sink in and be lost forever. It's preferable to a violent, bloody end. Don't think about that. Still, I'm in danger of drifting off to sleep. I'd gone to shower and change, hoping to wipe the day's memories off me. It didn't work. Though the hot water did help me relax. For a second. But when I stepped out, the cold air rushed to meet me.

The clothes I wear are softer than anything I'd worn before. Especially the pants. Grey sweats with soft fuzz lining them. Anything I own has been handed down from Rye or Nick. Or both. Washed so many times it's stiff, starchy. The shirt is equally as strange. It's white, a color rarely seen in District 12. The only white I own is my dress shirt. The one for the Reaping. White doesn't last long; it's inevitably stained with coal. The fact that this casual article of clothing is white… it's odd. I don't know how to feel. A common theme today.

I can't make sense of Katniss's words. I know what she's trying to do, but I don't understand why. Slicing me with cruel taunts so I hate her. As if I could. But why is she so set on that?

I'm lying here on the slim chance she comes to talk. Pathetic.

Because those words did hurt me. Though I don't expect her to accept my offer. I doubt she even considered it. .

Which is why I'm surprised a figure emerges from the darkness.

I know it's her. I'd know her anywhere, even as a silhouette. And when she steps into the lamplight, my breath catches. Which is ridiculous. I've seen her a thousand times, known her for ten years. This should be no different - there's still a guarded look, a fighting stance. But it feels different. She's hesitant. It's unsettling.

She walks towards me without a word and I sit up, drawing my legs in. A silent invitation.

She accepts. Hunched over, arms wrapped around her legs. We stare at each other. She won't speak first, so I do. "You don't need to like me, or trust me, but we need to be civil at the very least." No reaction. "But I'd like to be allies."

She's quiet for a moment. A long one. And when she speaks, she sounds defeated. "What's the point?"

I'm not sure what she means. So I state the obvious. "More sleep, two more eyes, shared resources, another-"

"No," she cuts me off. "Not that… I know the advantages of an alliance. I mean, what happens when one of us dies. I-" She stops, looking conflicted. Almost scared.

Oh. Her father. His death broke her mother. I know it affected Katniss, but to what extent, I was never sure. She hid it well.

This isn't about strategy. Or trust. "You're scared of getting hurt."

The silence stretches, and that's an answer in itself. But she still doesn't respond. What if that was too blunt? I might have fucked up the one chance she'll give me.

"Yes." It's so soft, I can barely hear her. But her voice lifts the weight off my shoulders. She'll talk to me. After years of sharp words and exchanges that didn't even resemble a conversion, she admits this. Something she clearly sees as a weakness. I don't know why she's choosing now to have progress, but better late than never. When she speaks again, her voice is husky. Even without light to show her face, I know she's holding back tears. "Peeta–I don't know what we have. I don't know how to feel about it." I almost miss her next words. She thinks there's something. "But I know… If I have any attachment to you, let myself feel anything at all… It'll just be a weakness in the arena."

The wall around her feelings… I'm starting to understand. It's not that Katniss is unfeeling, she doesn't let herself feel. When we were younger, she was cheerful. Open. The death of her father… I didn't know how deep it cut. I assumed it was the stress from providing for her family. She never cried over her father, not that I could see. But by that point, she didn't let anyone see.

I just need to take it slow. No expectations, no pressure. In the dim lighting, I see her head lift. Expecting my answer. "Then don't. Don't let yourself feel. We don't need a connection." But we have one. "I don't need affection." But I want you. "We'll just work together. It's the smartest thing to do. Can you try that?"

She stares at me. The train curves, allowing moonlight to shine through the windows. It illuminates her grey eyes to silver. Or maybe it's tears. "Yes."

A long pause. "I'll try."

It's a start.

I'm seeing a new side of her. She's letting me see a new side. Vulnerability. I'm not sure how to feel about it. My heart is quite literally pounding with the knowledge she's opening up to me. Even if it's only a crack. But at the same time, I hate it. Hate that she is cracking. Because it's obvious she's hurting.

I shift closer and don't realize what I'm doing until her hand is in mine.

She stiffens.

Too soon. I'm waiting for her to pull away, maybe say the alliance is off before it even started. But her face shoulders relax and I hear a sigh.

And I fully realize her hand is in mine. It's calloused, likely from years of hunting and skinning animals. I risk stroking the back of her hand with my thumb.

There's a tiny smile. A smile? This is not normal. Something must be very wrong for her to be comfortable like this. Then again, we are going to the Hunger Games. That in itself is very wrong.

Her eyes close and I'm able to stare without worrying about being caught.

She's amazing. Lean muscle shows in her arms, but it's still a soft curve from neck to shoulder. It's graceful, leading to the hollows underneath. Am I really admiring her collar bones right now? I'm so far gone. It's the artist's mind. Not the horny teenager brain.

Her eyes open and she drops my hand like it's burning hot. But I couldn't care less. It's not me, it's her fear. I'm ecstatic she trusted me this much in the first place.

The couch shifts accompanied by a stirring of air. She walks over to a silver bowl, grabbing a couple of apples.

The door is about to open, but my mouth does first. "Night, Katniss."

She turns around, and I struggle to breathe. There's this look on her face. Soft, caring, sweet. Emotions I've never seen her wear.

Her lips part and I try to focus on her words. Not how soft they look. Or how warm I know they feel.

"Goodnight, Peeta."

And she's gone.

So am I.

Ok, I know that this was very short, but it was either that, or super long. Even though I'm sure you guys wouldn't have minded... this way I have a chapter in the bank.

I know this may seemed un-Katniss-like, but don't worry. It was just a moment of weakness; she'll still be our stubborn, sullen girl. However, I really wanted to put it in my version so they've established some type of relationship going into training. That way it's not a huge change for when she gets a bit closer to Peeta. Comment how you feel about it, I'd really love the feedback.

Also, 5 more reviews! AHHHH! Honestly, it means the world. I got one anon comment that was critical, but in a very respectful way. I welcome any constructive criticism. And since I can't PM that person, I'll comment here: My Katniss is going to be different from cannon, and the main purpose of that last bit of dialogue was to show people what the story would feel like later on. She's going to be more outspoken, so it's not out of character for my rewrite. However, I appreciated your review and hope that didn't stop you from keeping up with this story.

Please, please review. Thanks to Owlthewriter, Dancer0109, I Am Your Tribute, and Evangeline the Gothic Angel.