A/N: Hello hello! This is going to be pure rant about something irrelevant, so feel free to skip :)

SO. Usually I spend Thursday nights home alone, with some good food, watching TV and writing fanfic. My parents take my brother to youth group about 45 minutes away, and hang out there all night (yes, I live with my parents- I'm in grad school, you think I can afford to move out?). But no, last night, I was on my way to Target and someone WITHOUT A LICENSE OR INSURANCE had to BE ON THEIR PHONE AND TURN LEFT INTO ME AND TOTAL MY CAR. So I'm stressed. And mad. And apparently have to buy a car eight months after the last one. And I didn't get to write last night, which makes me sad, because that's my only solid chunk of time to write. So PSA: do NOT freaking BE ON YOUR PHONE while you are DRIVING.

Thanks for coming to my TedTalk. And thanks for continuously reading my rambles!

The Report is lacking material following what the public will see as a rather uneventful week. No parties, no eliminations, no fights. They didn't release that the king and Maxon went to New Asia, even. After the brief update from the king on the progress of the war, the floor is turned over to Gavril, who is now interviewing the remaining Elite in a casual manner about things that don't seem to matter at this point in the competition.

"Lady Celeste, have you seen the princess' suite?" Gavril asks jovially.

I grin to myself, catching Maxon's eye for a split second. He winks, of course. Celeste's perfect smile manages to widen and she flips her hair over her shoulder playfully before answering.

"Well, Gavril, not yet. But I'm certainly hoping to earn the privilege. Of course, King Clarkson has provided us with the most beautiful accommodations, I can't imagine anything better than what we already have. The, um… the beds are so…"

Celeste stammers just a bit as her eyes catch two guards rushing into the studio. Our seats are arranged in such a way that I can see them as they run to the king, but Kriss and Elise have their backs to the action. They both try to turn their heads discreetly, but it does them no good.

"Luxurious. And it would be more than I could dream of to…" Celeste continues, not totally focused on her answer.

But it appears she doesn't need to be. The king stands and comes over, cutting her off.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption, but this is very urgent." He clutches a piece of paper in one hand as he smooths his tie with the other. He is composed as he speaks. "Since our country's birth, the rebel forces have been the bane of our society. Over the years, their means of attacking the palace, not to mention the common man, have become far more aggressive.

"It appears they have sunk to new lows. As you may well know, the four remaining young ladies of the Selection represent a wide range of castes. We have a Two, a Three, two Fours, and a Five. We're honored to have such a varied group, but this has given a strange incentive to the rebels."

The king looks over his shoulder at us before continuing. "We are prepared for the attacks on the palace, and when the rebels attack the public, we intercede as best we can. And I would not worry you if I thought that I, as your king, could protect you, but…"

"The rebels are attacking by caste."

The words hang in the air. In an almost friendly gesture, Celeste and I share a confused glance.

"They have wanted to end the monarchy for a long time. Recent attacks on the families of these young girls have shown the lengths that they're prepared to go to, and we've sent guards from the palace to protect the Elite's loved ones. But now that is not enough. If you are a Two, Three, Four, or Five- that is, in the same caste as any of these ladies- you may be subject to an attack from the rebels based on that fact alone."

I cover my mouth and hear Celeste suck in a breath.

"Beginning today, the rebels intend to attack Twos and work their way down the castes," the king adds solemnly.

It is sinister. If they can't get us to abandon the Selection for our families, they will get a very large portion of the country to want us out. The longer we hold on, the more people will hate us for risking their lives.

"That is sad news, indeed, my king," Gavril says, breaking the silence.

The king nods. "We will seek a solution, of course. But we have reports of eight attacks today in five different provinces, all of them against Twos and all of them resulting in at least one death."

The hand that has been frozen over my mouth drops to my heart. People have died today at our expense.

"For now," King Clarkson continues, "we encourage you to stay close to home and to take any security measures possible."

"Excellent advice, Your Majesty," Gavril says. He turns to us. "Ladies, anything you'd like to add?"

Elise merely shakes her head.

Kriss takes a deep breath. "I know that Twos and Three are being targeted, but your homes are safer than most of the ones for lower castes. If you can take in a family of Fours or Fives that you know well, I think that would be a good idea."

Celeste nods. "Stay safe. Do what the king says."

She turns to me and I realize I need to say something. Usually, when I'm on the Report and feel a bit lost, I look to Maxon, as if he can silently give me advice. Falling into that habit, I search for his eyes. But all I see is his blond hair as he stares into his lap, his dejected frown the only thing visible.

Of course he is worried about his people. But this is about more than protecting his citizens. He knows we might leave.

And shouldn't we? How many Fives could lose their lives because I sit on my stool in the bright lights of the palace studio?

"Fight," I say to no one in particular, thinking of what dad said to me about being queen. Then, remembering where I am, I turn to the camera. "Fight. The rebels are bullies. They're trying to scare you into doing what they want. And what if you do? What kind of future do you think they'll offer you? These people, these tyrants, aren't going to suddenly stop being violent. If you give them power, they're going to be a thousand times worse. So fight. However you can, you fight."

I feel blood and adrenaline pulsing through me, like I am ready to attack the rebels myself. I've had enough. They've kept us all in terror, victimized our families. If one of those Southern rebels was in front of me right now, I wouldn't run.

Gavril starts speaking again, but I am so angry, all I can hear is my heart beating in my ears. Before I know it, the cameras are off and the lights are powering down.

Maxon goes over to his father and whispers something to which the king shakes his head. The girls stand and start to leave.

"Go straight to your rooms," Maxon says gently. "Dinner will be brought up, and I'll be visiting you all soon."

As I walk past them, the king puts a single finger on my arm, and in that small gesture, I know he means for me to stop.

"That wasn't very smart," he says.

I shrug. "What we're doing isn't working. Keep this up and you won't have anyone left to rule over."

He flicks his hand, dismissing me, fed up with me again.

~PtG~

Maxon quietly knocks on my door, letting himself in. I am already in my nightgown, reading in bed. A novel this time, just for fun. I'd begun to wonder if he was going to come at all.

"It's so late," I whisper, though there is no one to disturb. Maxon falls onto the bed next to me

"I know. I had to speak to all the others, and it's been extremely taxing," he mumbles into my pillow. "Elise was very shaken. She's feeling particularly guilty. I wouldn't be surprised if she left in the next day or two."

Even though I know he doesn't have any kind of romantic attraction to Elise, I can see just how much this hurts him. I rub my hand down his back and he stiffens. I can feel the knots of tension through his shirt. I swing up to straddle his hips and start kneading his back.

I'd thought this would be helpful, but he seems to be uncomfortable.

"I can stop," I say slowly, but just then I seem to find a sore spot and Maxon moans.

"No, don't," he says softly.

"This might feel better if you took your shirt off," I suggest. "I have purely selfless motives, of course."

Maxon smiles in spite of himself. "No, this is perfect."

"What about Kriss and Celeste?" I ask. "I'm curious."

"Kriss is almost too optimistic. She's sure the people will be careful and protect themselves. I don't see how that's possible if there's no way to tell when or where the rebels will attack next. They're all over the country. But she's hopeful. You know how she is."

"Yeah, she's hopeful alright," I mutter, pushing hard into a knot near Maxon's shoulder blade, pulling another moan out of him.

"The guards are going to wonder what we're up to if you keep making noises like that," I say with a laugh.

Maxon rolls his eyes. "I don't think I care. I've never had a massage before; I might have you do this every night."

"I'll do it," I assure him. "We all used to do this for each other if we'd spent too long at the piano during the day."

"Mm." Maxon is falling asleep, and I feel bad for keeping him from it, but I'm not ready for him to leave yet.

"How's Celeste?"

He frowns ever so slightly, eyes still closed. "Fine. She's concerned, of course; but as Kriss pointed out, the Twos are most likely to be the safest during all this. And she's always so determined." He laughs to himself. "Mostly she seemed concerned that I would be upset with her if she stayed. As if I could hold it against her for choosing this over going home."

I sigh as I slide off of Maxon and bring a hand up to fiddle with my necklace. "It's a good point," I say, staring at the ceiling. "Do you want a wife who isn't worried about her subjects being threatened?"

Maxon's hand flies out to grab my wrist. I turn, startled, to see his eyes burning with something I can't quite describe.

"You know exactly what kind of wife I want," he says seriously. "You're just as worried as I am, and you aren't worried about what I'll think of you, are you?"

"A little," I admit.

"Why?"

"Because I could never leave," I say sheepishly. "Never. And that means people are going to die, and that makes me sick, but the fact is that I choose to stay with you no matter how it hurts people. I can see why that might concern you."

Maxon pauses. "Do you truly think that stopping the Selection would stop the rebels?"

I take his question seriously. "No," I say after a moment.

"That's why. You're smart enough to know that, and not cave to their demands when it won't solve any problems." He smiles and leans forward to kiss my forehead. "I can't believe you told them to fight."

I shrug. "It seems like we do a whole lot of cowering."

"You're absolutely right. And I don't know if that will scare the rebels off or make them more determined, but there's no doubt you changed the game."

I cock my head. "I don't think I'd call a group of people trying to kill the population at random a game."

"No, no!" he says quickly. "I can't think of a word bad enough to call that. I meant the Selection." I stare at him. "For better or worse, the public got a real glimpse into your character tonight. They can see the girl who drags her maids to safety, who stands up to king if she thinks she's right. I'll bet everyone will look at your running after Marlee in an entirely different light now. Before this, you were just the girl who yelled at me when we met. Tonight you became the girl who's not afraid of the rebels. They'll think of you differently now."

I shake my head. "That's not what I was trying to do."

"I know. I keep trying to plan things to help us show everyone who you really are, then you do it all on your own." He cups my face, running a thumb over my cheekbones. His eyes are filled with astonishment, but love too. He knows me and loves me for it; thinks I will be a good queen for it. I duck my head into his shoulder, overwhelmed. "Anyway," he continues, "I think it was the right thing to say. It's about time we did more than hide."

I turn to lay more fully on Maxon, hiding my face in the crook of his neck. He settles both hands around my waist, holding me close. "I'm scared," I whisper, half hoping he won't hear.

"I know," he whispers back. "I am, too. I'm going to do everything I can to take away their reason to hate us though. I'll fix things, I promise."

"I believe you," I breathe, my eyelids drooping.

Maxon holds me tightly and presses a kiss just below my ear. "I'd better go."

"Nooo," I moan, clutching myself closer to him. "How much longer do we have to do this?"

Maxon smiles as he extricates himself from my grasp. "Just a few more weeks, love. It's November; the Selection will be over in a month, and we'll be married by March. Just a little longer."

"Too long," I mumble into my pillow. Maxon laughs as he whispers goodnight, tucks the blankets around me, presses another kiss to my forehead, and then closes the door softly behind him.

~PtG~

I spend the next day wandering around the palace trying to come up with an idea for the Report. I wander down hallways filled with enormous portraits of people in fabulous suits or dresses. Some are wearing crowns, but not all. I recognize the Schreaves, of course; there's one of the king and queen looking much younger with a toddler-sized Maxon standing between their seats. He looks much too serious for such a small kid. I stand in front of the painting which must be ten feet tall, for a very long time.

I try to swap King Clarkson's face with Maxon's and Queen Amberly's with mine. I can almost do it, but I still can't picture myself with a crown on my head. I also struggle with the child in between them. I know we both want kids, but when? How many? How close together? Would we get to raise them, or would we have to have a fleet of nannies? Do I even talk to Maxon about this, or should I wait until after the Selection? Probably wait. If we both want them, the timeline should be a little negotiable.

I want at least a few years as queen before I add "mom" to my list of titles.

Huh. I'm getting more comfortable with the idea of being queen every day, it seems.

Maybe I could do something like daycare centers for my project? If people didn't have to stay home with their kids all day, families could make more money. And it would create more jobs, for people to work at the centers.

What caste would those workers fall into? Maybe Threes as the head teachers with some Sixes as aides? We'd most likely struggle to get Threes, it wouldn't be as high paying as professorships. We'd have plenty of Sixes though. Maybe have one head over the whole center and have some younger caretakers, to get some work experience?

That's not half bad. It would be better if we didn't have to give people jobs based on what caste they are.

An idea flashes through my head so quickly, I don't think I could describe it if I tried. As it is, I walk back to my room as quickly as I can, dashing for a piece of paper as soon as the door closes behind me.

I have work to do.

~PtG~

I work furiously through the rest of the afternoon. I read through school reports, testing reports of lower castes, requirements for college and graduate schools. I read so many statistics that I see numbers floating passed my eyes when I look away from the papers.

I come out of the fog and rotate my wrist, which has been cramping for the last few minutes, but I've been taking notes too furiously to stop. Papers are strewn all over my desk, reports covered in highlighter and underlines and blank paper covered with my scrawl. I slide down my chair and rub my temples. I haven't worked this hard in a very long time, and it is tiring. A quick look at the clock tells me I don't have time to take a nap before dinner.

A knock at the door tells me I probably don't even have time to change. Maxon lets himself in, but stops short when he sees the mess.

"What's all this?"

I laugh, but I'm so exhausted it barely makes a sound. "I had an idea for my project."

"Oh?" he says, coming over to look at some of my notes. "What is it?"

I grab the paper back from him as fast as I can, without thinking.

"Wha-," Maxon says, and gapes at me for a moment. "You gave me a papercut!"

"Sorry," I blush. "You don't get to know yet."

Maxon pulls a handkerchief from his suit and presses it to the drop of blood welling on his finger. I take his hand to look at the cut, and it isn't too deep. I drop a quick kiss on his injuries and squeeze his hand.

"All better," I tease. I really do feel bad.

"Thank you," he says with an eye roll and a slight smile, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. "Do you have plans for tomorrow?"

I wave my hands at the disaster behind me. "Just making sense of this."

"Do you think you could put it off for a day?"

"I guess. Why?"

"I find myself suddenly without obligations. How would you feel about spending the day together?" Maxon suggests with a grin.

"All day?" We've never had more than an hour or two alone together, unless you count when one of us falls asleep in the other's room.

He nods. "As early and as late as you like."

"Please!" I hop onto his lap, winding my arms around his neck. "I get you to myself all day?"

"All day," he promises, pulling me closer. "We can do whatever you want. I thought maybe a picnic in the gardens for lunch? We could even eat breakfast and dinner by ourselves, if you want."

"Wouldn't that look odd?"

Maxon shrugs. "Yes, but you mentioned that they noticed you and I don't have planned dates as often. We can just say we're making up for it."

"I love you," I say with a smile, pressing kisses all over his face.

Maxon laughs and falls backward onto the bed, tickling my sides.

"Not fair!" I screech, smiling so hard it hurts. "Stop, we have to go down soon!"

"I love you, too," he says simply, kissing the tip of my nose as he releases me. I back off and brush off my dress and Maxon stands to straighten his jacket.

We walk to the door together, but just before I open the door, Maxon grasps my arm and yanks me back to his chest.

He runs his hand over the side of my face and we just stare at each other for a moment.

I always knew his eyes were brown, but were they always this beautiful? Did they always look like sunlight falling on autumn leaves, but also like the dark warmth of a well-bound book? Did he always smell like the cleanest linen, with just a hint of leather?

Was I always supposed to love him like this, like he's the safest place I could possibly be, but also the most dangerous, because no one else could hurt me the way he could? Was I always supposed to trust him anyways, because no matter what he wants to do to me, I would welcome it gladly?

Before I can come up with more questions, Maxon crashes his lips to mine, and even though it's not electricity crackling between us, it's something better. Pressed as closely together as two people can be, fire like burning embers flowing through my veins. The only things I feel are Maxon's hands grasping onto my back, his body against mine, and his lips shaping themselves around my own. The only thing I hear is our breathing together, laughing together.

We're a few minutes late for dinner.