A/N: Two consecutive updates on the side project, look at that. I wanted to get this one up quickly because the beginning of this chapter was originally in chapter 2, which ended up lacking in Joniss when I decided to cut it short, and who wants that?

For those who were asking via the reviews, yes, the details of what happened re. Clohanna are going to become clearer later on. Johanna avoids thinking or talking about it, especially explicitly, which is why the references to it are vague.

This is by far one of the best solitary forms of stress relief. Sometimes you just need to get your blood pumping and sweat it out. My muscles are screaming, but I keep pounding away at the wood with grunts and curses. I have splinters wedged under my nails and caught in my hair, but I couldn't care less.

I couldn't stand being in the barracks after retiring from my reunion with Scarlett so she could get prepped for dinner with the mayor. I pitched my helmet onto my bed, shucked my bulletproof vest and stripped off my uniform, battling tears the whole time. I was about to throw on a generic t-shirt and sweats when I realized I'd rather be trapped in Peacekeeper garb than trapped in the Peacekeeper barracks, so I dropped them in favor of official off-duty clothes. Once I was dressed again, I dragged my large duffel bag out from under my bed and unzipped it to reveal my secret stash. I transferred the knives and throwing hatchets into my smaller bag and then crumpled the big one around the remaining weapon to conceal its shape before throwing on a jacket and immediately taking to the woods.

Hacking away at logs has long been one of my preferred ways to stay sane. Sometimes I needed a way to get some aggression out besides sparring with a partner. Especially once my usual training partner was no longer an option. I spent a lot of time screaming and swinging in the wilderness outside my village in the weeks leading up to my decision to enlist. I usually use less valuable axes, preferably ones made especially for wood chopping, because it isn't all that great for the blade. But all I have besides the throwing knives and hatchets, which wouldn't make enough of a mark to matter, is my favorite battle axe. So I make do.

I'm not too far from the tree where I first encountered Katniss Everdeen, so I shouldn't be surprised that she shows up. But my mind is elsewhere, so I startle into a fighting stance when I suddenly feel a set of eyes on me. There she is, not ten yards away, leaning on a forearm she has braced high against a tree, casually observing me. I wonder how long she's been there. I play it as cool as I can, considering I almost jumped out of my skin a few seconds ago. I give her a silent nod in greeting and step on the branch I've been slashing at to snap it at the weak point I've created.

"You're scaring off all the prey for miles, you know," she tells me matter-of-factly. Even now that I'm paying attention, I can barely hear the squeak of snow compacting beneath her feet as she approaches. She'd be a threat in any Hunger Games just for her stealth. I meet her eyes again but am unable to read her mood.

I catch myself before an apology can spill from my lips and instead just shrug, "Didn't think of that."

"It's fine, you drove them straight my way," she grins, hefting her bulging game bag. "And here I assumed the barracks' heating was all electrical." I'm momentarily confused until I realize she's referring to the mess of split wood lying around.

"Oh, it is. I'm not chopping firewood." I kick at the branch by my feet. "I'm just blowing off some steam."

"Usually it's the families of the dead tributes who are upset after the Tour," Katniss comments nonchalantly, but I catch the accusatory undertone.

I narrow my eyes and snap, "What, you think I don't have the right to be angry?"

"I didn't say that," she instantly rebuts, her face suddenly blank. "But you're from District Two, and I know how you all feel about the Games out there," she adds bluntly. "I didn't think you'd care about a couple dead teenagers from these parts, especially considering you just got here."

"Maybe that's not why I'm upset, huh, Twelve?" I take a couple of menacing steps toward the poacher. "Maybe I just had a rough day. Peacekeepers can have those too, you know."

At first I think it's a grimace infiltrating her expression, but I identify it as a smirk just before she speaks. "Girl trouble?" she drawls. Oh, this little shit.

"Not until now," I deadpan with playful but narrowed eyes.

Everdeen shrugs her shoulders up to her chin and shoves her hands in her pockets. "So, uh, just how much steam do you have to blow off?" she inquires. I smirk and waggle my eyebrows suggestively. I can't help myself. She just rolls her eyes and clarifies, "I took down a deer a ways back, and I could use some help hauling it home."

"Where's your gorgeous hunting buddy?" I ask with faux innocence. Irritation immediately surfaces on the girl's face, culling a grin from me.

"He went home," she retorts, crossing her arms. "School was out early for the Tour and we avoided getting thrown into the square, so we were out all afternoon already."

I prowl forward a little, still grinning madly. "Lucky for you, you stayed out here, reaped the benefits of my anger."

"Yes, lucky me," she says with not the slightest hint of sarcasm. This only grows my smile, but I duck my head now because I think I've pushed her far enough for the moment. Besides that, I still have to consider her proposition. Well, only technically. I knew what my answer would be from the beginning.

"Okay," I relent, "Why not? I don't wanna go back there anyway."

"So it is girl trouble," she concludes smugly.

"Shut your fucking mouth," I growl. "No, it's not. And no, I don't want to talk about it."

She scoffs, staring me down. "Neither do I. I don't care what your 'problems' are, Agent."

"So then maybe I don't care if you can't drag a damn carcass home by yourself," I threaten.

"I'm sure you don't," she concurs. "But you're doing it for the exercise, remember?"

No witty comeback comes to mind, so I scowl in reply instead. I don't like being outsmarted. But I can either make a trip with her or continue swinging a weapon around by myself to keep my mind occupied. I could use a distraction, and annoying company is better than no company. I walk the fifteen feet to where I'd dropped my duffel bag, and I'm about to wrap it back around my axe when I hesitate in thought. I crouch by the mess of splintered wood and start tucking the kindling and branches strewn about the snow into the bag. There isn't much to pack, so I should be able to carry the bundle on my back without much difficulty.

"Thought you said you couldn't use it," comments Katniss.

"It's not for me." I catch her eye and see genuine confusion there. I wonder if anyone's ever done the kid a favor in her life. "I know your heating isn't electrical. You have a fireplace, yeah, brainless?" She's still silent, so I just shrug and resume packing. "Waste not."

Just as I'm standing back up, she blinks down to the bundle and inquires, "Why the big bag if you weren't even planning on taking the wood, anyway?"

"Same reason you hide those in the woods," I answer with a nod at her weapons. She continues to look on questioningly, so I elaborate, "So no one sees it. We're not supposed to bring weapons of our own when we're deployed." I retrieve my axe and take a few whacks at the branch I'd been working on, breaking the part I'd cut loose into two. "Not that I'm much of one for following rules." I toss the last of the wood into the bag and then lift the lower hem of my shirt to wipe my face with as I straighten up. When I pull the material down, I catch Everdeen's eyes just flitting back up. I can't help but grin. "See something you like?" I tease, hooking the axe over my shoulder and posing like one of those lumberjacks from Seven.

"Yeah, that gorgeous battle axe," she replies, seemingly unperturbed. She steps closer to admire it and remarks, "I hope you brought a sharpening stone if you're planning on using it for anything besides chopping wood."

"I did."

"May I?" she asks, extending a hand toward the weapon. I'm surprised by the casualness with which she asks as much as I am by the question itself. I twirl the handle thoughtfully within my fists. If I hand it over I'll be unarmed, but I want to trust her. I could probably take her on barehanded anyway, if need be. I shrug and pass her the axe. Katniss smiles the second she has her hands on it, and she begins spinning it meticulously, testing its weight. "This is nice," she remarks. "But if I was going to bring illegal weapons with me somewhere, it wouldn't be my first choice. Not just because it's hard to hide. It's a bit…" She locks both hands around the shaft and attempts to swing it a couple of times. "Unwieldy."

I snatch it back instantly and retort, "Not if you know how to use it." I want to put on a big show to demonstrate, but if I put my combat skills on display it's going to raise too many questions, ones I really don't want to answer with her around. "Besides, I have a thing for axes. Guess I was born in the wrong district."

"You bring any others?"

I bite my lip, unsure whether I need lie about my arsenal. "Just a couple of throwing hatchets," I answer evasively. "They're fun." I lift an eyebrow. "You gonna tell on me?"

"Only if you're mean to me," she quips.

I actually laugh. "Might as well turn myself in now." I zip my bag shut once I've stowed the axe inside it, then hoist it up and slip my arms through the handles. It's not especially comfortable and the load is kind of poking me in the butt, but oh well, it's hands-free, which will be critical if I'm going to help drag a deer through the forest. I'm starting to regret agreeing to do this already. I don't voice this thought aloud, and I'm glad, because when I look up I catch Katniss gawking.

"You're really strong for your size," she remarks, clearly impressed.

I flash her a quick grin before sauntering off so she can't see my blush. "I work out." My companion scurries to catch up, and we quickly settle into a brisk pace. "How long do you think this will take us?" I ask. "Sun's going down real soon."

"We're dragging a deer over half the way, so…" Her brow creases adorably as she makes some calculations. "Maybe forty-five minutes, if we push it."

"Seriously?" I protest.

"It's way faster in the summer. The snow can be a real pain." She eyes me uncertainly. "Look, you don't have to help–"

"I said I would," I insist brusquely.

The brunette clamps her mouth shut and looks away. After several silent moments, she assures me, "It'll be a lot faster for you to get back, cutting through town. Twenty minutes, tops."

"Ugh, if I can even walk." I grumble. "I'll be sleeping soundly tonight, I'll tell you that."

"Huh," she grunts. "You'll be the only one is the whole district." I don't respond to that. I feel Katniss tensing beside me, so I glance over and see she is shifting uncomfortably, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "Speaking of the sun going down," she segues awkwardly, "I have something for you."

I unintentionally stop in my tracks, and immediately regret the loss of momentum. "Did you come here to find me?" I gape.

"Of course not," she huffs, stopping and eyeing me impatiently. "I thought I might see you at the Hob." She reaches inside her jacket and produces a pair of sunglasses. I'm so dumbstruck I take them without protest when she hands them over. It's only once I'm turning them over in my hands that my brain kicks back into gear. They appear to be brand new, and even though they're fairly plain, I can't imagine how much game Katniss must have had to sell or trade to afford them. Game she needs to help feed her family. I think of the abject poverty I saw in the Seam, eye up those same threadbare pants she was wearing when I first saw her.

"I can't accept these," I state. My conscience wouldn't let me even if we were close, and I barely know the girl.

"It's not a gift," she informs me. "You owe me eighty bucks."

"Eighty?" I squawk. Sure, they're new, but they're not even that nice.

"You think that's pricey, you don't want to know what the guy would have charged you for them," she negotiates. "I only paid sixty, a good day's haul, but the Hob merchants notoriously drive much harder bargains with Peacekeepers. I got you a deal."

"So you're making money off of me," I conclude gruffly. It doesn't matter that I barely know her after all. You don't really need to know someone all that well to play the laws of supply and demand with them, now do you?

"You don't have to buy them," she says, a little too insouciantly. She takes them back and appraises them visually. "I go hunting when the sun's low all the time, I could use these." This fucking brat, I swear. Though to be fair, she actually did get me a deal. Perhaps this is her strange way of doing me a favor. And she gets money out of it, sure, but she could use it more than anyone. I suppose this arrangement is mutually beneficial, if a bit miffing.

"No, they'd fuck up your aim. You're not used to them." I pluck the glasses from her grip nonetheless. "But I'd rather get ripped off by you than a Townie or some random dude at the Hob. You'll get your money next time I get paid."

"Great," she nods, apparently unbothered by my suspicious expression.

"Thanks, I think."

"Mm hm," she hums, already striding away.

I only start to lose my breath by the time we are coming up on the deer, which I may not have noticed so quickly were it not for the puddle of blood and its high contrast with the snow. I'm internally complimenting myself on staying in such good shape when a hand snaps out and pushes back against my chest, impeding my progress. I look curiously at Katniss, who is peering at something beyond me, a bit deeper into the forest. She doesn't bother to explain, but I understand almost immediately. I know that predatory look. She slowly removes her hand and sneaks it behind her back to grab her bow as she keeps her eyes glued to her target. I try to pinpoint it while she creeps backward a few steps, probably trying to get a clearer shot. I can't get eyes on her prey, so I twist my body and turn my head to watch her over my shoulder, not trusting myself to be able to pivot silently.

The deadly focus in her gaze as she loads her bow and takes aim is intimidating, but not in a way that makes me want to run away. Unfortunately. No, I recognize the tension in my gut as I watch the composed rise and fall of her chest and catch her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and it's not from fear. On the other hand, my own body's reaction is scaring me shitless. Acknowledging that I find Katniss Everdeen attractive is far more frightening than Katniss Everdeen with a loaded bow. I can't control what she does, but I can control my own actions, in theory, and am thus responsible for them.

There isn't a law or even a contract clause prohibiting Peacekeepers from sleeping with civilians, but I'm well aware that relationships are frowned upon, to say the least, because they throw our loyalty into question. We're supposed to be focused on the job, anyway, which is why we're forbidden to marry or procreate while under contract. But even if that weren't the case, she's jailbait until sometime in May. Besides, I don't even like her. I'm a youngest child, but I imagine this is what it's like to have an annoying kid sister. Other than the whole finding her attractive thing.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by the motion of Everdeen's arrow leaving her hand. I track it visually, and only once it lodges in a tree branch with a resounding thunk do I see the bird, which now flies away in a panic. She quickly redraws and tries to get a bead on the creature, but she must lose sight of it in the foliage, because she lowers her bow with a frown.

"Damn it," she whispers.

"Well, at least your form is excellent." I follow this up with a low whistle.

"How would you know?" she scoffs. She starts into the forest to retrieve her arrow, but I follow close behind.

"I've watched my fair share of Hunger Games, brainless. More than you," I point out. "And I no doubt paid closer attention, being from Two." Katniss says nothing, but I feel her eyes on me. I pretend not to notice.

"How old are you, anyway?" she asks eventually.

"Eighteen," I answer, finally looking back at her.

"You look younger," she remarks bluntly. I chuckle to myself. That observation usually offends me, but I can tell she's not mocking or underestimating me. She's just straight to the point, and I can appreciate that. It makes for much simpler communication, given I'm the same way.

"I get that a lot," I say. "But you can't enlist until you turn eighteen."

Katniss nods at first, but confusion slowly seeps into her expression. "Wait, when's your birthday?" she suddenly asks.

"Late August," I inform her, now perplexed myself. "Why?"

"How can you be here if you're eligible to be reaped this summer?" she puzzles.

"They just take your name out of the bowl," I shrug. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Eighty percent of the time someone has been chosen beforehand to volunteer. If you get reaped naturally you can refuse to be replaced, though."

"Naturally," she scoffs, turning forward to focus on her embedded arrow again.

"What?" I inquire.

"Nothing."

Dusk is creeping up on us by the time we exit the woods. It takes some teamwork to get the deer through the fence; Katniss has to lift and pull a loose section from the other side while I muscle the bloody carcass under it. From there, it's just a few minutes of walking across a large clearing before we hit the edge of the Seam. We've only passed a few rusted gates hanging loosely off slumping chain link fences when Katniss pushes open a gate in front of a small two-story dwelling with rotting siding. We wordlessly drag the deer the short distance across the yard and over the threshold into the darkened house.

I hear Katniss walking a few steps and then fumbling with something before the distinct sound and light of a match striking burst forth from where she's standing. She lights a candle and moves wordlessly to the fireplace across the room, holding the match to the coals there until they come alight. As she passes me on her way to the staircase along the wall, I can make out the concern in her features under the candle's glow. "Prim?" she calls, climbing the stairs. "Mom?"

I stand there awkwardly for a second until a draft reminds me that we left the door wide open. I retreat to shut it behind me, almost running smack into a young girl with blonde hair plaited into two braids. Her eyes are huge with worry as she eyes up my clothes, her already pale skin ashen. She looks Townie and out of place here, but that's not all that strikes me about her. I know I've seen her before.

"Is Katniss…?" she barely squeaks, looking from my clothes to my face and back again. And here I thought Peacekeepers weren't viewed as all that hostile around here. I follow her panicked gaze, and that's when I spot the deer blood smeared on my clothes. Well, this is awkward.

"She's fine," I assure the kid just as I hear the welcome creaks of Katniss descending the stairs.

"Prim, it's okay," Katniss calls out from behind me. "She's a friend." A friend? I can live with that. The younger girl releases a relieved breath, and when a smile crawls onto her face I instantly recognize her. She's the girl with the cheese. A bunch of previously unrelated facts connect in my brain and I slowly turn to look at the brunette again, but in a different light than before. "What?" she asks, scrunching up her brow as she approaches.

"Nothing," I reply.

Katniss shakes her head dismissively and brushes by me to lay an affectionate palm on her sister's head. "Shouldn't you be eating by now?" she asks. "Where's Mom?"

"Not sure," Prim is just saying when a pathetic, inhuman mewl sounds from the stairs. She abandons further explanation to run over and scoop up a huge cat from the landing. After several strokes of its scruffy coat, she returns her attention to Katniss and continues, "I was just out looking." She wanders toward the fire, still petting the animal and whispering soft things into its half an ear.

"Typical," Katniss mutters. She looks around the room and reckons, "I guess I'll start dinner, then." Her tone isn't overly cross, but I know she's not pleased. She'd only planned to drop the deer off for her mother to skin and portion before going off to trade the contents of her bag. I briefly consider asking her if she'd like me to babysit her sister and the food so she can get on with it, but it's a bad idea. Even if Katniss trusted me enough for that, which I doubt, if her mother came home to a strange Peacekeeper hacking away at a carcass on her table, she'd probably freak the fuck out. So, I start unloading my bag by the hearth instead.

Prim carefully lowers herself to the ground and sits cross-legged beside me, cradling the mangy orange tabby. She blinks up to me and asks, "What's your name?" The light of the fire shines in her big blue eyes and casts shadow shapes across her face. She's truly a picture. Maybe having a kid sister wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Johanna," I smile back at her. Since I already know her name, I point to the cat and ask, "What's hers?"

"He's a boy," she corrects me. "And his name's Buttercup."

"Buttercup, huh?" That's a terrible name. I reach over and scratch under his chin, eliciting a rumbling purr. "Hey, little guy," I coo. I catch Prim's eye and return her grin. She's a really sweet kid. I can see why Katniss is so protective of her. I look up at the older sister just in time to see her rolling her eyes at our antics. I don't get a chance to ask why, because the door is opening again.

An older blond woman that I immediately peg as their mother has barely stepped in the door by the time Katniss observes, "Oh, you're alive." She says it quite casually, but I catch the hint of malice. Apparently, so does her mother.

"I was working," she replies calmly but defensively, kicking the snow off her boots.

Katniss shrugs. "Couldn't be sure you were up at all, coming back to a dark house on a day like today."

"On a day like today, my services are needed," comes the measured reply.

"More than Prim needs you?" Katniss demands, no longer bothering to shield her anger.

"It's okay, Katniss," Prim interjects, though neither of them seem to hear her. Curse of the youngest child.

"I was with Toley's mother," snaps Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss's eyes grow before she drops them to the floor guiltily, biting her lip. "She needed something for her nerves and to help her sleep. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it was a bit difficult for her to see her son's murderer smile and wave at her."

The sticks I'm holding suddenly slip from my grasp and clatter to the floorboards. The whole Everdeen family stares at me, and I wish I could melt into the floor. Instead, I give a tentative wave.

"Hi," I say, standing up slowly. "I'm… I helped Katniss bring that deer home." I point to the carcass still on the ground by their feet.

"And who might you be?" inquires Mrs. Everdeen. She looks intrigued rather than scared, which is at least a step up from Prim's reaction.

"Johanna Mason, ma'am," I say, coming closer and extending a hand to the woman. I'd prefer to leave a good first impression, and though being covered in blood in her living room is not the greatest starting point, being more polite than her daughter might help.

The blond woman steps closer, expression unreadable. When she finally joins our hands in a soft shake, I breathe a small sigh of relief. "Agent, is it?" she queries.

I nod, a touch surprised that she's familiar with our ranks. "Yes ma'am, I'm new to the force. Still at the bottom."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Agent Mason," she says, though I detect a touch of hesitance in her tone.

"It's Johanna," I respond instantly. "Please. I'm not here on official business." I shift under her continued stare and flick my eyes past her to Katniss, hoping for an intervention.

"She's friends with Darius Hallett, Mom," Katniss offers up in explanation. "You can trust her."

This is immediately thrown into question when Prim exclaims, "Wow! Where did you get this?" I turn around slowly, already gulping even before I see her lifting the battle axe from my bag, face alight with awe and curiosity. "It's so pretty!"

"Put that down, Prim!" Katniss scolds her. "It's a weapon, not a fashion accessory."

I resist the urge to remind her that she referred to it as gorgeous earlier this afternoon in favor of pointing out, "Actually, I was using it as a tool, not a weapon." I catch Mrs. Everdeen's eye. "For chopping wood."

"Why would you chop wood with something like this?" Prim asks in disbelief, begrudgingly following her sister's order.

"It was all I had," I admit. "We don't have axes just lying around the barracks."

"And yet, you do," her mom notes with more than a hint of suspicion.

"It's for sentimental value, mostly," I explain honestly, catching her eye and hoping she believes me. "Holding on to a piece of my life back home."

"Like a security blanket?" Katniss chimes in with a cheeky smile. There she goes again, getting under my skin. But on the other hand, she is making the axe sound less threatening. I'm not sure whether or not to be grateful.

"Yeah," I concur with narrowed eyes. "Something like that." I look to the blonde again. "It's not something I ever plan to use for law enforcement, in any case. It's usually safely tucked away in my room."

"I'm sure," she reasons. "Unless the Peacekeepers are diversifying their weaponry, that's not standard issue, is it?"

"No, ma'am," I confirm, averting my gaze to the floor. "It's not." So much for a good first impression. I hope she doesn't decide to inform on me. She probably won't, actually. She'll just hold on to that information until she has reason to use it. Blackmail's not a new one on me anymore. I see a lot more sucking up in my future.

"It doesn't matter," Katniss interjects exasperatedly. "We got firewood, so it worked out in our favor, right? How often does that happen?" That question must have been rhetorical, because she quickly moves on to more pressing matters and instructions while the three of us lift the deer up onto the table. She's going to swing by the butcher and baker's houses and see if she can offload a rabbit or squirrel for a good price, and then move on to the Hob. Her mother is to cook up some of the deer for dinner and prepare the rest for sale. Katniss will peddle the venison at the Hob and then make a second trip to deliver whatever has been claimed. With that, she kisses Prim goodbye and makes for the door.

I fidget and look around, unsure what to do now that I've been abandoned in unfamiliar territory. I glance back at the fire and catch Prim's warm gaze, which seems to melt me out of my self-conscious paralysis. I smile back at her and make my way over to dump the rest of the wood by the fire. I crumple the now empty bag around the axe again and reach out to cup the feline's skull and ruffle his fur. "Bye, Buttercup," I whisper sweetly, getting a low purr in response.

"He likes you," Prim grins.

"He has good taste," I smile cheekily. Then I straighten up and nod at her once. "See you around, Prim." She waves her goodbye, and I turn to her mother. "Nice meeting you, Mrs. Everdeen."

She smiles a little, but I still catch an air of distrust beneath it. I can probably thank my axe for that. "Goodnight, Johanna," she replies, stepping aside so I have a clearer path to the door.

It turns out Katniss is waiting for me by the gate. I zip up my dark jacket as I step outside, hiding the more visible blood on the white clothes beneath it. Katniss starts walking wordlessly, and I follow because I'm not familiar with this part of the Seam. I just know that we're somewhere north of town, and heading that way. The silence between us feels uncomfortable to me after the tension I just witnessed, so I eventually speak.

"Your sister's really nice," I say. "Poor taste in names, though."

Katniss snorts a little, though her overall demeanor hasn't changed. "Yeah," she agrees. "She's a good kid."

I scratch under my collar and casually inquire, "How old is she?"

"Eleven."

"Twelve by the summer?" I probe cautiously. I mean by the reaping, but she knows that.

"Yeah," she whispers. "Late May."

My mouth twitches and I drop my eyes to the slushy road. "Sorry to hear that."

"Sure you are," she dismisses me blankly. Heat starts rising up my neck, but Katniss doesn't see it because she speeds up her pace. I shouldn't care what some cranky teenaged local thinks of me; I should just let this roll off my back. But I do, and I don't. I grab her arm and plant my feet, jerking her back. There's only vague annoyance in her eyes when she turns around, but I'm sure there must be murder in mine.

"I'm not the enemy, you know!" I yell, my voice going all embarrassingly high like it does when I'm legitimately angry. "What the hell is your issue? Didn't you just tell your mom she can trust me?" Katniss snatches her arm away and glares, but doesn't argue. I take a few deep breaths, soften my face a bit and grumble, "Not that she ever will now." I raise the shrouded axe to indicate it. "I never intended for you to find out about this, let alone any other local. Now I'll have to bend the law for her whenever she wants or else risk getting ratted on."

"She wouldn't do that," Katniss immediately parries. But then a shadow crosses her face and she chuckles acerbically, "Really, don't worry about it. She'll probably fall into a coma tomorrow and forget all about it."

"Maybe you should cut her a little slack," I suggest sharply.

"Oh, fuck you," she spits. My eyebrows fly up at her unprecedented vulgarity. She shakes her head and looks away. "You wouldn't understand." Her mouth is puckered, her eyes narrowed into slits. If I don't know better, I might think she was about to cry. I take my time phrasing my next words, and back off on my tone considerably.

"I understand that you have a lot more responsibility than you should," I venture. "I always thought you were helping feed your family. But when I saw Prim, I realized I was wrong." Her puzzled eyes jump back to me. "You don't help. You do it all yourself."

"Prim? Why?"

"Darius pointed her out to me when I first got here, explained how she was of mixed blood and…" I abort my ramble with a sigh. "I never realized you don't have a father. And it's even worse if your mom's unreliable."

"I have a father," she counters impassively. "He's just dead." I catch the slight waver in her poker face and the bob of her throat. I think she notices, because she blinks away again. "Lots of Seam kids have a dead parent or two, Johanna. Accidents happen down there. I'm nothing special."

"Sure you are," I rebut instantly, gawking at the audacity of that comment. My skin starts prickling with a blush the second Katniss catches my eye. I'm really in trouble. I clear my throat and explain, "I mean, I've never seen any other Seam girls out in the woods, but I hear plenty of them frequent Cray's house."

"Don't judge those girls," she admonishes me. "I'd do it to keep Prim alive if that was my only option."

"I'm not judging them," I protest. So much for damage control. "That was you, sniping about how they make their money on their backs, remember?"

"It's one thing for me to say it," she retorts. "That could be me. But you…" She squeezes my muscular upper arm. "You never had to worry about that, did you?" Her eyes suddenly dart side-to-side. Mine follow. Seeing no one, Katniss relaxes slightly, but still leans in to whisper, "Have you ever gone to bed hungry?"

I brush her hand away and cross my arms defensively. "No. And I know it's not fair, I do. But that's not my fault. I didn't ask to be born in Two."

"No, but you would have," she hisses under her breath. "Anyone in their right mind would, if they couldn't be Capitol."

"I apologize for my good luck?" I snark, perhaps slightly exaggerating my bewilderment. I get why she's angry, but I'm pissed that she's directing her fury at me. Katniss scoffs and stalks away. I sigh and hustle to keep pace. "Look," I petition from a few steps behind her, "all I was saying is I admire your resourcefulness and your commitment to your family and your own morals or whatever."

"Oh, really?" she laughs ironically, abruptly spinning around. I crash into her before I can skid to a halt, but she immediately pushes a hand out to hold me at an arm's length. "I'll try to remember that you so admire those qualities about me next time you steal my boots and drag me to Cray's house like some kind of criminal."

I scowl and bite back, "You are a criminal, technically."

"Takes one to know one." The aversion in her tone and features strikes me silent and sets my brain buzzing in a panic. How did she–? No, there's no way she could know about that. I haven't told anyone in Twelve what happened. It takes a few seconds of reasoning to realize she's referring to my illegal collection of weapons, and then I calm down a little. Everdeen, meanwhile, hasn't. Her nostrils are still flared, cheeks red and jaw set. She snorts contemptuously, backs away and sneers, "Goodnight, Agent" before turning and motoring away on her comparatively longer legs. I don't even try to catch her. Why bother?

***o***

I reach back with my heel to nudge my door somewhat closed behind me, then shrug off my jacket and toss it and my keycard onto the bed. I tuck my concealed weapon back into the safe place under my bed and then gratefully sink down onto the mattress. I sit, gripping my duvet with one hand and rubbing my forehead with the other. I pull my fingers together to pinch the skin between my eyes, as if it will get my brain to work again and process all that has happened since I left my quarters this morning. I have felt far too many conflicting things today, thanks to the Tour, my company, and the people they brought up. Person, I guess.

A slight squeak jerks my head up and alerts me to the presence of my little shadow, loitering in my doorway. "Ever heard of knocking?" I snarl, but with less venom than intended. I lack the energy.

"Your door was open," he states plainly, but I catch his expression darkening.

I squint right back at him until I realize he is staring at my clothes and I remember the bloodstains. I shake my head and push myself to my feet. "Don't ask," I warn him. I strip off the bloody shirt for emphasis, and he hardly even bats an eyelash. It both surprises and vexes me. Maybe he's a homo, too. "What do you want, Hallett?" I demand, grabbing my t-shirt from earlier off the floor.

"Heard you were getting cozy with the victor this afternoon," he says while I'm pulling it over my head. Uh oh. Somehow, I knew that the few other Peacekeepers who witnessed that would not keep it to themselves.

I catch his eye and hope my worry isn't too evident. "What?" I ask. "Am I in trouble?"

"Not as far as I know," he shrugs. I narrow my eyes suspiciously. There's something more going on in his head. Why else bother bringing it up? He hesitates a moment, but then steps farther into the room and clicks the door shut. He holds my gaze inquisitively and conjectures, "You were in the program, weren't you?"

Oh, terrific. It's not that I'm not proud of my involvement with the candidacy program. I am, but conversely, having left it is a great source of shame for me, no matter the circumstances. In fact, the circumstances pile the shame on even more, and I just bet they're what his next questions will be about.

"I thought you were bullshitting before," Darius expounds, "but if you really know three victors…" He trails off expectantly. I release a weary sigh. There's no use denying it.

"Yeah," I mutter. "Congratulations, detective." I can tell he's confused by my reaction, but I'm not about to offer up information. I drop my pants instead. Maybe I'll get lucky and it will change the subject. Unfortunately, Darius still neglects to comment on my lack of decency. He probably knows better, considering he's the one who entered my private space uninvited. I kick the garment aside and step into my sweats.

"So how did you end up here?" he inquires just as I'm hiking the waistband up over my hips. I knew it. It didn't even take him twenty seconds to ask.

"It's a long story," I mumble, eyes anywhere but on his face.

"Okay, well… I'm not trying to pry–" He stops short at my doubtful look. "Maybe I am, a little. But if you ever want to talk about it, you know where to find me." He jerks his head to his left to indicate his room. "I don't mind long stories." He opens the door, and I suddenly feel a cold seeping into my bones that can't just be from the hallway. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. I don't want to be alone at all. Come to think of it, I don't want to think, either.

"Darius?" I blurt before he even exits the room.

He stops and looks over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Do you have any alcohol?" I can't help but smile when a warm, boyish grin takes over his face.

"Yes, ma'am."

By the time I return from dumping my soiled uniform in one of the crappy old washing machines, Darius is sitting on my bed with a decent-sized bottle of Ripper's white liquor, slumping back against the wall. "You look far too comfortable in my bed, good sir," I smirk. He just lifts a lazy eyebrow and extends the bottle to me, which I gladly take. We have tomorrow off. We might as well indulge. I knock back half a mouthful and wince, making a sour face as soon as it's burned its way down my esophagus. "Phewf," I breathe. I hand back the bottle and crawl over to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

"On second thought, maybe you should eat something first," he hazards as soon as I'm settled, watching me carefully. "I mean, unless you hunted your own dinner in the forest," he adds, motioning at my new change of clothes.

"I'm not hungry," I mumble dismissively. He shrugs noncommittally and puts the bottle to his own lips. "And I told you not to ask."

He gulps the liquid down and rebuts, "I didn't ask."

"Smartass."

"Takes one to know one." Well, fuck. I wanted to forget Katniss and Clove for the moment. So much for not thinking. Darius must notice my expression as I slip the bottle from his hands wordlessly. "What?"

"I ran into Everdeen out there."

"Did you kill her?" he asks offhandedly.

"No. She killed a deer." I take a sip. "I helped her wrangle it under the fence, hence the blood." I pass him the bottle and sit silently while he drinks. "She's a real piece of work, isn't she?"

"She's had it rough," he lobbies in her defense.

"I know. And somehow, that makes me the bad guy." I let all of my weight fall back against the wall and sigh, "She's always gonna hate me because I'm a Peacekeeper."

"She doesn't hate me," he disputes. "She just hates you because you're a bitch and you throw your weight around." He nods at my small frame. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.

"You're all high and mighty about being a Peacekeeper."

"I am not!" I all but yell.

"Whatever you say," he scoffs. "I've seen the way you strut around like you own the place."

"No, fuck you." I snatch the bottle from his hands. "I was in the program, so obviously this is not my dream job. I am not proud of wearing white and marching around like some faceless robot who never has a thought of her own, okay? High and mighty is the last thing I am."

"Is that what you think of me?" He almost sounds hurt. "A faceless robot?"

"No. I think you're hilarious, and irritating, and kind." I catch the start of a smile on his lips, instantly blush and stare down into the bottle. "But that's different," I protest. "I work with you. And you're my neighbor. I get to talk to you when you're not wearing an outfit that advertises how different you are and how I should think of you." Darius opens his mouth, but I don't let him interrupt. "I'm invisible now. I'm a nobody. Forget placing bets, no one fucking cares at all if I live or die."

"Then why did you quit?"

"That's… that's personal." I take a long drink to pointedly end that tangent. I finally can't take the burn anymore and pass it off to Darius, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He takes a swig for himself and sits there pensively for a moment before finally concluding, "So you have small dick syndrome?"

"Excuse me?" I blink.

"You heard me."

I laugh and sit up straighter. "I'll have you know, I have a huge fucking weiner," I inform him, rubbing just below my thigh crease like I'm stroking the non-existent appendage. "Wanna see it?"

"I'll pass," he snorts. He then wipes the humor from his face and twists a little, causing his right leg to fall against my knees. That makes me much less uncomfortable than the sudden intensity in his dark brown eyes. "If you have to push other people around to make yourself feel better about whatever happened to you, fine, but you can't blame the uniform for how people react to that," he lectures. "This job is what you make it." I roll my eyes and tip my head back, but before I can lift the bottle very far, Darius grabs it and holds it firmly in place. I cast him a peeved glower, but he stares back at me just as seriously. "People don't think of me as a random dude in white, Jo. They think of me as that goofy redhead, as that guy who doesn't nickel and dime the Hobsters, as that Peacekeeper who lives up to the name. They remember me for helping them carry a keg back to their wagon, for telling their kid a joke after he skinned his knee."

My eyes are starting to prickle and burn. I blame the alcohol. Darius softens his expression but doesn't relent with the eye contact. "People do see you, Jo," he promises. "People will always see you. You just have to think on a smaller scale." It only now occurs to me that he called me Jo a moment ago as well. And that it didn't even bother me.

I snuffle and swallow. "Everything's about thinking smaller these days," I grumble.

"But isn't it kind of better, in a way? Less people knowing you, instead of everyone thinking they know you but really knowing nothing? Only judging you from real interactions, not from who they've seen you kill on TV? It's more fair." He pauses to make sure I'm paying attention. "You have more control." I sure hadn't thought of it that way. I'm still processing this idea and determining its validity when he adds, "And for the record, I care if you live or die."

I chuckle through my unshed tears and seize the opportunity for some levity. "You mean like if I caught an arrow through the throat?" I drawl. We both laugh.

"Something like that." Darius grins and straightens himself out so he can lean back on the wall again. I try to pass him the bottle of liquor, but his mind is elsewhere. A few seconds pass before he smirks, "It didn't help that you flirted with Gale. I thought she was gonna murder you right then and there."

"Like she could murder me," I scoff. I take a pull and try not to think about the implications of what he just said.

"Well, I didn't know that at the time," he points out.

"Is that why you walked over?" I ask incredulously. "To save my ass from some wisp of a Seam kid?" I snort. "And here I thought it was so you could drunkenly hit on me."

"Might have been a bit of both." I side eye him and he grins, "But that was before I knew you're a homo."

"Fuck off." I backhand him on the chest and glare as hard as I can, given my amusement. "You just said it yourself, I was flirting with Gale."

"Doesn't mean a thing. Hell, I'd flirt with Gale," he confesses with a devious wink.

I laugh again, genuinely smiling until my brain returns to the conversation we were having before we went off on that tangent. I shift my weight and coolly inquire, "So is he her boyfriend or what?"

"Nah," Darius answers with a wave of his hand. "They're just really close. Oddly possessive." He seems to need a moment to think that through. I don't. I take another drink. "Okay, maybe there's something there," he reasons, "but so far as I know, they're not together. Not yet." It's probably for the best. I swallow my jealousy and my liquor. But I'm not sure I'll be able to keep either down for very long.

A/N: I'm going to be working on Lifeblood again now that this is posted, so the next update may take some time.

A huge thanks to District 7 Profanity for all her help with this chapter. I would say thanks for the beta read, but she practically co-authored this one.