A/N: Just a few housekeeping notes...

I have made a couple of small changes to earlier chapters because I realized there were some conflicts regarding Jo's schooling situation. All I did was go back and clarify that she dropped out to enlist, i.e. she was a "seventeen" (in Gale's grade) and would have been eligible for the next reaping had she stayed in Two.

A couple of people have asked me what I envision Darius looking like, or if he has a celebrity lookalike. Best answer is, one day several months ago I saw a picture of Ed Sheeran for the first time and I was just like "Holy shit, it's Darius." I envision Darius having slightly darker, redder hair, and obviously he has darker eyes and is taller than Ed. (And not British.) But otherwise, they look pretty similar.

It may also be worth remembering that Katniss in this story has a mix of book and movie canon traits, including a midrange height of about 5'7. One or two descriptions in this chapter will make more sense with that in mind.

"No, no." I disengage my weapon and step back. "It's block-block-swing-jab."

"That's what I did!" Katniss protests.

"Block means deflect," I correct her. "You're overreaching and losing your center of balance." She huffs and drags her nails through her hair, jaw set in frustration. This is our fourth session working with the battle axe, and she's still struggling with the basics. That's not abnormal, but Katniss is used to being an overachiever. "It takes practice," I assure her. "You'll get it."

"Maybe I should just stick to the throwing axes," she grumbles, nodding at the one in my grasp. "Work with something I actually have half a chance of mastering."

"Mastering one weapon isn't gonna help you, Katniss. You never know what weapons will be available."

She catches my eye suspiciously. "I thought you said that's what you all do in Two."

"Not the kids who are actually planning to volunteer. Not if they're smart," I contend. "Look, I know you've got a huge ego to feed, but you're honestly better off working on your weaknesses. That's what I did."

She narrows her eyes and snaps, "Like shutting the fuck up, for instance?"

I chuckle. "You're a range fighter, Katniss. You work with weapons you can throw or shoot. You pick people off before they can get close enough to you to do any damage." She nods. "That's a great skill set to have, but what will you do if someone rushes you before you can get a shot off?"

She purses her lips and squints at the ground. I'm about to continue when she suddenly replies, "Use my bow defensively to block blows, if they have a sword or a spear. If they tackle me, try to draw an arrow and use it like a knife."

"Well, that was meant to be a rhetorical question, but very good. You're thinking like a warrior," I grin proudly. "It's good you can improvise."

"Improvisation is my life, Johanna," she remarks flatly. "I make do with what I have."

"That might be the most valuable skill you have, you know," I earnestly state, inching closer. "Surviving."

"There's no need for empty flattery here."

"Hey, it's not empty." My hand instinctively cups her cheek. "It's not."

It's only once Katniss catches my eye that I remember this isn't something I can just do anymore. She hasn't kissed me since she found out my secret, or at least not on the lips. Despite that reconciliatory gesture in the moment, she's been frosty with me ever since. Her blank stare causes me to draw my hand back. "Okay, let's try it again."

"It's a waste of time," she sighs.

Planting a fist on my hip, I assert, "Listen, if you want me to train you, you have to trust me. Okay?"

"Trust you?" she echoes disbelievingly. "How could I ever trust you?" The muscles in her cheeks are tense, her eyes gleaming with emotion. Her voice goes uncharacteristically high as she demands, "How could you keep something like that from me?"

I hook the axe over my shoulder and give her a look. "You understand why, don't you? I knew how you'd react. I was hoping if you ever found out, you'd have gotten to know me better by then and realized… I don't know…" I eye and toe the ground as I trail off. "That I'm not such a bad person."

"No," she declares. I catch her gaze and find it hard. "I don't know you at all." My face falls, and hers wavers just a little in response. Then she turns away and spikes the curved edge of my axe into the forest floor, standing it up diagonally. She barely looks at me as she swipes her game bag off the ground. "I'm late to meet Gale."

She's not. For the past week, we've been training closer to the Seam so she doesn't have to waste time walking around the town and Victor's Village just to get to me. It gives us a lot more time, especially now that the days have been stretching out in advance of today's equinox. She and Gale don't have to rush into the woods after school anymore and cram their hunting into the hour or two before dark. But she's especially snappy today and I've just about lost both the patience to instruct her and the hope of us truly reconciling. But I'm a sucker for punishment. Or at least a sucker for her.

"Fine," I say flatly. "See you Sunday?"

"Yeah." With that, she's striding away. I sigh and start trudging toward the fence, burdened down by all three axes. I've been storing my battle axe out here since our first lesson, wrapped in my large duffel bag and stashed in another nearby log. I don't think she's been practicing with it like she did the smaller axes. Katniss has remarkably little patience for anything that doesn't come naturally to her. She can sit up in a tree for ages waiting for prey to walk by, but can't put an hour of effort into learning a new weapon without getting frustrated. Clove had the same problem. I always told her being a one-trick pony won't win you the Games. She'd just roll her eyes. I guess I have a type.

Twenty minutes later, I make it to the cement steps outside the M wing door, fully prepared to flop down on my bed and brood all evening. Just as I'm swiping my card and reaching for the handle, the door swings open with force and I have to jump back to avoid being bowled over by Thena and Tory. They skid to a stop on the landing and I grab the door as it starts to swing back, holding it open.

"Sorry," I mutter. "After you."

Tory straight up laughs. "Mason, what is with you these days?"

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

"Since when are you polite?"

"Yeah, you sure you're feeling okay?" Athena chimes in, unable to keep a straight face. "It's kind of scary."

"Hilarious," I grumble.

"I thought you were over the Darius thing," she presses. I have to fight to keep my expression neutral at that. I probably should have guessed we were fooling no one, or at least not my next-door neighbor. It's slightly embarrassing, but to be fair, she's much more of a screamer than I am. "You were beaming for a few days there."

"Yeah, did you guys get back together and then break it off again?" Tory inquires. She gets out an additional "We were wondering" before Thena can shush her.

My eyes narrow indignantly. "None of your damn business, Tory."

"Johanna?" she gasps, shooting her eyebrows up comically. "Is that you?"

Athena snickers, and I abruptly barge between them and into the barracks. "Go fuck yourselves!" I call over my shoulder.

"That's better!" Even with my back turned, I can hear the grin in Tory's voice.

"Welcome back, Mason!"

I ignore them and follow through with my plan. I've been lying prone with the lights off for at least a couple hours when a knock on my door echoes throughout the room. I wince and don't answer. But after a few seconds of silence, it resumes in the form of pounding. "Johanna!" Purnia calls. "Johanna, open up." I still don't move. I'm not sure I could, even if I wanted to.

My lock clicks, and I squeeze my eyes shut and groan under my breath. Goddamn officers and their master keys. Purnia flicks the light switch and I moan audibly.

"Bloody hell, Mason," she mutters. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Leave me alone." It's sort of a suggested answer and sort of a demand, but I haven't the energy to produce the rude inflection necessary for either.

"Are you hungover?"

"I wish," I mumble into the mattress.

"Oh, perfect," she chirps. "We can fix that. I'm heading to the Hob and I'm bringing you with me."

"Fat fucking chance."

"Come on, you haven't done Thirsty Thursday in weeks." I say nothing, so Purnia sighs and settles down on the edge of the mattress. "Look, Johanna, you can't avoid Darius forever."

"It's not Darius!" I growl. "God!" I regret this the instant it spills out of my mouth. Or at least, I know I should. I'm just so sick of everyone's assumptions and not being able to counter them, sick of having no one to spill my guts to. This secret relationship thing sucks.

There's a long, tense moment of silence before Purnia gathers, "So it's Katniss you're avoiding." I don't respond. "Why?"

"She hates me." That barely comes out as a whisper. I clear my throat and try a little harder. "She found out- I don't know if you know this, but I was in the program back home."

"Yeah. Cray told me."

"Well, she finds Careers appalling, and she found out I wanted to be one. So now she hates me. And he hates me." I release a high, scathing chuckle. "Everyone hates me."

Purnia is matter-of-fact as ever when she replies, "I don't hate you."

"Sure you do, Stark," I counter. "You're just not allowed to say that because you're my boss."

Purnia huffs and rolls me over. I cringe and one of my hands shoots up to block out the light just as she demands, "Do I seem like the sugar-coating type to you?"

"No," I admit. She holds my gaze firmly, but there's a gentleness there that she can't fake. I know she's no liar, anyway. I rub my eyes and sigh, "I don't think I can get her back."

"Well, not if that's your attitude," she proclaims. "If you want her back, do something about it."

I narrow my eyes and sneer, "What do you know about relationships?" It's a low blow, but I am so beyond caring right now.

"Lots, actually," Purnia retorts. "Look, Mason. You're a bitch, but people like you for who you are, okay? Maybe the kid found out something that didn't fit with how she saw you, but in the end, you're still Johanna. Everyone has their shit, everyone has their secrets."

This is certainly true for me. Even still. I gulp. "So?"

"Katniss has it bad for you, okay?" she spells out. "You'd have to be an idiot not to see that. So be the girl she fell for." I squint puzzledly, but she doesn't elaborate. "Now, are you coming or not?"

"Not tonight," I say. "I'm too tired to be myself." She smirks and barely suppresses a chuckle, averting her eyes to my desk. Somehow, this pulls a small laugh out of me too.

"Okay," she relents. "Another time. But I'm not letting you off the hook. You need to get your shit together, Agent." She pats me firmly on the hip twice, then stands and heads for the hallway. Just as she's opening my door, I call out to her.

"Hey, Purnia?" She looks back and I give her a grateful nod. "Thanks for being cool about this."

She cocks her head cluelessly. "Cool about what?"

***o***

So we do have axes lying around the barracks after all. Or one, anyway. I discover this while I'm rooting through the tool shed tucked into a corner behind the building on Sunday morning. Besides the axe, there's a gas lawnmower that's seen better days, a couple of shovels and saws, and a variety of other junk. The shovels are close, but not quite what I'm looking for. The shafts are too thick and too short. Much like the first dude I ever banged.

I'm about to give up and resort to absconding with a broomstick from the janitorial closet when I set eyes on a garden rake buried behind a couple of sawhorses. I wiggle it free and examine it closer. It's a little thin, but a good length. And without the metal, the weight should be close. It's probably my best bet. No one's going to be raking leaves around here for a good six months anyway.

When I arrive at our new training grounds in the mid-afternoon, Katniss is already there. She nods at the pole now wrapped in thin rope at the business end. "What's with the walking stick?" she snorts.

"It's a spear." I inform her. She squints incredulously, so I drop my bag and spin the rod one-handed at my side a few times before maneuvering it behind my back and continuing on my left. "It's not perfect, but it's close enough to give you a feel for the grip and the weight distribution of a shorter one."

"Sure, but will that actually be anything like throwing a spear?" she puzzles. "It's not even sharp."

"You won't need to throw it." I grin at Katniss's befuddled expression and toss the implement on the ground with the other weapons. "What you said about what you'd do with your bow and arrows in close depending on the other person's weapons reminded me of something," I explain, pulling a pair of dice from my pocket. "In the arena, you never know what situation you'll get thrown into. What weapons will be available, who'll get their hands on them. Which side of a broken alliance you'll end up on." She probably wouldn't have to worry about that part, come to think of it, but I press on. "You have to be able to use any weapon against any other one, especially in close combat. There's this game we used to play at the Academy, called chance."

Katniss's face darkens. "The Academy?"

"Oh, it's not like we lived there," I backpedal. "It's not that kind of academy. Every three months, all the candidates came to town for a week for some instruction at the program headquarters, and they called that the Academy. The rest of the year, we worked with our regional training directors and any other candidates from the same village."

Her eyes drop and she bites her lip. "Clove?"

"Yeah, Marcus and Clove," I confirm. "They were the only ones left when I dropped out. We all trained with Jasper."

"That's your regional guy?"

"Mm hm." My eyes jump away, and I shake the dice in my loose fist. "The point of this game is resourcefulness," I deliberately digress. "Each number on the cube represents a different weapon, and whichever one you roll, that's the weapon you have at your disposal. So, for instance…" I hand her a die and motion for her to toss. It comes up as a three, while I roll a six. "You'd get the battle axe, and I'd get no weapon."

Her brow scrunches. "If you get no weapon, wouldn't you just run?"

"Depends on what the other person gets," I point out. "I wouldn't run if you had a bow, or knives or any other range weapon I know you can handle. I'd try to disarm you instead." I take half a step toward her and add, "Getting in close is the hard part, and I wouldn't waste it."

"Right," she nods uneasily. "Got it."

I mull this over for a second and add, "Actually, against you, I'd probably never run. You'd always catch me."

"Even carrying the battle axe?"

"Maybe," I muse. "It's not that heavy. And you're the fastest sprinter I've ever seen."

Her eyebrows jump. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," I profess wholeheartedly. "By far. I was one of the fastest candidates, and you left me in your dust in that hailstorm."

Katniss tucks her chin into her collar as she fights off a blush. "So what other weapons are we working with?"

"Well, with our limited arsenal, the conditions are gonna have to be..." I count them off on my fingers. "Bow and arrows, hatchets, battle axe, throwing knives, spear, barehanded."

"And what are we using for throwing knives? Twigs?" she sasses me, eyeing the makeshift spear. I grin and unzip my jacket to reveal the belt of knives sitting on my hips. "Holy shit!" she gapes, awestruck. "Why did you never show me these before?"

"I thought it would look suspicious if I had more diverse weaponry," I admit. "Or maybe seem like I had them because I was hung up on Clove." I shrug and bounce my eyes away. "But now you know I was a candidate, so it's a moot point."

Katniss suddenly reaches for my waistband, and I tense up for half a second before she plucks a weapon from my belt. She runs her finger along the edge of the plastic sheath covering the lower two-thirds of the blade. "Are these to keep them sharp?"

"Partially. And partially for safety purposes when we spar."

She squints warily. "We're actually going to throw these at each other?"

"Just don't aim for the eyes," I smirk. Squatting down to rummage through my duffel bag, I locate a small drawstring sack and toss it to Katniss. "And these are for the axes," I explain as she extracts and examines one of the soft rubber blade covers. "They'll still provide an impact, but not a lethal one."

"And what about my arrows?" she asks with a quirked eyebrow.

My answer is completely deadpan. "Well, I guess we both have to trust that neither of us wants to kill the other." She stares blankly, and I break into a smile, whipping out a zipper bag full of small styrofoam cones I cut from some packing materials salvaged from our waste site. "I'm kidding. I thought of that." Getting to my feet, I draw an arrow from her quiver and push it into one of them, smiling with satisfaction as it squeaks and gives way to fit the weapon snugly. When I hand the ensemble back to Katniss, she turns it over in her hands with a frown.

"They'll fly funny now."

"Same as the spear, it's not like you'll be shooting it any distance, if at all. You'll probably still hit your target." I'm honestly more than a little nervous at the thought of being that target, but I don't have any of the safety arrows we'd use for combat exercises at headquarters, and she needs to practice this with her preferred weapon.

"I guess we can try it," she shrugs. She picks up the large axe and fishes for its covers in the bag. Meanwhile, I scoop up both dice, roll them again, and come up with five.

"So we start five yards apart."

"The game's aptly named," Katniss comments dryly.

"You have no idea," I emphasize. "There are more advanced versions where you roll for allies and additional weapons."

"Shit," she remarks with an eyebrow twitch.

"Lucky for you, it's just us," I smirk, closing in on her. She stands her ground, but when I stop mere inches away, she gulps and her eyes drop to my lips. She forces them back up, only to see my smuggest smirk. I hold it until her cheeks flare up with indignation, or maybe just embarrassment, then pivot on my heel and take six paces. Still grinning, I whip around and beckon her with my hand.

"Come on, fight me, Everdeen."

It's almost unfair, Katniss squaring off against me with one of her weaker weapons. Even if I am barehanded. I play the game patiently, teasing and frustrating her by coming just into striking range and popping back out when I see her muscles tense. Her eyes totally telegraph her moves, too. She never even gets close to touching me, and it takes its toll mentally. Within thirty seconds, she takes a wild swing that I easily dodge, leaving herself off balance and exposed. I hop up and land one foot on the shaft of the axe and drive the other into her chest with moderate force, causing her to drop it and stumble back but stay within arm's reach. Grappling her jacket, hook a heel around to sweep her legs out from under her, and as soon as we hit the ground, I've got my hands wrapped around her neck.

"Jeez, I even told you I'd be aiming to disarm you," I taunt her, standing up and brushing my hands on my pants. "You're gonna have to do a lot better than that." I add insult to injury by reaching down to help her up, but she swats my hand away and pushes herself to her feet before pointedly spiking her hunting jacket on the ground, removing that advantage. As though it will help her.

"Are you planning to help me improve?" she demands. "Or are you just doing this to embarrass me?"

"Sometimes getting your ass kicked is the best way to figure out how not to get your ass kicked," I impart. "Embarrassing you is just a pleasant byproduct." If looks could kill. I pick up the axe and toss it back in the pile. "Do you see what I mean now about losing your center?"

"Yes," she admits begrudgingly.

"Good. A lot of these lessons are best learned practically. Knowing how to use a weapon is useless if you can't wield it successfully in combat."

I roll a four, and she rolls a two. We set up eleven yards apart, and Katniss doesn't rush this time. Neither do I. We slowly circle each other, both with an arm cocked and ready to loose a weapon at any instant. Her eyes are intently focused, even as she inches back just a touch. I feel a smirk crawling onto my face until I detect her rotating the axe in her offensive hand to set up the one and a half turn throw I showed her during our excessively long session last Sunday. She smartly keeps her left hatchet out to deflect any incoming blades, but I release a handful of knives at her torso in quick succession just as she's a touch distracted with settling her grip. She manages to deflect a couple of them, but she's not reveling in her small victories.

"You're 'okay with knives'?" Katniss snarks, rubbing a sore spot between two of her ribs. "Really?"

"I suck compared to Clove," I shrug. "Everyone does."

"Then I'd say she must be a master backstabber," she mutters sourly. "Except I know that already."

Ouch. I purse my lips but try to display no emotion otherwise, merely tilting my head as I prowl a little closer. "I didn't backstab you, brainless. I didn't lie to you, or even mislead you. Everyone has their secrets they don't wish to disclose." Suddenly, I grin. "It's not like you were ever going to tell me you're afraid of blood and gore, for instance."

"What? I am not!" she objects. "Who told you that?"

"Buttercup," I smirk. "He said when bad patients come to see your mom, you run away like a little sissy."

Katniss folds her arms and huffs, "I'll have you know, the reason I leave is because I can't help them. I'm not good at that stuff, not like Prim and Mom."

After taking a moment to digest and interpret this, I conclude, "So you can't stand witnessing pain and suffering and feeling powerless to help." Katniss blinks down and away. "So you do have feelings," I tease her. Then her eyes come back, with some fire.

"I can't stand feeling powerless, period."

"Mm," I grunt. "The reaping must be a killer."

Suddenly, her face is blank but hard. "Is that supposed to be funny?" she growls, slowly stalking forward.

"No," I assure her genuinely. "I'm serious." This doesn't help.

"Well, here we don't have people lining up take our spot for the honor and glory of competing in a child murdering competition for the Capitol's amusement," she harangues scathingly. "Unfortunately for me, no one here is brainwashed by their bullshit."

And there she goes. What she doesn't know is that I came here more than ready to be insulted. The opportunity to inject some emotion into our sessions was one of the reasons I decided to introduce a sparring drill. If Katniss gets angry, at least she's not icy. I've known since day one that pissing her off is the best way to crack her.

"You've made your point, Everdeen."

"Have I?" In a flash, her axes are back up in a combative position. I brace myself warily, holding just one large knife in my left hand. I have more in my belt, but if I reach for them then Katniss will take advantage. She's certainly expecting me to let her strike first and then counterattack, so I try catching her off guard. I purposely twitch my right hand, and when that draws her attention I bring my other fist down against hers, cracking the butt end of the knife into her knuckles and forcing her to drop the axe.

"Ouch!" she yelps, shaking her hand out and glaring angrily. I cock an eyebrow and she cocks her fist. Before I can blink, she's smashed it into my cheekbone with bruising force, also catching a piece of my nose. I'm so shocked, I'm in no mindset to curb the reflexive grab for my nose. My hands aren't even there before Katniss is slicing me backhanded across the stomach with her remaining axe.

I moan and peek past my fingers to Katniss shaking her hand out again, looking equal parts smug and pissed off. "No fair," I grumble. "We hadn't reset."

Katniss cackles in a way that reminds me far too much of myself. "There are no rules in the Hunger Games, brainless," she retorts. "Better watch who you let your guard down against."

"Is that supposed to be funny?" I challenge her, raising an eyebrow as I mock her words. Katniss appears to take a moment to mull this over, though her sarcastic tone when she lets the answer fly informs me that it was only for effect.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it was."

I'm not sure she realizes that she's even more cutting and mean to me than I am to her. I guess she has to be, to get any reaction out of me and feel she's made a dent. I don't give her the satisfaction.

We spar on and off for hours. I give her some instruction with the spear and the specialty knives to even the playing field a bit, but I still win most of the matchups. But more importantly, they last longer and Katniss grows more patient and settled. She still loses, but due to a lack of technical expertise rather than the lack of a cool head. That, I can work with.

It's past 7 PM by the time twilight forces us to pack up. I'm in the process of removing the safety covers from my hatchets when I catch Katniss drawing an arrow and reaching for the foam cap. I realize then that they may very well not stay on when punctured a second time, so I change my mind. I didn't cut many extras. "Leave it," I tell her. "We'll work on this again tomorrow before your hunt. No rest for the weary."

"So much for practice days," she grumbles.

"You can't practice this on your own," I point out. "And who would you get to partner with you other than me? Maybe Gale would like to learn some of this stuff, but you'd never admit to him that you're training for the Hunger Games or that you're spending all this time with me, now would you?"

"It's not like I prefer your company to Gale's, you know," she snarks, eyes narrowed peevishly. That might hurt my feelings, or at least my pride, if I didn't know she was lying. "You're just useful in a way he isn't."

"And vice-versa," I remind her.

"I can hunt just fine on my own."

One corner of my mouth drags up. "But you need me for this."

Katniss scoffs and edges closer, deliberately straightening up. She pointedly looks down on me and sneers, "I don't need you for anything."

She turns and starts to march back to the district, but I'm not about to let her get away with walking away from me like this, not again. I glare at her back, then pick a target just beyond her and wait for the perfect instant. Just as she's about to cross in front of it, I release the axe in my right hand. It whizzes right past her head, splitting the bark of the tree with a loud crack. She slowly turns, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Are you sure about that?" I challenge her haughtily. But her open mouth produces no words as she eyes up the unlucky tree and its assailant in succession. "Oh, don't look at me like that," I drawl, running my thumb over the significantly dulled edge of the other hatchet with a predatory smirk. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."

Katniss shakes the sense back into her head, then retraces her steps menacingly. "Are you actually completely fucking insane?"

"You've been hanging out with me too much," I grin, refusing to back up an inch. "What does your mom think of all your cursing?"

"I don't do it around the house," she retorts.

"Oh, really?" I waggle my eyebrows and press, "Not even when you're thinking happy thoughts?"

Her brow scrunches. "What do you mean, 'happy thoughts'? And why would I be swearing?" God, her naivety is so precious, I almost laugh. Maybe that was too presumptuous of me. One way to find out.

"Hmm, swearing, or maybe moaning or gasping," I ruminate. "Under your breath, of course. So as not to wake Prim." Katniss's jaw slackens and her eyes glaze over helplessly while her face flares up to an unnatural shade of beetroot. So that answers that question. I wonder if she's ever thought of me during such activities. That thought only inflates my already pompous smirk.

"You… you are so-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp.

"So what?" I taunt her.

"So fucking infuriating!" She delivers a hard shove along with that last word. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because you don't want me to," is my frank answer, just before I grab the lapels of her jacket and tug her into my lips.

For a second, Katniss is too stunned to respond. Then her hands fist the back of my shirt and her tongue dives into my open mouth. She kisses me like she's trying to draw life from me, all impassioned groans and bitten lips and nails down my back. And do I ever love it. Pulling myself impossibly closer, I move one of my hands to her jaw, trailing my fingers over the defined bone as we gasp for air between kisses.

When my fingertips finally slip off her chin, I deliberately pull back, keeping my hand braced on her chest to break us apart. Her eyelids squeak open and she stares back at me through a daze. I couldn't help my smug smile even if I wanted to. I yank her toward me for one final, exclamatory peck on those parted lips. "See you tomorrow, Everdeen."

This time, it's me who walks away.

***o***

My black eye gets quite a few looks at the briefing the next morning, and unfortunately, many of them end up redirected across the room at Darius. It's ridiculous, really. Darius probably couldn't land a punch on me even if he tried. There are some grumbles of dissent when Purnia assigns us to the deep Seam together, but she silences them with her evil eye. Not that she'd ever believe Darius would take a swing at me anyway, I'm sure she knows exactly who my assailant was. And that I probably deserved it.

I'm not thrilled with the assignment either, but for my own reasons. Purnia has been kind enough to not put us alone together on any posts since the breakup, until now. Maybe she thinks it's time we talked things out, or time I got my shit together and faced the situation, like she said. I'm not sure I'm ready to do either.

The truck ride to our post is quiet, which isn't abnormal for us. I've never been one for talking in the early morning, and Darius figured that out back in November. But as the day drags on, the lack of meaningful speech becomes more and more uncomfortable. Because it's not like we have nothing to say to each other. Quite the contrary, I'm sure. It's not until we're sitting on the roof of the hummer, legs dangling off the side as we eat our cans of vegetables and something vaguely resembling beef, that Darius finally says something work unrelated.

"So are you going to tell me how you got that shiner?" he ventures casually. I gaze at him distrustfully, and he tries another angle. "Everyone suspects me. Least you could do is give me an explanation."

My reply is cool but decisive. "Anyone who thinks you'd hit me doesn't know you very well."

"People do crazy things over broken hearts," he muses wistfully. "Like running away and joining the Peacekeepers." When I turn my head to glare at him, I catch the hint of a teasing smile on his lips. I bite my lips to restrain them from returning the gesture and gaze back out into the forest bordering the northern reaches of the district.

"Is that why you joined?" I ask a while later. "Some girl decided you sucked in the sack and dumped you, and you ran away?"

He squints inquisitively. "What makes you think that?"

"You always seemed afraid you weren't good enough for me," is my blunt answer.

"Not in bed," he rebuts immediately. "I know I'm talented, I told you that within a week of meeting you. It's actually my best quality." Setting his jaw, he stabs at the contents of his can. "That's the problem."

"You're crazy if you really think that," I argue. "Darius, there are so many things to love about you."

He pauses with his fork at his lips long enough to remark, "That's very convincing, coming from you." Even I can't craft a snappy comeback to that, so I just twitch my eyebrows and go back to eating. We're both nearly finished before he breaks the silence again. "Anyway, I know the sex wasn't the problem. Not if you preferred a teenage virgin over me." He takes a pointed look at my eye and tacks on, "She must be stronger than she looks."

"Why do you assume this was Katniss?" I demand.

"Who else do you like pushing to the brink?"

"Everyone," I reply frankly. Darius chuckles and faces forward again. He picks the last bits of food out of his can, then lobs the empty vessel into someone's open trash bin at the edge of the dirt road. I quirk an impressed eyebrow. "See?" He looks at me quizzically and I crack, "You are good at something."

"I think we've established that I can find a hole. Hell, even blindfolded." His tone is deadpan, but there's a twinkle in his eye that I've missed. I shake my head with mock disgust and look away in hopes of hiding my blush.

"It was Katniss," I admit a moment later. "The bruise."

Darius nods, clearly unsurprised. "You had a fight?" I nod back, and he smirks. "I'd hate to see what she looks like."

"That's not how I got hurt," I clarify. "It wasn't that kind of a fight." His confused blinking bids an explanation, but I don't want anyone knowing about our little arrangement, much less a Peacekeeper. Any Peacekeeper. So I subtly change the subject. "She figured out that I'd trained for the Games. Since then, it's been rocky."

"Wow. No shit." His mouth is about as wide as his bulging eyes. "I'm surprised she's still talking to you at all."

"Me too," I concur. Some fights cause rifts so big, you can't come back from them. I stew on that awhile, staring into my can. A movement in my periphery catches my attention, and I observe surreptitiously as my partner slouches forward, resting his forearms on his knees and letting his dangling feet sway the slightest bit. I study the way the late morning sun brings out the fire in his shaggy red mane, the way the hint of a breeze ruffles it just enough to give my fingers the impulse to run through it affectionately. My eyes wander over the smattering of faint freckles, the fuzz under his jaw, his soulful espresso eyes. I wasn't avoiding him, like Purnia thought. I just didn't know how to approach him.

"Are we ever gonna be friends again?" I finally squeak.

Darius blinks over in surprise, then out to the forest just as quickly. "We are friends," he declares quietly. "I just need some time."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Darius." His eyes are called back by the unfamiliar words. The ease with which they come out surprises me as much as him, though I don't let it show. "That wasn't my intention."

"And it wasn't my intention to be a jealous prick," he shrugs sheepishly. "Things don't always work out the way we plan."

I'm trying to think of a good response when Purnia's voice interrupts us. "CO to Patrol Four. Do you copy?"

Darius retrieves the walkie from his belt and replies, "Captain Stark, this is Hallett. We copy."

"Is Mason on radio?"

I clear my throat and bring my radio to my lips. "Loud and clear, Stark."

"Switch to Frequency B, please."

Darius's curious eyes mirror mine as I adjust my frequency dial with a furrowed brow. "What's up, Purnia?"

"Hey, Johanna," her voice crackles. I rotate the dial another hair to clear it up. "Commander Cray has requested to meet with you this afternoon." My stomach constricts and I roll my eyes. I avoid interacting with Cray as much as possible anyway, but I have a date at about three o'clock. "Should I tell him to expect you at shift change, or after you've had a chance to disrobe?"

I snort into the walkie. "He'd like that, wouldn't he?"

"Mason!" she barks.

"Okay."

"This is not a secure frequency," she scolds me. "Don't be an idiot."

"Okay, okay," I repeat. Maybe I should take Katniss's advice and learn to shut the fuck up. I sneak a glance at Darius, who's chuckling to himself. I take a moment to think before answering her question. Since I want to drop my armor off before sparring, I have a lot of ground to cover, so I should spare myself as much walking time as possible. Ride home with Darius, meet with Cray on the way back north, pop back into the woods via the Seam or the other weak spot Katniss showed me near the mayor's house. "Tell him I'll come after I gear down."

"All right," Purnia replies. "I'll let him know."

I hook the radio back on my belt and look over at Darius, who's shaking his head. "As mouthy as day one," he observes. "You're never gonna change, are you?" That's far too general a statement. I smile wistfully and gaze out into the woods.

"I already have."

***o***

A few hours later, I'm rapping on the Head Peacekeeper's door and trying to quell the nervous churning in my gut. This place has been far from kind to me.

"It's open!" I hear Cray call from inside. I push through the door and peek into his office, where he's reviewing a stack of papers. I take my time inching closer, and he finally looks up. "Don't be shy, Mason." He waves me into the office, and I enter hesitantly. "How have you been?"

I shove my hands in my pockets and mutter, "Fine, sir." He continues to stare, unconvinced. My black eye must not be very persuasive. I straighten my shoulders. "Is there something I can help you with?"

He motions at the chair across from him. "Have a seat." Once I've done so, he reveals, "I've been hearing a lot of reports recently of you being seen in the company of Katniss Everdeen."

My stomach basically falls out my butt, but I try not to let it show. My mouth twists sourly and I retort, "I thought you said I was free to do as I please."

"I did," he smiles. "You're not in trouble, Johanna." Maybe I'm not, but his expression is still unsettling, and I find myself biting my lip. I have a feeling I know what this is about. It's confirmed when he adds, "I'm curious as to whether you've noticed anything problematic during your time with her."

"Problematic?" I ask too innocently. "You mean like is she crafting enough bows to arm the whole district and forging a plot to burn down the Justice Building?"

Cray smirks. "Perhaps not so extreme. But along those lines, yes." I cock my head and an eyebrow, and his expression darkens slightly. "Agent Mason, I'm not sure you understand the fragility of our situation here."

"Fragility?" Both eyebrows shoot up now. "Sir, we have eighty Peacekeepers with guns at the ready in this district. How much damage could one disgruntled teenager do?"

"It's far from just one disgruntled teenager," he warns me. "We have eighty Peacekeepers, but they have eight thousand residents. Discontentment is common in the district, as you would expect. Most people are not brave or stupid enough to act on it alone, but all it takes is one galvanizing event or hero, and you can have a riot on your hands. Or worse." I must still look unconvinced, because he rubs his brow with a hint of exasperation.

"Look, Mason," he sighs. "My parents were both survivors of the last war. They were young, but they remembered far too much about it. Both lost siblings in bombings by the Capitol, and my mother lost her hearing in one ear." He catches my eye intently. "Trust me, it is best for everyone that we diffuse any unrest before it boils over and turns to uncontrolled violence. I don't know about you, but I don't want to have to shoot anyone."

"Me neither, sir," I agree.

"Good," he nods decisively. "Then I hope you understand that I will take any measures necessary to keep the peace around here. Thankfully, life in this district seems to take the fight out of most people, and any pointed deterrent to dissent is rarely necessary."

I raise my eyebrows. "And that's supposed to encourage me to inform on my g- on my friends?"

"No, Mason," he condescends. "Your job is what compels you to inform on any troublesome civilians, no matter their relation to you. You're a Peacekeeper. Help me keep the peace." He picks up his pen and eyes me expectantly. "Now, do you have anything relevant to report?"

"No," I reply honestly. "I haven't heard anything of concern out of Miss Everdeen."

"Nothing inflammatory?" he presses.

"No," I lie, just as convincingly.

"And her boyfriend?"

"He's not her boyfriend," I snap. I have a feeling he said that just to piss me off. "I haven't spent much time with Gale. He's not fond of me."

"I don't imagine so," Cray muses, barely holding back another smirk. "Perhaps you should make an effort to increase your contact with him."

"Why don't you just ask Darius to spy on him?" I demand. "They get along better."

"Do what you can," he insists. "All I ask is that you keep your eyes open." That's clearly not all he's asking for, but I just nod. Shutting the fuck up is probably in my best interests right now.

I'm delayed a while longer when Cray digresses into a spiel about reporting procedures for if I ever feel unsafe in the barracks or with any of my comrades. I can't very well tell him I got my black eye from Katniss rather than a fellow Peacekeeper, not after the conversation we just had, so I nod in all the right places and respond with as receptive comments as possible so I can get the hell out of there.

I arrive at our newest spot to find Katniss has beaten me there again. She's already got our arsenal laid out and is pacing around and chewing on her nails when I arrive.

"Sorry I'm late," I say in response to her hint of a dirty look. "I got called in to meet with Cray." Her expression immediately morphs into one of concern. That's a good sign.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, approaching me unsteadily.

"Yeah, it's fine," I assure her with a dismissive wave.

"You're lying," she observes, narrowing her eyes.

"No, I'm not," I insist. "I just hate him."

"Because he hit on you?"

"No, because he hit on you." I counter. "And he hit you." Among other reasons, of course.

"Oh, that," she mumbles.

"What?" I grill her. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Katniss shrugs. "He's a Peacekeeper," she rationalizes blandly, almost nonchalantly, like this somehow excuses his behavior or, worse, makes it a foregone conclusion. She must catch the puckering of my lips, because she adds a cursory, "No offense."

I cross my arms and scoff. "Oh, right. Because it's always the Peacekeepers hitting the locals unbidden around here," I retort pointedly. "Never the other way around."

"We were sparring," she rejoins weakly, but she can't even look me in the eye as she says it. We both know she punched me out of anger, not strategy. And judging from her several surreptitious peeks at my shiner already, she's at least vaguely ashamed of her behavior yesterday. But so am I, to be fair, so I don't press the issue.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," she mumbles a moment later, kicking at a nearby pebble. We both watch as it skitters away, settles in a clump of grass. I'm too scared to ask. But I need to. There's already so much ambiguity between us given the events of the past week and a half.

"Maybe what was?" I hazard.

Katniss puffs out a sharp sigh and stuffs her fists in her pockets. When she looks up this time, she holds my gaze. Guiltily. "I didn't mean to make things harder for us. I just really wanted your help."

"'Us'?" I echo, eyebrows as high as my precarious hopes have suddenly shot. "So there's still an 'us'?"

Katniss blinks away and ignores that second question. "Every month, when I pick up my grain and oil at the Justice Building, I freak out a little when I think of what it cost me," she confesses. Then she snorts under her breath and twitches her mouth wryly. "Not that I'd ever let anyone notice."

"It's okay to be scared," I assure her gently, stepping just a touch closer.

"You don't get it," she insists, clearly agitated by this perceived divide. "You never had to worry about being picked when you didn't want to. No one does in Two, by the sounds of it. Even if they didn't volunteer, they're always gung ho." She sweeps a hand around. "Here, we all have nightmares about it. And it doesn't stop once you're out of the bowl, either, because what if one of your kids gets picked?"

"Or what if your lover gets picked?" I contribute. Katniss nods at that addition, but it takes a couple seconds before she catches my deeper meaning. Her head suddenly jerks up, eyes locking on me. I nod to confirm the implication. "You're right, I've never been scared of the reaping before. But I am now." Mirroring her pregnant stare, I remind her, "I told you, if you died…"

Katniss's hands flex and coil in her jacket pockets and she swallows. Her voice verges on cracking as she forces out a feeble, "Yeah." Her eyes immediately flick away in embarrassment, and I think I feel my heart cracking open inside my chest. She starts to brush by me to access the stash of weapons, still avoiding my gaze, but I hook a couple of fingers into her waistband, jerking her to a stop. She turns her head questioningly.

"Hey, come here," I instruct her softly, tugging her into me. I halfway expect her to resist, but she does just the opposite, eagerly wrapping her arms around my shoulders as mine slip around her waist. She clutches me fiercely while she quiets her breaths, soaking in my warmth and steadiness. There's a slight shudder of emotion there, but I don't mention it for fear of ending the moment. I don't think we've ever really hugged before, unless you count the supposedly accidental cuddle in my bed that she immediately ended upon consciousness. It's always been kisses driving our contact. Not that I ever would have been averse to holding Katniss, but she prides herself on her independence as much as I do. Emotionally, even more so.

It must be a couple minutes before either of us moves. It's Katniss, pulling back a smidge and grazing her cheek past my temple. She dips her chin and kisses my bruised cheekbone with featherlight pressure. My eyelids flutter shut and she leaves one there as well. "I'm sorry," she breathes. So faintly, I wonder if I imagined it. I choose to illustrate my forgiveness with actions. Katniss responds better to those than words, anyway. So I tilt my head up and crane to reach her lips. But not like yesterday. I give her the second of movement to think about it, pause just a centimeter away. She takes the offer with only the slightest hesitation, meeting me in the softest kiss we've shared yet. I respond in kind to her barely moving lips, just relishing the warmth of her breath, reveling in a feeling I feared I'd lost forever.

"I've been thinking about you all day," I confess against her lips. They curl into a smirk.

"About this?"

"About everything," I whisper, staring helplessly into those gray eyes that seem to steal my very sanity. They close, and her forehead tilts down to rest against mine.

"Me too," she admits. Sighing contentedly, I bury my face in her neck, feel her slender but strong arms encircle my shoulders once again. So what do you know? The ice queen was right. It was indeed more effective to get back into Katniss's head than her good graces. Maybe I'll thank her for the advice some day.

"You're my biggest weakness, Johanna." That confession yanks me back into the moment, and I lift my head to stare up at Katniss with huge eyes. "And I don't want to work on it. I've tried."

"Me too," I rasp. "I've tried really hard." My fingers grasp her signature jacket while I try to swallow down that break in my voice. "But you've been my weakness since the moment I met you."

Her brow crinkles. "Why did you push me away, then?" she queries. "Were you afraid you'd get in trouble?"

"No, probably not. With Cray in charge, obviously all those rules are out the window." Well, that may not be entirely true. Today I got the distinct impression that those bent rules come with certain stipulations. Though, following rules has never been my forte. I gnaw on my lip for a moment as a debate roars up in my mind. Remembering Katniss's outburst on Thursday is what tips the scale. No more secrets.

"I need to tell you something," I blurt before I can chicken out. Already trembling with apprehension, I have to relinquish my hold on her. Katniss lifts her eyebrows receptively and I forge on. "You don't want me keeping things from you, even if they're unpleasant, right?"

"Yes," she agrees without hesitation.

"Well, first of all, Cray encouraged me to get involved with you." Her eyes start to narrow into slits, and I interject, "That's not why I did. It made me want to even less, actually."

"Why would he want that?" she asks, pure bewilderment in her voice and face.

"Because he sees you as a threat," comes my warning. "You and Gale. He wanted me to keep tabs on you, give him inside information. That's why he called me in, actually. He knows we've been hanging out, and he wanted to know if there was anything to worry about."

Her whole face goes lax. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him no, there's nothing to worry about," I assure her, curling my fingers around her forearm. With an unwavering gaze, I promise, "I wouldn't tell him, even if there was."

"So you didn't tell him what I said about the Games," she deduces with relief.

"Of course not, brainless," I scoff, ignoring her subsequent dirty look. "His goal is to deter dissent. You think I want to see him make an example of you in front of the whole district?" It's true that Cray is not a fan of violence, but after what he said today, I don't doubt one bit that he would resort to a public flogging or beating to get a point across.

Katniss doesn't bother answering that. Or maybe she's finally picking up on which of my questions are simply for effect. But after a moment of curious peering, she mentions, "You said first of all."

"Yeah." I exhale forcefully, hoping to expel the sudden tension in my stomach. It doesn't work. Easing my fingers down to take her hand, I nod toward a nearby log. "Let's sit down."

Worry clouds her expression as I slowly lead us over and take an uneasy seat on the mossy bark. "Are you okay?" My eyes drop to the ground and she squeezes my hand. "Hanna?"

"Sorry," I breathe. "This is just hard for me to talk about." She nods and strokes her thumb over the back of my hand, but stays quiet until I get up the nerve to blurt, "Clove blackmailed me with statutory rape charges." Katniss's thumb stills and I look her way in a panic. Her expression is unreadable. "I turned eighteen last summer and I just didn't even think of… I mean, the thought crossed my mind – that it was illegal, I mean – but we'd been together for a long time and I figured it didn't matter. And I never thought she would–"

My voice catches and I abort my desperate ramble. My ears flare up while I wait on any sort of reaction. My knee starts to shiver, and despite my best efforts, I can't force it to still.

"So she slept with you after you came of age, got some kind of proof, and threatened to rat you out if you didn't withdraw from the program?" Katniss gathers tonelessly, after a long moment.

I gulp and nod brusquely. "Exactly."

She bobs her head slowly and looks off into the distance. "Wow."

"Wow?" I probe, ducking my head into her line of sight.

She flicks her eyes back. "Sorry. I was just calculating my chances of surviving an arena long enough to murder her."

I start to laugh, but her expression doesn't crack and I realize that she may very well be serious. "I appreciate the sentiment," I assure her, "but it doesn't matter. It's over. And as much as I complain about losing my job, about being sent here… if she hadn't done that, I'd never have met you."

Everdeen's lips tighten with the beginnings of a smile, but her eyes still house a shadow of doubt. "Am I really worth losing your dreams?"

She really has no idea, does she? Katniss Everdeen is worth the world to me. I don't know how this happened, and it scares me, but not as much as I know it should. I adjust my hand to lace our fingers together. "Maybe my dreams were a little fucked up," I admit. "Maybe they've changed."

Those charcoal eyes ignite with emotion, and Katniss immediately cups her free hand around my jaw and leans in to kiss me. I gladly reciprocate with the passion we both withheld only minutes ago, tempered by waves of relief that cause me to shudder, but in a good way this time. It feels so good to have that all out there. To know that she's not going to up and leave me the next time I reveal the wrong thing. To know that she truly does like me for who I am. All of it.

Eventually, I have to pull back to release a big sigh of said relief. Or maybe it's just happiness. Katniss doesn't move at all, though. She stares at me, or maybe through me, for a long moment.

"So that's why you wanted to go slow," she surmises. "You didn't want to break the law again." The law itself isn't really the point, but that's accurate enough, so I give her a small nod. "You know, Johanna, no one cares about that here."

"I do," I interject, more forcefully than either of us expected. Cracking my neck provides a good excuse to turn away from her surprised face. "Even in Two, it's not necessarily a big deal," I begin, shakily regaining eye contact. "Given the nature of our relationship, I may have gotten away with a slap on the wrist, and I knew it. But I went to Jasper for advice, and he told me the selection committee would hold it against me even if I got off easy, because there was proof I was guilty. And he told me I had no one to blame but myself." My eyes find my free hand that's fidgeting in my lap. "I thought a lot about that."

"It's totally fair to blame Clove," Katniss argues. "That's awful, what she did to you."

I shake my head. "I did it to myself. And what I did to her, that was actually against the law."

"Extortion is against the law," she reminds me. "And laws or not, you have the moral high ground."

"I don't think so," I reply thoughtfully. Catching her questioning gaze, I explain, "There's a responsibility that comes with adulthood. But I'm not known for being responsible."

Katniss's eyes take on that faraway look again as she mulls over some memories, or maybe puts some pieces together. Finally, she says, "And here I thought you weren't pushing me because you had Darius to fall back on." When she catches my eye, hers are full of guilt. "I'm sorry."

"It was a reasonable assumption," I validate her immediately. "If anything, I'm sorry it made you feel like I didn't want you. I do." A corner of her mouth creeps up, and I instantly blush and backpedal, "I mean, not that way. Or yes, that way, but not yet."

"My birthday is May eighth," she reveals bluntly. My eyes flicker in surprise, and she clarifies, "I'm not saying I'll be ready for anything like that by then, but…"

I cut off that train of thought with a kiss. "It's okay, Everdeen. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Problem is, I kind of like it when you do," she admits. "Sometimes I need that extra push to figure out what I want. Or to take it."

I rest my forehead against hers and promise, "In time, then."

A/N: I would like to thank D7P for her helpful beta, as always. I appreciate everything you do. I hope you know that. I think everyone could agree that my writing is much improved with your help. (I am a brat.)