Prim's footfalls dampen as she passes the stairs on her way to the bathroom at the back of the house. When the door clicks shut, I let my head loll to the side to take in her mother. "It's getting late," I muse. "I should probably get going."

It's still somewhat light out, as we're not even two weeks past the summer solstice, but it feels late. All in all, it's been an emotionally trying day, and it hasn't gotten easier since arriving here. The remaining Everdeens were attempting to eat some fish stew when I showed up a few hours ago, but not getting much down. I, on the other hand, was ravenous after barfing up my lunch, and inhaled a bowlful once the food touched my lips. By the time the reapings recap came on the air, I was scraping the dregs from the bowl with slices of bread. I'd thought Katniss's family might not want to watch, but I guess they wanted to hear the commentary or see what she is up against. As soon as Cato jumped out of the crowd, I think they might have regretted that choice.

"You don't have to." My eyes refocus on Mrs. Everdeen as she replies, watching me closely. "Wednesday is one of your off days, isn't it?"

Not following, I squint. "Yeah?"

"You can spend the night if you want," she spells out. "If you're tired or you just don't want to be alone."

My eyebrows arch with a hint of offense. "I'm a big girl, Mrs. E."

"Grown up, anyway." She does as good a deadpan tone as her daughter, so I don't clue in to the joke until the corner of her mouth turns up.

Narrowing my eyes, I throw the woman a playful scowl. She's only a hair taller than me herself, but she must have picked up on my height being a source of irritation for me. Like how I'd glare when Katniss would condescendingly pat my head or plant kisses between my eyes in our rare moments of unguarded affection in the house. Or how I pretended not to like it when she would push up on her toes a little to rest her chin atop my head while hugging me. Despite the teasing intent, it made me feel loved, safe. Not that I would ever admit that, nor admit that I needed it.

"The offer stands," Mrs. Everdeen adds, pulling me from my reverie. Her small but genuine smile is inviting and chips at my defenses, at my common sense. Part of me wants the comfort, to be honest. But I'm not really family. I belong in the barracks, not in the Seam.

"Thanks, but… I shouldn't." Her blank expression makes me shift in my chair. Raising a hopeful eyebrow, I propose, "But I'll still come around, if that's okay."

She nods, her slight smile reappearing. "You're welcome here anytime, Johanna." Now I'm smiling too, unexpectedly and unintentionally. We've come a long way since Prim's party.

Holding her gaze earnestly, I nod my appreciation. "Thank you."

Prim emerges from the bathroom moments later, with a freshly washed face but lingering sniffles. After promising to return tomorrow, I say my goodbyes and get one more long hug from the smaller girl.

It's not until I make it back to the barracks and shut myself in my quarters that a haze of dread settles over me and I start to question my decision to go off on my own. The sight of my mussed up bed stabs at my flopping gut. Was it really just last night that I was skin-to-skin with Katniss, tangled up in her limbs, groaning obscenities into her mouth? Not to mention other places. I snort inwardly at the thought. It's better than the alternative.

The emotional weight of the day's events continues to pile on, sagging my shoulders as I stand there taking in my new reality. There's no mission or telecast to distract me, not like before. And suddenly I'm so tired. Not bothering with pajamas, I strip down on the way to my bed and flop onto the mattress, limbs sprawled among the blankets and hanging limply over the edge.

My first deep breath, meant to relax me, only bombards my brain with the lingering scents of my departed lover's sweat and arousal mingling with mine. I squirm to rest my head on the pillow and find no reprieve there, tears welling in my eyes. It smells exactly like the crook of her neck where I love to rest my head. Unfortunately, it's the closest thing I have right now. Pulling the pillow down to curl around it, I bury my nose in it and let my consciousness roll away with the silent tears.

***o***

Sleeping in is about the only advantage my day off affords me, given the circumstances. Working would be a much appreciated distraction today, but I find ways to make the time pass. Hitting the gym with Darius and conversing lightly, skirting around the woolly mammoth in the room. Hiking through an unfamiliar part of the forest in an effort to clear my head in the early afternoon. That rather predictably backfires, because although the woods is the most peaceful and beautiful place around here, it reminds me too much of her.

I'm rounding a tree on the way home, eyes on the ground, when my face collides with something furry. Startled, I recoil and swat at it, but it's already gone. There's no time to sigh in relief before the animal comes back flying at me. As my hands snap up to catch what I can now see is a rabbit swinging from a piece of string, I realize I've come across one of Gale Hawthorne's snares. Of course. That's something I can do with my unwanted time. Maybe not the most distracting, but at least useful.

I hurry the rest of the way home and collect my rucksack and a couple of waterproof bags to line it, then cut through town and enter the woods by the mayor's house. Not five minutes into the forest, I locate the hollow log near the meadow, where Katniss stores her bow and my axes. From there, I retrace some steps I've taken a few times before, searching for the bow and quiver designated as mine. My tracker's memory serves me well, and within minutes I'm nocking my first arrow, taking quiet steps along the forest floor.

Lacking Katniss's abundant experience hunting live prey, I have a rough time at first. But once the animals' movement patterns become more predictable, picking them off is easy. By the time school's nearly out, I've nabbed three squirrels and a rabbit, along with a few handfuls of tree nuts. The bell is ringing as I make it to the school, panting from my dash back to the district.

When the kids start pouring out the doors, I'm leaning against the north side of the building, in an inconspicuous spot but with a good view of all the kids heading northwest from any exit. Because of my vantage point, I start to think the kid skipped when she doesn't emerge for a while. But then she comes around the corner at the end of the rush, hands jammed in her pockets and eyes on the ground. My chest throbs and I push off the wall, jogging up beside Prim so I can nudge her arm.

"Hey, kiddo," I say, forcing a smile when her head snaps up with furtive eyes. They widen in surprise but she doesn't respond verbally. So I press, "How was your first day as a twelve?"

Prim's mouth twitches. "Could have been better," she mumbles dryly. "Everyone was staring at me."

"Well, you made quite an impression yesterday," is my mindless quip that I immediately regret. Prim barely has time to glare at me before I'm asking, "You okay?"

"I'll survive," she says. "Katniss saw to that."

There's not much I can say in response, so I walk in silence until Prim brushes my side and my arm automatically goes around her. We continue that way a short distance until she pipes up, "Do you know the tributes from Two?"

Suddenly on alert, I pull back and question her, "Why?"

"Just wanted to know if the boy's as scary as he looks," she shrugs. "I know Two's a bigger district, I just thought maybe you'd have seen him around."

"I know both of them," I admit. "Cato's scary but beatable, as long as Katniss can keep her head. He has an awful temper and it makes him vulnerable."

Eyes on the scenery, Prim bites her lip. "Good."

I wish I could reassure her better. So I do. "Can you keep a secret, Prim?"

"You already know I can," she answers, shooting me a teasing glance over her shoulder.

Smiling again, I sidle up beside her once more. "I trained with Katniss," I divulge quietly into her ear. "I taught her how to fight."

Crystal blue eyes go wide. "When?"

"The last few months. Before she went hunting with Gale, some days I'd teach her things."

Smirking into her collar, Prim teases, "You mean other than tonsil tag?"

Giving the kid a jocular little shove, I shoot her a glare. "Brat." But I'm smiling, pleasantly surprised that she's retained at least some of her sense of humor. "Things like throwing spears and knives. Wrestling. How to get strong."

"I saw her working out a lot," reflects Prim. "Running more, too. She told me you showed her the exercises but I didn't know that was why."

"That was why," I nod. "She asked me to teach her everything I knew. Which was a lot."

The young blonde gazes up at me in admiration. "You could have volunteered."

"If I was allowed, I would have," I declare. I mean it in more circumstances than she realizes. But she doesn't need to know about what went down in Two. I'm starting to understand Katniss's reluctance to open up to her, her instinct to shield her and protect what little innocence she may have left. Especially after yesterday.

"You really love her, don't you?" Prim's words cut through my thoughts and call my gaze back to her.

"I love her very much, Prim," I solemnly assure her. "Your sister's really special." She merely nods, brow still creased. So I purposely loosen up, pulling on an affectionate smile and ruffling her hair. "So are you."

We're mere moments from the house by the time I remember something. "Prim, what does that salute mean?" She squints, and I clarify, "I mean, the kissing fingers thing you all did yesterday." My curiosity was rekindled during the recap last night, but it seemed like an insensitive time to ask. And it feels safer to ask her than her mother. Despite Mrs. Everdeen's apparent strength so far, I can't forget her history of emotional instability.

Chewing on her cheek, Prim kicks at a pebble in passing. "It's something you'll see at funerals once in a while. A gesture of respect and gratitude." She gulps. "It means goodbye to someone you love."

"Sorry," I mumble. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine," she shrugs, pushing through the gate. "Who else would you have asked?"

When we round the door, we find Mrs. Everdeen sitting in her rocker, staring off into space. My stomach drops and Prim tenses beside me. "Mom?" she calls softly.

Blinking away the blankness, the woman meets her daughter's eyes with a smile. "Hi, honey. How was your first day of twelve?"

Releasing a large but silent sigh, Prim shrugs, "It was whatever. Embarrassing, after yesterday."

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, darling," her mother counters. "Emotions were running high."

"Yeah." Prim shifts her weight a moment, then kicks off her shoes and goes upstairs without a word. All we hear is the door opening and Buttercup releasing a mewl of greeting. Then it clicks shut and we're left with only each other's company.

"Hey, Mrs. E.," I say, venturing forward. "I have something for you. I don't know about here, but where I'm from it's customary to bring food to a grieving family." Reaching into my backpack, I whip out the two bags full of kills and lay them on the table. "It's not much, but I wasn't out there all day or anything. Just a couple hours."

She hasn't responded by the time I've finished scooping the nuts out of the bag, so I awkwardly regain eye contact and find her watching with a slightly arched eyebrow. "I'm hoping it can help a bit while Katniss is away," I explain. "If I do this more often, I mean." I know once the Games start I'll be practically glued to the TV whenever I'm off duty, but I can at least pitch in until then. And after, if necessary.

"It's appreciated, but unnecessary," she finally replies. "Gale is still going to include us in his spoils - he and Katniss had a standing pact about that, should one of them get reaped."

"You had both of them working together before and still didn't always have enough," I point out. "And Gale's starting his training in the mines this week - he'll have less time to hunt than when he was in school." Gale's never told me explicitly that he's going to be a miner, but it's sort of assumed. Almost all Seam men go that route. So do a good chunk of the women, at least until they marry or have kids. The businesses run by the Townies rarely hire Seam people, opting to protect their own first when even they are barely scraping by. So unless they are resourceful like Ripper or Mrs. Everdeen and start their own businesses of sorts, it's the mines or starve.

"If I'm bringing by a little extra," I add, "then hopefully you won't go hungry. And Gale can save more of his game for his own family. He has a lot of mouths to feed."

"True," concedes Mrs. Everdeen, "but I want you to think about this, Johanna. The penalties could be harsh if you were caught."

"Only if they know it's for you," I contend. "No Peacekeeper would fault another one of us for craving some fresh meat. But that's why I'm bringing it here, not the Hob." Nibbling at her lip in a way that painfully reminds me of her daughter, she uncertainly eyes up my kills. I'm winning, I can tell, so I go for the jugular. "Come on," I urge her, "it's what Katniss would have wanted." Her eyes flick over wordlessly, and I frown. "Would want."

Still not breaking her silence, the blonde stands and makes her way to the door. My pulse drums in my temple. Maybe I've just killed that always welcome offer with my careless speech. Or, worse, maybe she's going to run away and lose her mind. To my surprise, she grabs Katniss's game bag off the coat hook. Making her way back, she offers, "So your backpack doesn't start smelling like death."

When she extends the bag to me, I accept it without argument. It's an honor, being entrusted with one of the few keepsakes of her heroic daughter. It's not her jacket, but it is a piece of her, and it will do. I respond with a sincere, "Thank you."

I'm rolling it up to conceal in my own bag when she remarks, "I didn't even know you knew how to shoot a bow."

Eyes sparkling, I peek up and smirk, "There's lots you don't know about me, Mrs. Everdeen."

***o***

"What do you suppose they'll do this year?"

Barely pulling my gaze from the early coverage of the opening ceremonies, I say, "Coal miners, of course. The only less creative district is Seven." Lifting an eyebrow, I drawl, "Maybe one year they'll try naked trees."

"I meant Two," clarifies Darius.

I immediately turn back to the screen. "No fucking clue."

Normally there would be more of a crowd in the Commune for a major televised event like this, but it's at an awkward hour here. Most of our crew is heading to bed around this time and the other two are caught up in shift change. The dozen or so of us watching on the three TVs around the room get to do so undisturbed until the rumble of approaching trucks announces the arrival of the afternoon shift. My favorite people.

Okay, they're not all bad, but the ones who decide to come keep us company aren't exactly the cream of the crop. I guess we share something in common, as the four of us make up about half of the Peacekeepers who ever use the gym. And the fact that we're all fucking obnoxious.

"Hey, bro," chirps one of the meatheads as he crashes beside Darius. His name is Rex, but mostly I remember him as the short shit who called me a cocky little bitch once. I've gained some respect from him and his buddy Adrian since then, but they haven't gotten any of mine. "Your legs fall off yet?"

"Pretty much," answers the redhead. Jerking his head at me, he adds, "Meanwhile this one was hiking all afternoon and is still going. Dunno how she does it."

"Hiking?" smirks Adrian as he perches on the arm of the couch beside his friend. "Where, in the mineshaft?" He winks at me. "Someone been a naughty girl?"

"Please," I roll my eyes, "taking a walk in the woods is me on a good day."

"It's a step down from assault, I'll give you that," Rex teases, earning himself some side eye. My encounter on the train with Fields may have been officially wiped from any records, but it's gained me a bit of a reputation, especially with his shiftmates. It only intensified the usually friendly morning/afternoon rivalry we have going on around here.

"Oh, go do a chin up off the towel bar, Rex," I scoff, culling a surprised chuckle from Darius.

The shorty blinks away the stunned insult in his face, visibly wracking his brain for a comeback, but just then the sound on the TV swells with the music that accompanies the chariots through the streets of the Capitol, drawing our collective attention to the screen. That familiar music automatically gives me goosebumps of exhilaration, despite finding this whole spectacle dispicable now that my girlfriend has fallen victim to it. Scowling, I stare straight ahead. Within moments, the first chariot is rolling out of the massive sliding doors of the Remake Center.

The stylists for District 1 had to have been on some kind of hallucinogen, what with the disgusting pink costumes they put their tributes in. Maybe the jewels are supposed to look glamorous, but nothing could salvage the outfits from the pink furry capes draped around the tributes' shoulders. The girl has an especially ugly feathery headdress to top it off.

"The fuck are they supposed to be?" I scoff. "Flamingos?" This draws laughter from the boys, and I try to mask my satisfied smirk while they make similar disparaging remarks. To be fair, I'm predisposed to mock the tributes from One. Because of the rivalry between our districts, of course, but also because I caught their reaping last night before the one in Two and decided I hated both of them immediately. The girl because she's classically gorgeous and will eat up a bunch of sponsors, and the boy because of his cocky grin and how he popped out of the crowd to volunteer with an annoying degree of blithe enthusiasm.

Cato and Clove's stylists were much more on point, dressing them as gladiators in golden breastplates and winged helmets, which can only help the formidable vibe they've got going on. The sleeveless look was a good choice, showing off his bulk and her muscle definition. Seeing her, and her in what should have been my chariot, is not nearly as painful as I thought it would be. Either because I'm too invested in Katniss to notice or because I'm apparently incapable of feeling any emotions other than apathy and irritability right now.

More chariots hit the streets in succession. District 4 are some kind of sea creatures. District 10 are cowboys. Surprise, surprise. District 11 rolls out, dressed in farming coveralls, and I find myself leaning forward in anticipation. God, I truly hope they're not naked. My girl isn't going to be the laughingstock of all of Panem. As the last chariot exits the building, all our jaws drop.

They are not naked. They are on fire.

One hand flies to my mouth as my eyes bulge in alarm, but very quickly I see that both Katniss and Peeta look confused and nervous but wholly unharmed. So what the shit is with the fire? How the hell… the Capitol has some pretty cool technology, I know that, but that's a new one on me. In any case, I'm grateful because Katniss looks both deadly and gorgeous. And the flickering flames contrasting the graying sky have pulled all eyes their way. Just where we want them. Capitol citizens rarely line up around the block to sponsor tributes from Twelve, but they're already chanting the kids' names.

"Seam rat cleans up all right, doesn't she?" remarks Adrian, pulling my eyes from the flames.

"So does the baker's kid. Bet he'd look good bent over that display counter," drawls Rex, twitching his eyebrows and hips.

His friend slyly looks him over. "You'd rather hit that?"

Smirking roguishly, Rex cracks, "At least I wouldn't have to double bag."

I've managed to mostly ignore the predictable banter up until this point, but now my eyes flare up as dangerously as the tributes' costumes.

"Hey, asshole!" barks Darius, shoving him sideways and into Adrian, who nearly topples onto the floor. "She's a friend of ours." Darius is not predisposed to violence, but I'm grateful because I might have socked the fucker had he not reacted first.

A grin pulling at his lips, Rex licks them and asks, "Both of you, huh?" He wags his eyebrows again, this time in my direction. "What'd it cost?"

My entire face is now on fire, as well as my neck and ears. But I can tell he's trying to make me snap and get another one of my now legendary violent reactions, so I resist the urge. Snorting, I return my eyes to the screen with a condescending, "Oh, fuck off." It's the best I can manage at the moment, as my brain doesn't seem to be firing on all cylinders.

"Katniss doesn't do that shit," Darius claims in her defense. "She hunts so she doesn't have to."

"Yeah, I'll miss her rabbits," deflects Adrian, cementing his status as the less shitty shithead. Until he innocuously adds, "At least her boyfriend will still catch some."

My face slowly tracks back over, my barely contained rage in ever greater danger of boiling over. Rex elbows his buddy and jerks his head at me. "Check it, Psycho's about to blow."

Adrian smirks but pulls up on Rex's uniform jacket with a poorly disguised urgency. "Come on," he says. "Let's go before you end up looking like Milo." As they get to their feet, I shoot one more glare at the perverted little freak.

"You all right?" Darius probes as the others saunter away, laughing off the tension.

"Peachy," I reply, staring daggers into the screen. Over several moments of blessed silence from the peanut gallery, I'm able to settle my breathing and heart rate enough to focus on the program again. The next time we spot Katniss, she has moved on from waving to the crowd with her best fake smile to blowing kisses at her admirers. It almost looks as if she's enjoying herself. A rose comes flying her way and she catches it mid-air, gives it a sniff and then blows a kiss back in the direction in came from.

Darius chuckles disbelievingly as the crowd responds, reaching up to grab the kiss and borderline swooning over the girl. "Where the hell did she come from?"

I shake my head slowly, a smile crawling onto my face. "Katniss has always had charisma. She just never knew she did. Or how to use it." Turning my attention to her equally stunning district partner, my face falls when I suddenly notice that they're holding hands. Odd. District partners tend to spare each other and sometimes ally in the arena, but never really team up in terms of presentation beforehand. There's no point pretending they're not ultimately enemies. My frown deepens. Katniss is practical by nature, but still, she'd better not lose sight of that fact. The boy may have saved her life, but he has to die if she's going to come home. It's as simple and as awful as that.

"Oh, I get it!" Darius pipes up out of nowhere. "They're hunks of coal!" My sidelong look makes him shrug sheepishly, "I was trying to figure out what it had to do with the district industry. Their stylists are clever."

"Or insane," I grumble, turning back to catch one last glimpse at the joined tributes before the cameras cut to another chariot again. The fake fire was a seemingly reckless choice that has clearly paid off, but now that he's mentioned it I'm sure this hand-holding thing was the idea of some wackjob stylist. It's not the kind of thing Katniss would think of or even agree to, but I did tell her not to argue with the stylists. My twinge of worry fades into a mild irritation and I do my best to ignore it throughout the rest of the ride. And there's a lot to ignore, seeing as the cameras linger on District 12 more than anyone else, all but glued to their flaming costumes throughout the parade and the president's official welcome speech once they reach the City Circle. I'm not complaining. These are the last live glimpses of Katniss I'll see for nearly a week.

Horn of Plenty booms out of the speakers surrounding the Circle, and the cameras cut around to each pair of tributes again as some drunk Capitol idiots too close to the microphones sing along. Moments after they settle on District 12, the anthem ends, and the horses are pulling her away all too soon. The cameras hold on her and Peeta as the chariots do their final loop around the Circle, and I refuse to blink until it disappears into the Training Center, soaking up every last instant she is visible.

The coverage switches back to Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, the legendary and longstanding interview host and in-game announcer, for post-ceremony breakdown. I turn to my companion. "They sure gave them a shot."

"It can't hurt," agrees Darius. "But I would've bet on Katniss anyway. Eaten enough of her kills." Shaking his head, he muses, "I'd be terrified if I was in there with her."

"Too bad they don't know to be terrified," I scoff. "They must see her as this tragic little martyr. Sad story, easy pickings." Picking at a thread in the couch, I admit, "That's what I would have thought."

Darius offers a smile. "Well, now you know better."

Snorting inwardly, I nod slowly. "Yeah. Now I do."

***o***

The next few days, there's nothing much to do but wait. I fall back into some old habits, mainly drinking. Two nights after the parade, I'm just starting on the road to getting wasted with some of the boys when I catch sight of Gale Hawthorne standing alone in the corner behind Greasy Sae's stall, sullenly sipping from a mug. Drowning his sorrows, no doubt, and I somehow feel drawn to commiserate with him. He's one of the few people feeling this loss as acutely as me, and maybe we could use each other's support. Despite our differences, I'd like to bury the metaphorical hatchet. Like Mama Everdeen said, we'll get through this best together.

Slinking away from my comrades, I round Greasy Sae's stall with a friendly nod to the old woman. Gale senses my approach and lifts his face, which suddenly hardens at the sight of me. This should go well.

"You gonna contribute?" I ask, nodding at the stall behind me, where the vendor has set up a jar to collect money to sponsor the tributes. To sponsor Katniss, really - I doubt this is a yearly thing in the Hob, but she's one of them.

"With what money?" scoffs the towering boy. Well, that's a fair point. Way to break the ice, Mason. Such tact.

I down a glug of my drink to give myself a second to recover. Upon swallowing, I genuinely say, "Thanks for not ratting me out the other day."

"You're welcome, I guess. But I did that for Katniss, not for you," he immediately specifies. "Once I realized who you were, like…" Jaw clenching, he clarifies, "Who you were to her, I knew she'd want to say goodbye." His head tips a bit as his eyes narrow spitefully. "But you? I don't owe you a thing, Johanna."

"You're right," I snap. "I owe you, if anything. I know not being a dick is a rare kindness of yours." Gale's derisive chuckle gives me a second to center myself again. Tone once again serious, I backtrack, "I mean it, though. You did me a solid. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"I don't want anything of yours," sneers Gale. "If you wanna do me a favor, just leave Katniss the fuck alone when she gets back."

Stepping in closer, I straighten up and look him dead in the eye. "I think you do want something that's mine." I lift my chin proudly. "All mine."

With a blink and an inward scoff, my rival shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."

"No, you are," I shoot back. "You think that girl's gonna fall into your arms when she gets back, even if you get me taken away? Like it or not, Katniss is in love with me."

"I realize that," he snaps. "How you managed that is beyond me, Agent."

Planting my free hand on my hip, I contend, "I'm not just my job, Gale."

"You're the enemy," he declares resolutely, glaring down at me. That ferocity wanes as his eyes drift out into the warehouse and he muses, "If Katniss doesn't see that, she's not who I thought she was."

"You know exactly who she is," I argue. "You know her better than anyone, probably even me." His dark scoff prompts me to step into his line of sight. "We don't have to be enemies, Gale."

"We already are."

I shake my head. "You get along just fine with Darius."

"I tolerate Darius," he corrects me. "He's a good customer, and decent company. Usually, anyway." His mouth puckers as he looks me over. "Besides, it's not just the uniform. You've… infected Katniss."

For some reason, this is what sparks a real flame in my gut. What makes my stomach twist and my eyes lose focus for a second before dialing in on him again with a new hostility. Head tipping condescendingly, I purr, "You mean because I've been inside her?" Stroking a hand down his bicep, I sweetly assure him, "Don't worry, Gale. I don't have any of those diseases."

Gale's nostrils flare and eyes flash dangerously as his jaw and fists clench. Nabbing his wrist before he can make a move, I squeeze it in my tightest grip. "Don't even think about it," I growl as he winces painfully. "I may be a head shorter than you, but I could kill you with my bare hands – you have no idea." Not relenting contact with his surprised and burning eyes, I continue, "If you want to pick fights, Gale, go ahead. But trust me, I'm somebody you want on your side." I lift my eyebrows pointedly. "In the end, we both want the same thing: for Katniss to come home."

"That doesn't make us friends or even allies," he snarls, trying to snatch his hand back. I don't let him.

"No? We're on the same side, are we not?" Finally, I toss his wrist away, and he immediately puts down his drink to rub the blood back into his hand. Eyes wandering to his sooty fingernails, I conclude, "Fighting among ourselves is not going to accomplish anything."

"Yeah, that's what the Capitol would say," he retorts hotly. "The people who have everything are always the ones who want to maintain peace. Funny how that works."

That renders me silent for a moment. A long moment. I'm about to leave it at that and walk away when I realize that what he said is irrelevant and downright insulting. Pursing my lips, I irritably protest, "Katniss isn't some kind of resource to war over. She has free will."

"She chose poorly," Gale maintains.

"Maybe it wasn't a choice," I say. "Do you really think she'd choose to fall for a Peacekeeper over a handsome, loyal local boy like yourself? Someone she trusts with her life daily?" Now it's Gale's turn to be struck dumb. "It's very convenient to blame me rather than admit you're mad at Katniss, isn't it? It's easier not to blame her when you can see her as another thing the big bad government stole from you." Peaking my eyebrows meaningfully, I calmly state, "I know you feel betrayed, but this isn't about you."

As his eyes flare up, I decide to cut my losses and go before this attempt to mend fences gets any more disastrous. But to keep it from looking like a retreat, first I tell him, "You know, I thought you were handling her turning you down pretty well. That you weren't petty." Giving my head a patronizing shake, I turn to walk away. "Guess I was wrong."

***o***

After the unpleasant company during the opening ceremonies, I opt to watch the broadcast of the training scores with the Everdeens. Admittedly, I also want to see the shock on their faces when Katniss pulls a nine or ten. Unless Haymitch was thinking along the same lines as me and suggested she hide her talents, throw her score to make her seem less of a threat. Despite my confidence in her abilities, I'm surprised to find I'm not nervous at all.

Predictably, Cato and Clove both pull tens, while the other four Careers score eight or nine. The other tributes average about a five, which is also expected, so there's no real surprises until Caesar gets to District 11. The nine that the hulking boy scores won't raise many eyebrows just because of his size, but conversely the tiny twelve year-old girl manages a seven. She must have some kind of secret skill to pull that off. Stealth, maybe? Expertise with some weapons similar to farming tools? Lacking any substantial knowledge about life in Eleven, I can't even make an educated guess.

When Peeta's face comes up on the screen, we get another surprise: the eight that comes circling around his headshot. No offense to the guy, Peeta's got some bulk, but I can't imagine he had any special talents to showcase. Except for maybe diplomacy, or cake decorating. Then it's Katniss's turn, and they're leaning in as her hologrammed headshot stares off into the distance. I follow suit, a hollow feeling gnawing at my gut.

"From District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen," Caesar draws out suspensefully. "With a score of… eleven."

"What?" gasps Prim, jumping to her feet and staring as though it can't possibly be real. She turns to me, jaw at her feet. "That's unbelievable."

Raising an eyebrow, I drawl, "Did you really doubt your big sister? Or me?" Prim's eyes squint, focusing curiously on me as she shakes her head. Forcing a smile, I lift my hand to offer her a high five, which she accepts eagerly. "We're not out of it yet, kiddo."

"What do you mean, 'or you'?" asks her mother, eyeing me up suspiciously.

"Um…" Pulling my hand back, I squirm in my chair. "I taught Katniss a bit before she left. In case she got reaped." The woman's eyebrows lift but she remains silent, and I awkwardly continue, "I'm from Two, right, so I know some weapons and stuff."

"I suppose you would," she replies, looking me over. "It's nice one of our tributes got some preemptive training for once."

I narrow my eyes, perplexed by her neutral tone. Is she thanking me, or is she taking a dig at my upbringing? Never the matter, my answer is the same either way. "You're welcome," I reply coolly. As I return my eyes to the screen, where each district pair is flashing up briefly with their training scores and betting odds as of this afternoon, I think I hear her chuckle.

***o***

The day before the Games are due to start, Purnia summons me to the briefing room as I'm gearing down after shift. Once I've hung my remaining armor and locked up my gun, I begrudgingly obey. Sleep will be hard to come by tonight, and I want to attempt a nap before the interviews air.

My CO is standing at the desk and making some notes on her shift report when I join her. Hearing my footsteps, she looks up from the desk and nods in greeting. "Agent."

So this is a professional talk, not a personal one. I'm bad at professional. Cocking my head, I reply with a sly but deadpan, "Captain."

The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, but otherwise she doesn't react. "I called you in here to inform you that you'll be stationed in the Square for the duration of your… involvement in these Games," she says, her tone turning cautious after that split second to calculate her phrasing.

This is a massive relief, but I'm also bad at expressing gratitude to superiors. Not to mention, I just love getting on Purnia's nerves. "So much for not running your shift around my love life," I quip, tilting my head.

Purnia's lips set in a firm line. "It's not to cater to you, Mason. I know you. You'd be useless anywhere else, too worried to function if you're unable to watch."

Suddenly back on my heels, I retort, "Well, glad you have so much faith in me."

"I do," she snaps. "You'll still be expected to keep eyes on the crowd and intervene if necessary, not become one of the crowd. To take anything you see in stride and maintain your professionalism," she continues, her tone cold and steady. "Think you can handle that?"

Not really, but what choice do I have? At least I'm a good actor. "I'll try my best, ma'am," I answer stiffly. A slight waver in her expression gives away her concern as her eyes sweep me from head to toe. She's worried about me. Well good for fucking her.

"I can't give you any official bereavement leave for this kind of thing," she says, voice softening, "but if Katniss and Clove are both eliminated, I'll reassign you so you can get away."

Cool, I really wanted to think about the only two people I've ever been in love with dying. That's not going to give me a panic attack or anything. So much for that nap. Nice euphemism, by the way. Very tactful. Halting my rambling, spiteful inner dialogue, I cross my arms and drill into her with my eyes. "So Cray told you about Clove too, huh?"

"Yes, he did," she replies plainly.

"Fucking excellent," I steam. "You people just can't stay out of my life, can you?"

"You're welcome, Mason," she snaps, narrowing her eyes warningly. "Don't push it."

"Don't push what?" I scoff, losing control of my pitch and volume. "Your generosity of giving me a front row seat to my girlfriend's murder? Thanks, Purnia, you're such a fucking star. Maybe you can get me to dig her grave, too. You know, if you don't think it'll upset me so much that I'll be unable to function afterwards. Wouldn't want anything like that!"

"Get a hold of yourself, Agent," she commands me sternly. Her use of the honorific only infuriates me further. Coming around the desk to close our distance, she holds my gaze intently. "Look, I am sorry that this happened to you, but that's not an excuse to lash out at the people who care about you. I have put up with a lot of shit from you, Mason, but I'm not going to tolerate you behaving like a little brat and abusing my kindness because your poor choices backfired." My eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn't back down, only changes her angle. "There are consequences for things. I warned you that you were going to get hurt, but you didn't listen. You never do."

"Oh, like I'm going to take relationship advice from the ice queen," I sneer derisively. "From the woman who chooses money over love." My eyes narrow, honing in on my target. "Tell me, Purnia, did you feel anything at all when you left Jason behind for a bigger paycheck?"

There's no time to flinch or even blink before her palm smacks my cheek with such stinging force that my chin hits my opposite shoulder and tears fly onto my cheeks on impact. Eyes wide as saucers, I slowly turn my head back around and find her features as hard and unforgiving as ever. Add scared and turned on to the list of emotions suddenly vying for my attention.

"You will not cross that line again, do you understand me?" she seethes, harshly pointing a finger in my face. "Do you under-"

A loud sob cuts her off mid-sentence as I suddenly burst into tears. Before they completely flood my vision, I get a glimpse of her staring at me in disbelief. My eyes screw shut against the salty sting while my face crumples as helplessly as my emotional state under the weight of this. Within moments, I hear her muttering obscenities under her breath as I fail to stem the wave of chest-wracking cries. Then feel a cautious hand on my shoulder. "Mason…"

Swatting it away, I choke out, "Don't... touch me." My breathing all the more labored, I double over to rest my hands on my knees, supporting my upper body as it continues to shake.

"Breathe," Purnia articulates calmly, stooping a little. "Breathe, Johanna." Her hand makes hesitant contact with my back, but I don't knock it away this time. I've lost the strength. Slowly, she begins rubbing it up and down my back, repeating her instructions. "Breathe. Just breathe. Deep one in." I shakily manage that much. "And out. Good. Good girl. And again."

This carries on for several minutes while I struggle to regain control of myself. I have to fight through a few relapses as reality hits me anew in waves. Eventually either I actually calm myself down or just cry myself out, and I'm left panting, blinking heavy lashes against sticky cheeks. The hand on my back doesn't stop its soothing motion, and my eyes fall shut with a long sigh. When they open again, they find Purnia peering into them with that familiar concern, but I've lost the energy for indignation.

Purnia scoops her hands under my arms and slowly reels me into her chest, giving me time to protest. I don't. I just let myself fall against her, chin resting on her shoulder and arms hanging limply over hers. Her breath catches a couple times as she opens her mouth to speak, but she must think better of it. There are no true words of comfort she can speak, and Purnia's no bullshitter. She won't promise that things will be okay, and truth be told I love that about her. What she does do is start to hum. The tune makes my eyes flutter with recognition, though I can't place it for a moment. Just as both her hands resume the comforting trail up and down my back, I remember. It's a lullaby from back home. I don't recall the words, only my mother rocking me to sleep after one of my many nightmares. My trembling arms lift and encircle her shoulders of their own accord, a new reserve of tears streaming from my eyes.

When they run dry again, I snuffle and unconsciously wipe them on her shirt, and she pulls back and looks me over. Her hands come up to frame my face, thumbs brushing the tears from my cheekbones. After a slight pause, her right thumb runs soothingly over my burning cheek. "Sorry."

For some reason, her apology causes a chuckle to burst from my aching throat. "You did warn me about that." Snuffling again, I wipe my nose with my palm. "But I don't listen."

Purnia nods, eyeing me up for a long moment. "Are you going to sit out sick tomorrow?"

"Probably not. At least not until it starts. It's better being busy." Drying my eyes with the cuffs of my uniform jacket, I mutter, "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean that. I was upset."

"You aim to kill," observes Purnia. I nod. "If only you were in there with her."

"Yeah," I snort. "If only."

I barely make it to my bed before passing out.

A/N: This will probably be the last chapter for a while because I'm taking a break from other projects to complete Lifeblood. It's been a WIP for some 20 months and it's time I finished it. Thanks for your patience.

Thanks to D7P for all her help, as always.