A/N: Just a quick note, some of the details regarding the Harvest Festival have been changed to clear up some timing conflicts with canon. There's been a few minor updates to chapter 4 to make everything line up.
"Mm. Don't stop," I murmur, threading my fingers in Katniss's loose hair.
A throaty chuckle sounds from between my legs, echoes against my flesh as she presses a kiss to my inner thigh. Finally she lifts her head, looking very pleased with herself. "Just how many orgasms do you need?"
"Enough to tide me over for a couple weeks."
"Please, like you won't take care of that yourself." Shifting into a kneeling position, she tells me, "Seriously, though, I gotta get some food in me and take a shower. Cinna will be here soon to work on my talent."
With a petulant groan, I pout, "Can't you just tell them your talent is cunnilingus?"
Katniss's cheeks darken and eyes drop immediately, making me grin with satisfaction. I will never get tired of making her blush. Brushing her bangs behind her ear, she shares a little smirk with me before her eyes flit away again. "I don't think I can say that on television."
"The Capitol would find it much more interesting than fashion design."
"True," she concurs, "but they always film you performing your talent or showing off your work, so…"
"Even better. People eat that shit up. Pun intended."
Though she tries to keep it subtle, I catch Katniss sneaking a quick peek at the part of my body I'm referring to, tongue darting out to wet her lips. Not that she needs to be sneaky about it. Giving my knee an affectionate jostle with one palm, she scoots off the bed and grabs her sleeping pants from the floor. "The whole entourage will be here by noon, so you might wanna make yourself scarce." Suddenly registering how that sounded, she catches my eye and tacks on, "No offense."
"None taken," I assure her airily. "I get it, I'm the illicit temptress."
She winks, throwing me a grin as she steps into the pants. "Hell yeah you are."
While Katniss pulls her pajama top over her head, I slink up to her, still stark naked. As soon as her arms come down, I snatch her wrists and place her hands on my breasts. Though small in size, they are two of her biggest weaknesses. Narrowing her eyes, she makes this amazing sound in the back of her throat that takes me from teasing to actually wanting in a heartbeat. A tiny growl behind closed lips, conveying multiple types of frustration at once. Squeezing the soft flesh, she leans into me and kisses me hard, forcing her tongue past my lips.
I'll also never get tired of getting a rise out of her. Of the blinding lust that turns her into a feral animal. Of knowing I'm the only one who can do that to her, no matter what those Capitol idiots think.
At least this is one thing that has sort of gone back to normal. Katniss is starting to feel less vulnerable, at least around me, so she's more able to relax and lose herself in the moment. She still suffers some dysfunction at times, but thankfully this is not one of those times. It would be awfully disappointing considering we won't get another shot at it in the next 12 days.
Pulling back just enough to catch her breath, Katniss drags her fingers down my stomach. One hand stops at my hip but the other sinks lower, and I groan as she slips it back where I want it. "Fuck," I whisper. Her lips turn up against mine. A few gentle touches later, they move to my cheek and leave a peck there just as she pulls away entirely.
As she heads for the door, still wearing that cheeky grin, I growl, "I fucking hate you."
"You love me," she calls over her shoulder.
She's halfway down the stairs by the time I grumble, "That too."
Still sulking over being beaten at my own game, I take my time dressing in my off-duty uniform. I should be on duty today, but last night I knocked on Purnia's door and told her I was "feeling sick." She rolled her eyes and told me she'd already made Monday's schedule without me. Apparently, I'm very predictable so far as Katniss is concerned. But she warned me not to try anything like that upon Katniss's return, because she'd need me for the rally in the Square during the Harvest Festival. Knowing better than to scorn a favor from Purnia, I didn't complain.
Downstairs, I find the whole family in the kitchen; Prim also got the day off so she can do interviews. Katniss is casually munching on some toast as I walk in, and she flashes me the bedroom eyes and a grin, apparently still reveling in her victory upstairs. Equally bratty, I stick my tongue out at her like a pissed off little sister.
I'm just licking the residual jam from my fingers after my last piece of toast when the sound of a car door closing outside startles us all. My stomach gurgles and sinks, my face suddenly slack. Speaking my thoughts aloud, Mrs. Everdeen remarks, "Already? It's not even eleven."
"It's good," says Katniss. "I need as much time as I can get with Cinna. Find out about these fashion pieces I've been designing."
"Because you're the most stylish woman I know," I tease, trying to put some light back in my eyes. Another door sounds, making me shudder the smallest bit.
Apparently not noticing my discomfort, Katniss tosses back, "Excuse you, I am the darling of the Capitol."
"And it clearly has nothing to do with your sunny disposition," I drawl.
Prim groans, throwing us a sidelong glance. "Oh, just make out already."
Despite the sadness tainting my mood, I can't help but chuckle. The kid has been picking up more of my vernacular since I moved in. I approve. Catching Katniss's eye, I find her looking similarly amused. It's only a second or two before I break. Shuffling closer, I sling my arms around her neck. Bury my face in her chest, as though I can block out this reality. Her arms wrap around my back and hold me tightly for the last moments they can.
Really, I should be the one comforting her. I know how much Katniss has been dreading the Victory Tour, how she fears the nightmares from having to relive the traumatic events of her Games. Sleeping alone won't help her either. I wish I could go with her, but that obviously wouldn't slide what with the fake romance she's still having to play up. Selfish as it may be, though, right now I don't want to object to being held. And Katniss doesn't seem to mind, so I don't move or speak. Neither does she, other than to rest her cheek against my crown.
Mercifully, it feels like ages before the doorbell rings. Even then, it's a moment before any of us react. "I'll get it," Prim offers, standing slowly. But she makes no move for the door, eyes on us.
"I know, I know," I grouse. "I have to go." Lifting my face, I catch Katniss's sad eyes. "Don't wanna ruin the illusion for your Capitol pets." Pushing up on my toes, I connect our lips in a firm, decisive kiss.
Sensing the finality in the gesture, Katniss returns the kiss and slides her hands down my sides until they slip off my hips. "See you when I get back."
Forcing a smile, I warn her, "Don't have too much fun."
Her dark chuckle matches the shadows in her expression. "Oh, I'm sure I won't."
***o***
Hands jammed deep in my pockets, I hustle through the snowdrifts along the fence on my way to the Victor's Village that evening. Not only am I rushing to escape the freezing wind, I haven't exactly enjoyed my exile to the barracks. My official quarters feels lonely and confined now, after three months of living with the Everdeens. Unable to relax enough to read, I opted to go to the gym and work off some tension there until my comrades were off shift and I had people to hang out with. Anything to avoid the broadcast from the Village, which I knew would no doubt involve a lot of kissing and various other puke-worthy things.
Skipping up the steps at the back of the house, I grab the doorknob and pause. The train left a while ago, but maybe there are still some Capitol people to worry about? Deciding to play it safe, I knock. When the door opens, I'm glad to see it's Mrs. Everdeen on the other side. "All clear?"
"Oh, Johanna," she greets me, sounding incredibly relieved. "Thank goodness you're back."
Kicking the snow from my boots, I tease her, "Miss me already?"
"Yes, but there's…" Stepping back, she points to the sink. It takes a few moments to wriggle my feet from my wet boots, and she spends the whole time wringing her hands. I'm halfway across the room before I see it. A spider no larger than a coin is chilling on the wall.
"Oh, I see." Grabbing a spatula from the pile of dishes, I swat the thing dead in one blow.
Mrs. Everdeen audibly releases a held breath behind me, making me smirk. Adorable. "Sorry, I usually get Katniss to do it."
"I know," I tell her as I wipe the guts off the wall. "So I'm the new designated spider killer?"
"Until she gets back."
Moving to the stove, I lift the lid on the pot of delicious smelling stew. "Should I set the table?"
When we sit down to eat a few minutes later, I'm too busy stuffing my face to talk, but thankfully Prim can carry a conversation by herself. She's babbling about her interviews and how nice the prep team was, and I don't listen too carefully until she mentions President Snow.
Finally alert, I swallow my mouthful of stew and catch her eye. "President Snow was here?"
"Yeah, that was him who showed up early, not Cinna," she informs me. "Katniss was disappointed. But he was very friendly. He liked my dress."
"He always comes to wish the victor luck before the Tour," her mother quickly adds. Huh, I've never heard that. Maybe none of the victors I know ever thought it was worth mentioning. President Snow may be powerful but he's not exactly the kind of celebrity you namedrop.
"Cool," I say before digging back into the meal. I'm distracted again a moment later when I feel a hand come to rest on my left forearm. Blinking up, I find Mrs. Everdeen studying me.
"How are you holding up?"
"I didn't watch, if that's what you mean," I answer flatly, having no desire whatsoever to talk about this right now. Of course I'm not in a great mood. "I don't wanna be depressed for two weeks straight."
"Will you watch the Tour at all?" she presses, lifting an eyebrow.
"Probably," I admit. "I'm sure by tomorrow I'll be itching to get a glimpse of her. Hopefully they don't play up the romance angle too much."
It's probably too much to hope for. From the look Prim and her mom share, I'm guessing they think the same.
***o***
The first few days of the Tour make me think maybe we were wrong. If Katniss and Peeta are trying to push the romance, it's coming across very awkwardly. Katniss isn't engaged with him at all and appears to be hanging on by a thread, panic in her eyes every time she is onstage. Especially after her heartfelt eulogy to Rue ends with the crowd saluting her and a few people getting shot. Her speech and parts of Peeta's were cut from the broadcast, but the full footage was available on one of our secure channels back at the barracks. Those Peacekeepers were probably looking for any reason to crack down in revenge for the lives they lost in the riot, and this disturbance gave them one. Katniss no doubt blames herself, though, so it's no surprise she's tense after that.
Things don't really improve much. The Tour is mostly a shitshow and the couple's utter lack of chemistry becomes even more obvious the more they try to push it. To me, anyway, but I know them. The Capitol still seems to be buying it, according to the commentary we hear onscreen. The buzz about the Star Crossed Lovers coming to town grows to a fever pitch as they reach the last few districts, and it's completely nauseating. They make several appearances in the Capitol on Saturday and those idiots fawn all over them and just about swoon every time they kiss.
By the time Saturday night rolls around, I've just about had it. Only knowing that I'll get to see Katniss the next day makes my emotional state at all tolerable. A few hours after a dinner I sulk through, the three of us gather in the living room to watch the broadcast from the stage in front of the Training Center. As they do the lead up to the interview and Caesar gets the crowd riled up to see the Star Crossed Lovers, my stomach lurches and I'm filled with dread. Standing from the couch, I tell the others, "Yeah, I can't do this."
"Hanna…" Prim's soft voice calls my gaze down to her sympathetic eyes. I think she's about to ask me to stay, but all she says is, "It's not real, you know that."
"You're right, I do," I say confidently. "But I've had my fill of the Star Crossed Lovers. Besides, it's late. I'm going to bed." I don't have to work in the morning, but the time difference sucks and there's no point throwing my internal clock off rhythm just to watch the love of my life gush about her fake boyfriend. No thank you.
It was a good decision, I know that as soon as I wake up refreshed and with a huge smile on my face. Today. Katniss is coming home today.
Mrs. Everdeen is in the kitchen when I come downstairs, putting together an order for someone in some tiny glass jars. She must have already eaten. Despite my early retirement last night, I had my usual Sunday sleep in. Katniss still goes hunting with Gale early on Sundays, it's especially important to her now that it's his only day off from the mines. But I'm not sharing her with him at all once she's done her bullshit dinner with the mayor tonight, no sir. It's just gonna be me and her and hopefully our bed.
"Morning, Johanna," says Mrs. Everdeen.
"Morning," I sing-song on my way by, not even trying to hide my massive grin. She doesn't comment on it, probably knowing exactly what's on my mind.
"Where are you off to?" she inquires neutrally as I reach the door.
"The gym. Then probably the Square for the festivities." My grin grows impossibly larger. "Can't sit still waiting for Katniss to come back."
She gives me a weak smile in return. "Want some coffee?"
I glance at the coffee maker on the counter, Mrs. Everdeen's most prized possession in the whole house. Katniss says she all but jumped up and down when she saw it sitting on the counter when they first moved in. Apparently she acquired a taste for coffee back during her days in town, when her family could afford it. "How old is it?"
"An hour or so."
Wrinkling my nose, I decide, "I'll just get a fresh one at the barracks, I'm grabbing breakfast there anyway. Thanks, though."
As I'm straightening up from tying my boots, she speaks up again. "Johanna." Shrugging on my jacket, I catch her eye. "You know I had my doubts about you, about all of this," she begins. When I nod, she continues, "I just want you to know, I'm so happy you're in Katniss's life. You've been good for her. For all of us."
Feeling myself starting to blush, I wrestle some sense of control back by flashing her a charming smile. "Ah, Mrs. E., sorry but I'm taken."
She snickers and shakes her head. "Get out of here, you saucy thing." Unable to pass up an opportunity to make a woman laugh, I wiggle my butt on the way out the door.
At the barracks I change into gym clothes, program a large brunch into Martha, then head to the Commune to make that coffee. The rec hall is completely empty but a couple of the TVs are on anyway, as usual. The one closer to me is showing a replay of last night's interview, because of course it is. The other appears to be on one of the secure channels, and as my drink dispenses I wander over to take a look.
My stomach turns as I see all the dead bodies on the ground, many of them dressed in white and stripped of their armor and weapons. The feed numbers indicate District 8, though. They probably didn't pull any volunteers from here this time, we're not that close. By the looks of it, the tide has turned anyway. Bombed buildings smoke in the background while reinforcements swarm the streets. Still, the sight makes me shiver.
My coffee is almost gone by the time Martha spits out my food. I should try to pace myself so I don't get a huge caffeine rush, but my nerves are now doubly raw and I can't stay still. Drinking is something to do, and coffee is a better option than alcohol right now. Returning to the Commune with my plate, I set it down on one of the tables. I'm pulling the chair out when I sneak a glance at the nearest TV and see Peeta kneeling before Katniss on the stage.
The world goes out of focus for a second, my gut seizing and ears ringing. Shaking myself out of it, I march to the coffee table next to the nearest couch and grab the remote. "What the fuck? He didn't," I growl under my breath, turning up the volume.
He did. He finishes his long-winded, flowery speech and then pops the question. This isn't like the first interview he did on this stage, when Katniss was caught off guard and obviously pissed about it. No, Katniss's enthusiastic yes tells me this was planned. She pulls Peeta to his feet and into a passionate kiss, fisting his hair and suit jacket. The audience goes berserk. My mouth slips open. I only realize how tight I'm squeezing the mug and remote when the volume swells. The racket suits the chaos in my head.
It takes me a moment to move, at least by choice. The clenched fists and shaking of my body, those are involuntary. But finally I get my foot to shoot out and kick the coffee table, knocking it on its side. Flinging away the remote, I wind up and hurl the nearly empty mug at the wall. It shatters on contact, pieces flying everywhere and coffee splashing on the wall and floor. "God fucking damn it!"
A door slams nearby, but I barely hear it between the broadcast and the heartbeat pounding in my ears. A couple seconds later, Purnia barks, "Mason!" Stalking into the room with an expression both disbelieving and disappointed, she lectures, "This is not acceptable."
The shaking returns as a new wave of rage fills my body. "You know what's not acceptable?" I seethe, pointing at the TV.
Purnia keeps an infuriatingly straight face as she says, "I didn't exactly expect you to throw her an engagement party, but I thought you were more mature than this."
It feels like I've been physically slapped. My jaw drops and I have to give my head a quick shake. "Wow, Purnia. Return of the ice queen, huh? Some friend you are."
"CO first, friend second," she reminds me. "Clean up your mess."
Her refusal to show emotion only makes me want to get a reaction more. To get under her skin, hurt her, make her feel the way I do. "Jeez, someone needs to take a trip to Four," I retort. "Or Two."
Her jaw tightens as she glares warningly. "I am not telling you again. Clean up your mess, Agent. Now. And without any more of your lip."
This is not going to end well. Purnia is just as stubborn as Katniss, and I've learned when to stop pushing her. Huffing to myself, I surrender by bending over to grab the table. But on the way down, I can't resist a final dig. "Bitch," I mutter under my breath.
"Fine." As I flip the table upright and look up, I see her grabbing a notepad from her back pocket. Seriously? Hearing my scoff of disbelief, she casts me cursory glance as she flips it open. "Take me at my word, Mason," she says, jotting something down. "It's a warning, but it's going on your record."
"Whatever," I scowl, turning away so she can't see the emotion building in my face. Worse things have happened. Like this. Right now. My eyes are drawn to the blaring TV again as I stomp toward it. Caesar has started raving, ecstatic about the engagement, and I can't stand it a second longer. I punch the power button as hard as I dare for fear of knocking the whole thing over.
The silence is actually kind of worse.
As I squat to pick up the shards of ceramic, Purnia admonishes, "At least don't be an idiot. Use a broom." Her footsteps fade, I assume as she goes to fetch me one. But her warning only makes me want to disobey.
I gather half a dozen pieces in my palm before a sharp pain in my grabbing hand makes me drop a piece. "Ow! Fuck!" Dropping the others, I squeeze my right ring finger instinctively. When I get the courage to let go and look at it after several seconds, I find my fingers already coated in blood. Even with the throbbing pain, it's the sight of blood flowing down over both my palms that finally reduces me to tears.
Hearing Purnia's return, I look up, suddenly too tired to care how helpless I must look. She stops short behind the couch as she sees me. "Damn it, Johanna," she sighs. Detouring to the coffee counter, she grabs a rag and calmly approaches, squatting beside me. "Here," she says, "put pressure on it." Gently grabbing my wrist, she squeezes my finger with the towel. "You're a medic, you know this shit." What is intended to be a snort comes out as a sniffle, and her eyes flick to my face. "Hey," she whispers, moving her right hand to my shoulder.
"Stop," I protest, jerking away from her touch. "You can't keep doing this." She squints inquisitively and I specify, "Yelling at me and then hugging me. You're not my mother."
In only a blink, her face goes hard again. But her voice remains soft. "Would you rather I not care about you?"
"It would be easier," I state bluntly. She maintains her hard stare, but the subtle bob of her throat tells me I've hurt her feelings. Good. Silently releasing my finger, she reaches for the broom and dustpan she laid on the floor. "Leave it," I snap. "I'll take care of it." When she dares look me in the eye again, I harshen my glare. "Like you ordered, Captain Stark."
Without another word, Purnia stands and retreats. Well, that was easy. My fleeting sense of triumph fades when she disappears, though, because I expect to feel satisfaction and I don't. Only emptiness and a niggling sense of guilt. Fortunately, I can ignore that thanks to all the other emotions vying for my attention.
Since I lack the constitution to give myself stitches, I use wound closures on my finger and wrap it tight with a couple bandaids. The last thing I want to do is clean up my own blood mixed with coffee, but I do a sparkling job just to spite Purnia and prove how little I need her fucking help. I'm exhausted but completely wired by the time I finally make it to the gym. Having lost my appetite, I work out on an empty stomach, fueled by caffeine and rage. My mind swirls with questions the entire time, mostly 'why would she do this?'. In the end, I conclude it doesn't matter why. The result is the same.
***o***
It's weird, sneaking into your own home. But that's what I do when I get back to the Village, easing open the door and peeking around it, searching for any signs of life. Finding none, I tiptoe over to the stairs and check the living room on the way by. They seem to be out. Perfect.
In our room - no, Katniss's room - I dig my huge duffel bag out from under the bed and start rifling through the closet, ripping out anything that belongs to me and tossing it on the bed. I left some stuff at the barracks, but the majority of it is here. Pitching the hangers one by one into the closet, I stuff the clothes in the bag. It feels good. After gathering my stuff from the bathroom, I move on to the dresser to grab all my pants and nightclothes. Spotting my dog tags on top of it, I swipe them up with a scowl.
I've just grabbed my slippers from the foot of the bed when I hear the front door open and close, making my gut sink. "Shit." Two familiar voices filter up the stairs, and I hurriedly sweep the room for anything else of mine. A couple books on the nightstand on what was my side, a few things in the laundry hamper. I remember the strap-on at the last minute but decide to leave it, I don't want that reminder. Let Katniss stick her dick up Peeta's ass. He'd probably love it.
It's Prim's footsteps I hear on the stairs. Her mother has a heavier tread and walks slower. Everything about Prim is light and hopeful. It's not fair, what the world has done to her. Her knock pulls me from my thoughts. "Johanna?" When I don't reply, she knocks again. "Johanna, I know you're here. Your boots are by the door." Fuck. Continuing to pack, I hope she gets the point and just leaves. Unfortunately, youngest children aren't known for going away when we know we're being annoying. "Okay, I'm coming in," she warns me. "Not my fault if you're naked."
Great. Sighing heavily, I steel myself. Still, I am not prepared for the look of utter disappointment on Prim's face as she opens the door and catches me mid-escape. Especially combined with pity, another thing I can't stand. Shaking my head, I avert my eyes to the bed and resume packing. "Don't look at me like that."
"You're leaving now?" demands Prim, crossing the room to join me at the bedside. "Katniss needs you."
"Believe it or not, Prim, not everything is about Katniss," I reply evenly. "I have to protect myself for a change."
"Katniss is the one who's always protecting everyone," retorts Prim. Sneering at the bag, she adds, "And you don't even have the decency to confront her face-to-face? You're a coward."
"She's the coward," I shoot back. "It's Katniss who's bowing to public pressure instead of following her heart."
"How do you know? You haven't even talked to her," she points out. She's right, but I ignore her, focusing on packing again. "You said just last night that you know it's fake. What changed?"
"Nothing. I still know it's fake. Doesn't matter."
"So you're breaking your own heart on purpose?"
Finally looking up, I scoff in exasperation. "Why do you even care?"
"Because I like you!" Her tone and eyes are incredibly earnest, forcing me to look away again. As much satisfaction as I get from hurting some people, Prim is not one of them. "And she likes you. Before the Games… I haven't seen her that happy since before Dad died."
My eyes stay on the bag as I swallow to combat the tightness in my throat. This is upsetting me and it's the last thing I need right now. "It's not my job to make your sister happy."
"It kind of is," she counters, crossing her arms. "You wanted to be her girlfriend. You signed up for it."
"Yeah, I signed up for dating a girl from the Seam, not a celebrity victor with a fake husband. I wasn't expecting her to volunteer."
"Well if she hadn't, I'd be dead," states Prim. "So there's that."
It's a pretty damn good point. "And she'd be super depressed," I concede. Twitching my mouth, I shrug sadly. "Either way, Effie Trinket screwed us."
"Shit happens, Johanna." Prim's uncharacteristic profanity makes me blink hard. I must really be rubbing off on her now. Either that or she's super pissed. "You're the one who decides if you stay and fight. I never thought you were the type to give up."
"I'm not giving up, I'm recognizing the futility of the situation and cutting my losses." God, I'm so full of shit. Even I know it. But I'm not entirely wrong, either.
"You love her," stresses Prim. "You can make it work."
I chuckle ironically, eyes to the sky. "Ah, the naivety of youth."
"Shut up," she snaps. "You're the one who's being dramatic."
Sensing an advantage and opportunity to end this, I retain my air of condescension and straighten up, exploiting what little height advantage I have left on Prim. She's grown so much in the year I've known her, in more ways than one. Even now, she holds her ground as I look down on her, doing my best to make her feel small. "You've never had your heart broken, Prim," I tell her, overly sweetly. "When Little Gale goes and hooks up with some other girl, and you see them kissing at school and can't escape the situation, then you can come talk to me about this."
The way Prim's expression darkens, I can tell I've crossed a line. Never tease a twelve year-old about her crush. "You know what?" she spews, planting her clenched fists on her hips. "I'm sorry that you're hurting, but that does not give you the right to be a huge jerk to everyone." Then she storms away, slamming the door on the way out.
It may not give me the right, but it's my natural defense mechanism. Shut everyone out before they can hurt me too.
A few minutes later, I descend the stairs with the big bag in tow. All but dragging it behind me, I maneuver my way into the kitchen and stop short at the sight of Mrs. Everdeen watching me quietly from her rocking chair near the fire. While I'm trying to think of something to say, she deadpans, "You made Prim lose her temper. Quite the accomplishment."
Forcing a smile, I brag, "I aim high, what can I say?" Her expression doesn't change, and mine droops. "You're mad at me too."
"I'm not mad. Disappointed." God, what a motherly thing to say.
"Yeah," I snort. "So am I."
As I heft the strap onto my shoulder and turn for the door, she calls to me, "It doesn't have to be this way."
Sighing, I catch her eye over my shoulder. "You know that's not true." Swallowing hard, I force out, "You knew it all along. There's no future for us." Her eyes are sad but her nod is understanding. She gets it. Returning the nod, I give her a weak, "Bye, Mrs. E."
***o***
Though we're still barely speaking, Purnia is kind enough not to schedule me in the Square on Monday, allowing me to avoid Katniss and the whole Harvest Festival/Victory Tour spectacle. But I know I won't be able to avoid her forever, as much as I'd like to. She's far too stubborn. I halfway expect her to come knock on my window on Wednesday, try to plead her case. As much as I dread having to see her, the longer she doesn't show, the angrier I get. Maybe she doesn't even care. I probably did her a favor, moving out so she didn't have to kick me out.
When I go to the gym after lunch to work off some of my rage, I find Darius already there. We haven't spoken since last week, haven't been posted together at all. He gives me a friendly nod but seems to sense approaching is a bad idea. It's not until he's packing up to leave that he meanders over to the benches while I'm resting between sets. "So you're sleeping at the barracks again, huh?" I give him a curt nod. "Can't say I blame you." Stalling a moment, he scratches behind his ear. "Have you talked to her?"
"No," I answer shortly. "I'm done with her."
Darius nods, eyeing me sympathetically. "I'm sorry." I snort and he insists, "Really. I am."
"Thanks," I mutter, using picking up my weights as an excuse to look away. Darius gets the message and leaves but gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze on the way by.
I'm still in a piss-poor mood on Thursday, and it's only made worse when Purnia knocks on my door a couple hours after shift and informs me that I've been summoned to the mayor's house. "Um, why?" I ask.
"Repairs," she says. "Cray says he just called and said he can't pick up his secure channel."
Oh, that explains it. Typically if any building in town needs work they call in a local who does whatever trade is needed for a living, but if sensitive information is at stake no civilians are allowed. That's why we do all of our own maintenance around the barracks, to keep the building secure. We each do a share of janitorial and learn the basics of at least one trade. Some of us are plumbers or electricians. My dad was a mechanic. I fix small appliances. On occasion, I electrocute myself with a dryer. Well, once.
"I'm guessing Troy doesn't want to go out in the snow?" I ask Purnia. He has several years of experience on me and taught me most of what I know. Unfortunately, he also has seniority.
"He's already at the Hob and probably drunk. Besides, Mayor Undersee asked for you specifically." That raises my eyebrows. "Apparently his daughter said you're very capable."
Blinking this through, I conclude, "Right. She's friends with Katniss. She saw me fixing the Everdeens' coffee maker once."
One corner of Purnia's mouth twitches, but she pulls it back into a straight line to match her flat reply. "How domestic." Handing me the work order, she disappears down the hall.
When I arrive at the mayor's house, he explains that his one TV that picks up the secure emergency alerts has stopped working altogether. "Thank you for coming so quickly," he adds. "There's been a lot of news lately and I can't afford to miss any updates."
Right, the uprising in District 8. There's been much talk of the event around the barracks, but I haven't paid much attention because I've been understandably preoccupied. It took them less than 48 hours to shut down the rebellion, anyway. There's been no more updates out of there, but perhaps the mayor fears similar news out of other districts. I can't blame him. Things have been tense nationwide since the Games.
"Of course, sir," I reply, giving him a knowing nod to assure him I catch his drift. "Where can I find it?"
"Second floor," he says, gesturing toward the stairwell. "First door on your right."
The TV is on when I walk into the study, muted but showing static. Good. If it's only a connectivity issue it should be an easy fix. Probably a loose wire somewh-
The door slams, making me jump and whip around mid-thought. I startle a second time when I see Katniss standing there glaring at me. She looks far from her most intimidating, however. Dark circles under her eyes, pale and hollow cheeks. From a cursory glance at her body, I can tell she's lost at least ten pounds since she left for the Tour. I'm torn between asking if she's okay and telling her she looks like shit. Deciding neither is a good idea, I settle on, "So Madge is your wingwoman, huh?"
"She wasn't happy about it."
"That makes two of us," I say. "That's cute, forcing me here under orders."
"You arrested me to force me to listen to you once," she retorts, pulling something from her pocket and walking over to the TV. "This is no worse."
As she squats behind the TV, I remark, "I was starting to think you had nothing to say at all. I was home all day yesterday, and not a peep."
Screwing the piece back into place, Katniss states, "I was caught on camera like forty million times behind the barracks, and I can't be seen with you right now."
The screen crackles then fills with Katniss and Peeta's faces, laughing and happy as they dance in the ballroom at the president's mansion. Talk about insult to injury. "Of course you can't. Have to keep up appearances."
Katniss's head snaps up. "That's not why."
"Sure."
Standing and checking the picture, Katniss pushes the power button and turns my way. Finally without a convenient distraction, she can no longer hide the hurt in her expression. "If you hadn't up and left on me, we could have talked at the house."
"It's probably bugged," I deflect. "Besides, we both know I was gonna have to move out anyway. Seeing as you and Peeta will be sharing a marital bed soon enough."
Katniss gives me a look. "You know it's all an act."
"Yeah, I know," I tell her. Swallowing, I stand up straighter. "But you've taken this too far. I'm not going to be your mistress, Katniss."
She must sense my internal distress, because she drops the defensive posture and eases herself closer. "Hanna, I can explain," she says earnestly. "You need to understand why-"
"It doesn't matter why. That's not the point." My voice threatens to crack as I declare, "There's no place for me in your life."
Katniss stops her approach, expression suddenly deadened. After a moment of loaded staring, she informs me, "President Snow personally threatened to have you killed."
That is not something I was expecting. Maybe it should have been, but I've been actively avoiding thinking about her reasons. I am too stunned to respond, so she forges on. "He had videos of us kissing. He knows you've been living with me, sleeping in my bed." Katniss doesn't even blink let alone blush at that last admission, proving just how fully she dissociated in a matter of seconds.
"So what?" I ask, crossing my arms.
"He's worried about rebellion in the districts. He thinks that they don't believe the love story. And he can't kill me now without further inflaming the situation and creating a martyr, but you're expendable. He assured me he can dispose of you easily if you're distracting me from Peeta." Laying a firm hand on my upper arm, she squeezes urgently. "I did this to protect you."
Feigning a dramatic swoon, I gasp, "Oh, my knight in shining armor!"
Anger flares up in Katniss's eyes, contrasting her otherwise stony features. "What is wrong with you? Would you rather I let you die?"
"Yeah," I state decidedly.
Her mouth slips open as she stares at me, searching my face for evidence to the contrary. "You don't mean that."
"A bullet to the head, quick and painless," I muse, weighing my options. "This'll be anything but. I can try to transfer out of the district, but it's difficult."
"Johanna, please don't do that," she begs, gripping my sleeve once more. "I couldn't bear to lose you."
"And that's the thing," I spit, jerking my arm away. "You would rather put me through hell than let me die and have to live with it. You really are selfish, underneath it all."
Katniss sets her jaw but refuses to take the bait. "Look. I have a plan. A way that we can be together."
"I already know the plan. You keep me as your side ho for a few years, until you and Peeta fake a big fight and dramatic celebrity divorce." Tipping my head, I challenge her, "And, what? I'm supposed to wait around for you?"
Face falling, Katniss drops her gaze. "I would." She looks genuinely hurt, but I'm not in a position to care.
"Yeah, I'm not you."
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "It's not like you're gonna marry anyone else."
My eyes narrow. "Low blow, Everdeen."
Katniss blinks the emotion from her face. "Even if you could, you wouldn't get the chance," she tells me. "My acting wasn't convincing enough. He's going to kill you." Glaring at the carpet, she grumbles, "Maybe my family too, to spite me."
It takes me a moment to absorb her words and register the bone-chilling terror they sent through me. She was right about one thing, at least: I don't want to die. Concealing my fear as best I can, I lift my chin proudly. "Well at least I won't live to see you marry Bread Boy."
"I am not losing you. I have a plan to make this right and keep everyone alive," she insists. Her eyes dart from side to side and she admits, "But you're right, there's mics and cameras everywhere. We can't risk talking about it here." She huffs under her breath. "Or anywhere."
I sigh. This is getting exhausting. "You're not the only one with a say in this, Katniss."
Her stare starts off helpless, turning desperate just before she grabs my face with both hands and presses forward for a kiss. It's not a wild, passionate one. It's closed-mouth, firm and lingering. Possessive. I purse my lips in return, the only action that's really needed. For a moment I simply enjoy the way our foreheads and noses are smushed together, the adorable way her eyes have scrunched shut as she puts all her effort into making me feel this.
Finally pulling back, her eyes open and hold mine with an intensity that prohibits me from even blinking. "I love you." Something changes in her face then, as though she's just had a novel thought. Her features solidify into quiet determination and she instructs me, "Meet me where I told you that for the first time, this Sunday. I'll wait all day if I have to." Lingering just a moment, she brushes her thumb over the corner of my mouth. "Please, don't let that be our last."
Then she's gone.
A/N: Thanks to my tireless beta D7P for continuing to help with this fic.