Loyalty

by Johanna's Motivational Insults

Newly-minted Peacekeeper Johanna Mason is assigned to District 12 and meets a coworker and a young hunter who together will cause her to question her worldview and her allegiance to the Capitol.

24. Scars

A/N: Happy Holidays! Thanks for your patience. Chapter 25 won't be far behind. :)

As is often the case, there's some recycled and reworked canon content. Copyright blah blah blah.

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The elevator slows its descent under my feet, making my stomach rise in my ribcage. It spasms and cartwheels as the doors open, and I take a deep breath to settle it. I immediately wish I hadn't. The ground floor of the Remake Center smells of hay and manure, like the barn it essentially is. It's also the gateway into the life I once craved. A life some part of me still craves.

Even with the doors leading into the Capitol streets closed, the roar of the expectant crowd rivals the volume of the heartbeat echoing in my ears as I step out into the vast room. Peering down the line of horses and chariots, I see small groups of victors gathered together and chatting. There's nobody by the Twelve chariot at the back of the line, and I'm sure Katniss isn't mingling and making acquaintances, so she must still be upstairs. But she's not the only one I'm interested in chatting up.

Veering down the left side of the procession, I pass by my own chariot in favor of finding the District 2 tributes. I know both of them pretty well. Brutus was one of the victors most involved in the candidacy program, frequently training with us at the Academy, so it was no surprise when he volunteered. What was surprising was Scarlett Caskey's willingness to re-enter the arena. Her name was picked and that bitch with the teeth tried to volunteer, but Scar declined to be replaced.

As I approach Two's chariot, I glimpse Brutus in front of the horses, though he looks ready to amble away at any second. The leaves on my headdress rustle louder as I speed up, reminding me of just how terrible my costume is with every step. The form-fitted bodice is supposed to resemble a tree trunk, the sleeves scraggly branches. Leaves sprout off the backs of my hands and from the headdress, which is basically a bunch of small branches tied together. A five year-old probably made it.

Brutus hears my approach - how could he not? - and catches my eye. His smile is small but proud. "Johanna Mason," he greets me, extending a hand. "You made here it after all."

"That I did," I concur, giving his meaty palm one firm shake.

My hand isn't even back at my side yet before I hear Scar call out, "Jo!" She emerges from the other side of the horses, all smiles. While she wraps me up in a hug, Brutus gives me a nod and wanders toward a nearby group of victors that includes his likely allies Gloss and Cashmere. Pushing me an arm's length away, Scar grips my shoulders and drags her eyes down my body. Down my costume, actually, though she thankfully refrains from commenting on it. "Both of us here together," she muses, her voice bright but a sad tinge infecting her smile. "Who would've thought?"

"I know, right?" Considering what she said about the nightmares, I'm surprised she's even in the Capitol, let alone among the tributes. Tipping my head, I cock a quizzical eyebrow. "I assumed you wouldn't want back in."

Scar turns to stroke the mane of the nearest horse, smiling tightly as it makes eye contact with her. "Well, I was told I had to come for the Games this year either way." Digging in a pocket in her costume, she finds a sugar cube and holds it out to the horse. As it crunches away happily, she ruffles the mane and says, "Might as well get in on the fun if I'm here."

My brow crinkles. "Why'd you have to come?"

"People who wanted to meet me, you know. Even after last year, I'm still a big name, and they need to keep the crowds happy." Shrugging nonchalantly, she remarks, "I guess if I'm locked in the Training Center I won't have much time with the public, but oh well. Not my problem."

This attitude is understandable. Even I would have burned out on fame eventually, I'm sure. "Well, as much as I don't want you dead, I have to admit it'll be nice to have another friendly face in the arena."

Scar arches her eyebrows. "I hope I can be."

"What do you mean?"

Leaning in, she stage whispers, "I'd ask if you want in with the Careers, but I assume you have other plans."

"Yeah," I draw out. Taking a moment to silently hem and haw, I conclude, "I'll see what I can do. Maybe I can twist her arm into an alliance." The idea is laughable. Katniss isn't an allies kind of person. But with this field of experienced killers, she might not have a choice.

Eyes narrowing skeptically, Scar points out, "You said she hates me."

I shrug this off as though it's no big deal. "She used to hate me too."

"I'm sure you deserved it," chuckles Scar.

"I really did," I confess, a sheepish smirk quirking my lips. "I arrested and roughed her up the first time I met her."

"Of course you did. Such game."

"In my defense, she was poaching," I inform her. "It wasn't entirely uncalled for."

Her eyes roll and flick to the left, then pop open. "Oo, girl on fire sighting, my nine o'clock!" My stomach plummets into my butt, my feet rooting themselves into the ground. Scar glances back and, noticing my hesitation, grabs me and pulls me closer. Licking my lips with a suddenly dry tongue, I lean forward to peek around the horse.

Katniss looks very different from the last time I saw her, wounded and vulnerable but high on drugs and love. Now she appears hardened. Beautiful and unbreakable. Much of it is in the way she carries herself, like a woman with no fucks to give and nothing to lose, but her outfit definitely adds to the effect. The black unitard and boots aren't all that remarkable, but her face is streaked in dark makeup that highlights her sharp features and ferocity. Topping off the ensemble is a half crown evoking the one she received last year. It's a simple detail, but a true gut punch.

"Wow." Stepping back, I push out a quiet whistle. "Cinna's good."

"Well what are you waiting for?" prods Scar. My eyes flit to the right, down the long line of horses and chariots, before falling to the ground. She gasps theatrically. "Are you actually nervous?"

That's all it takes to motivate me. Giving her a glare and the finger, I march away down the line. Squaring up my shoulders, I lift my head and take deep breaths as I walk, trying to curb my speed and enthusiasm. I feel like I did back in District 12, like a young girl with a shiny new crush. Like I did that evening I tracked Katniss down outside the Hob to give her a gift. All nerves, adrenaline both spurring me ahead and telling me to run and hide. For all I've changed since then, this much is the same.

As I round the back of the District 11 chariot, I hear Finnick Odair's distinct voice coming from where I last saw Katniss standing. The first words I catch are, "What happened to the pretty little girl dresses?"

"I outgrew them," Katniss states flatly as I sneak up behind Finnick, who's wearing nothing but a bunch of ropes meant to resemble a fishing net. It's not the first time I've seen Finnick's ass, which is admittedly on par with mine. I hope for Katniss's sake that he's better covered in the front.

"You certainly did," concurs Finnick in a tone that rides the line between charming and lecherous. I've heard enough.

Making my grand entrance, I sweep out from behind him. Katniss's jaw slackens, eyes widening, and Finnick follows her stare. Crossing my arms, I shoot a fiery gaze up at the much taller tribute. "Beat it, pretty boy. She's not interested."

Finnick takes a couple seconds to size me up, drag his eyes over to Katniss and back to me. His grin does not match the faux cowardice in his voice as he raises his hands in innocence. "Ma'am yes ma'am, Agent Mason. Don't arrest me, I've been a good boy."

As he backs away, I scoff and shake my head. "What a smartass."

"Says you," retorts Katniss. Much like her valiant effort to keep her face blank, her deadpan tone betrays a hint of affection.

"Hey," I purr, finally focusing on her. Raking my eyes over her body, I let loose a low whistle, a louder one this time. "Damn, girl. I've always liked your hunter aesthetic, but I could get used to this."

"Flattery isn't going to get you out of this one, Johanna." Her serious tone pulls the grin right off my face, my eyes fluttering bewilderedly. "How could you do that to me?"

I've barely asked, "Do what?" when I spy her district partner approaching. Rather than answer my question, she follows my gaze. Adding insult to injury, she appears relieved to see him. As he joins us, I give him a cordial nod. "Peeta. Pleasure as always."

"Nice to see you too, Agent," he greets me blandly.

The repeated use of the honorific irks me, narrowing my eyes. "Hey, all I am right now is a tribute. Same as any of you."

"You're not the same," declares Katniss. Her gaze is dark and powerful, anger simmering behind it. "You've never done this before, you don't get what it's like. You should've stayed home." Though we haven't been directed to yet, she turns to mount the chariot.

"I lost my home seven months ago," I tell her as she pulls herself up onto the step.

Katniss freezes, one foot on the chariot floor. Half on, half off, she turns her head to catch my eye. Her helpless, almost desperate expression suggests maybe I've gotten through to her, but then the music starts and I'm forced to leave before I can make any more headway. Holding her gaze silently, I give her a lingering nod before making for the Seven chariot.

The roar of the crowd rattles my bones as the first chariot pulls out, ramping my heart rate back up. My district partner Blight is a quiet guy who barely acknowledged me on the train, but he thinks to warn me to grab onto our chariot's railing a second before it lurches forward. I ham it up, of course, flexing and posing for the crowd. With the adrenaline getting to me, losing myself in the moment is pretty easy despite my strange interaction with Katniss. I barely think of it at all until I catch a peek of her and Peeta on one of the screens set up on the side streets for the overflowing throng of revellers. Their suits resemble embers or maybe hunks of coal, glowing various shifting shades of firelight. The crowns atop their heads burn red hot, throwing highlights and shadows across their already intimidating faces. I'm so enthralled I forget my own waving for a few seconds, until I notice they are once again holding hands in the chariot. Then my face morphs into a scowl.

Although Pissed Johanna is scary, I figure Cocky Johanna will get me more sponsors, so I swallow my emotions and try to enjoy the ride. It's one I've waited a decade to take, after all. The crowd seems fond of me, which isn't surprising. They think I'm one of them. There was a lot of speculation on talk shows last night and this morning about the mysterious tribute from District 7, with many talking heads assuming I was Capitol-bred because I'm a Peacekeeper. It goes to show how little they know about who protects them, which is hilarious and also a little sad.

When we reach the City Circle, President Snow does his customary welcome speech with only minor changes to acknowledge the significance of this year's Games and who the tributes are. It's pretty clear he wrote the speech before I volunteered, either that or he just hasn't bothered to acknowledge that not all of us are victors. But I don't mind not being singled out in such elite company, and considering that he threatened to kill me once, I'd rather not be acknowledged.

While dismounting inside the bowels of the Training Center, I'm approached by another pair of familiar faces. Lyme and Crag, this year's mentors, both spent time teaching at the Academy. All the victors do - I think maybe it's required. You know, unless they have a breakdown like that one girl did and get banished from the premises for fear they'll scare the candidates off. We chat amiably for a few moments until Scar comes up behind me and slings an arm around my shoulders, Brutus on her heels.

Scanning the crowd of socializing victors as Scar takes over the talking, I catch sight of Katniss frowning in our direction. I'm not sure if it's me she's frowning at or Scar, or possibly the sight of us together, but within a couple seconds her attention is pulled away when Haymitch comes over with the tributes from Eleven. Seeder gives Katniss a hug, which is weird. Chaff grabs her and kisses her right on the mouth, which is even weirder. Katniss gets the hell out of dodge, understandably, taking advantage of the officials trying to corral us toward the elevators.

Telling Scar I'll catch up with her in the morning, I duck out of our group and follow in Katniss's wake. I want to give Chaff a piece of my mind, but settle for jostling him on the way by so I can get on the same elevator as Katniss. Cinna and Peeta's stylist are lagging behind, but Haymitch has caught up with his tributes, thankfully leaving his friends behind. They're the first to board an elevator and don't have to wait for one to come down, so I almost don't make it. Speed walking the final twenty feet, I slide between the closing doors at the last instant.

Katniss sighs wearily when I appear out of nowhere, her shoulders sagging. It would normally be insulting, but I'm guessing after Chaff and Finnick's advances she just didn't want to deal with anyone else bothering her. Including me. Taking in the car full of wary expressions, I pull on a cheeky grin. "Lovely to have the gang back together again, don't you think?"

"It was quite the surprise," says Haymitch as he presses the buttons for our respective floors.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," I tease. Turning my eyes to the tributes, I meet Peeta's gaze briefly. Katniss, meanwhile, has her eyes glued to the floor, refusing to look at me. While I hate precious few things more than being ignored, I can fix that easily. I've always known how to make her stare.

Tossing aside my leafy headdress, I grouse, "Isn't my costume awful? I swear, the District 7 stylists are the worst in the country. Their tributes have been trees for forty years." Unzipping and peeling off the trunk part of the outfit, I kick it aside in disgust. "That's better."

The outfit included no undergarments, so save for a pair of slippers I'm standing there stark naked in front of all three of them. Not that I care about Haymitch's appreciative smirk or how weirdly unaffected Peeta seems to be by the whole display. Katniss's reaction more than makes up for it, anyway. It's even thirstier than when I first I stripped naked in front of her at the lake. Hands clenching and flexing at her sides, she stares helplessly as the light from her glowing costume reflects off my bare breasts. Now I ignore her, killing the seconds to floor seven by complimenting Peeta on his paintings that were featured on the Victory Tour. But in my peripheral vision I see her eyes and mouth hanging open the entire time.

When the doors open on my floor, I finally look her way. Feeling my eyes on her, she forces hers up to meet them. Throwing her a wink equal parts boastful and provocative, I tell her, "You know where to find me." As I sashay out into the large living area, much to the shock of the attending Avoxes, I hear first Haymitch and then Peeta bust out laughing behind me. I peek over my shoulder only long enough to catch a glimpse of Katniss still rooted on the spot as the guys' laughter fades behind the closing doors. Admittedly I was kind of hoping she'd follow me, drawn like a moth to a flame, but the look on her face was satisfying enough.

I shower and dress in a bathrobe and slippers before dinner, which is decidedly awkward. No one seems to know what to do with or say to me, the unexpected intruder. It's a little better than last night, when the shock was still fresh, but it's clear they don't trust me. Why would they? Not only am I a Peacekeeper, I've done nothing to indicate any interest in teaming up with Blight, which throws strategy talk out the window. Instead our Capitol escort tries to make small talk, which goes about as well as you'd expect.

After dinner we retire to a sitting room to watch a repeat of the parade and opening ceremonies. The only benefit to this is I get to watch all the tributes instead of focusing on the crowd and the glimpses of Katniss and Peeta I caught on the screens. Finnick is as charmingly handsome as ever, while Scar has whipped out her best fake smile and beauty queen wave. I actually don't look half bad, considering the outfit.

Not keen on having to sit through Snow's speech again, as the chariots pull into the Circle I rise and take my leave. Pausing where my stylist sits at the end of one of the couches, I promise her, "If you put me in another tree, I'll tell my comrades I heard you talking shit about President Snow." As I'm walking away, I have another thought. "And nothing Peacekeepery either," I toss over my shoulder. "Something badass."

Back in my room, I order a bowl of ice cream from the room service machine - which is just as cool as Scar made it out to be - and consider my next move. I assumed Katniss would want to be allies, but her hostile behavior in the Remake Center seemed to indicate otherwise. Still, I can't imagine she wouldn't want to team up, if for no other reason than she knows how deadly I am and that I can be counted on to protect her and Peeta. By the time I'm scraping the bowl, I decide I'll wait a bit to be sure the broadcast is over and then go upstairs and try to talk to her. Not understanding our current situation is stressing me out, and I don't want to spend all night pondering various what-ifs.

I'm lying flat on my back, legs hanging over the edge of the bed when a knock resounds through the room. My heart leaps out of my throat. I'd know that knock anywhere, that rhythm I heard so many times on my window back at the barracks. Consciously suppressing the urge to jump to my feet and run for the door, I take slow measured steps on my way there. Wiping my face of any excitement, I pull on the same seductive look I wore in the elevator. For good measure, just before opening the door I adjust my robe to display my cleavage and the swell of my right breast.

Swinging the door slowly inward, I smirk at the girl outside and rest my left forearm high above my head, braced against the door's edge. "Here for a private show?"

Katniss's gaze is drawn exactly where I intended, falling from my face to skim over the halfway exposed breast. Catching herself, she rolls her eyes and forces them deeper into the room. "Put those away."

"Why?" I inquire as she slips by me. "Am I distracting you?"

"Yes," she snaps, whirling around. "Yes, you're fucking distracting me." Raising an eyebrow, I close the door, making a point of locking it loudly to further get under her skin. But when I turn to face her, she doesn't look annoyed. She looks sad. "When my mom told me you were gone, I lost my will to live," she says. "I could never make peace with losing you." Her voice wobbles the slightest bit and she takes a moment to swallow. "But when they announced the Quell, I resigned myself to dying without you, saving Peeta. And now here you are, sweeping back into my life after all this time."

My stomach aches with phantom sensations of the pain I felt upon losing her. The same pain I know she suffered. Readjusting the robe to better cover myself, I step closer with an earnest, "Katniss, I'm sorry I never came back." Now within arm's reach, I extend a hand and rest it on her shoulder. The breath leaves my body as I do. This is all I've wanted for the last seven months, a chance to touch her again. It's my turn to swallow. "I promised, I know, but I had no idea they were going to ship me out. And I had no chance to run."

"You think that's why I'm angry?" Though she still does retain some ire in her tone, what says more is how she doesn't move out of my reach. "I know that wasn't your fault, Johanna. It hurt, it nearly killed me," she says, voice nearly cracking again, "but it wasn't your fault."

"So what's wrong? You're upset I volunteered?" Katniss gives me a small but solemn nod and my posture wilts despite my efforts. My voice sounds embarrassingly small when I say, "I thought you'd be glad to see me."

"Not here." Pulling away, she sets her jaw and folds her arms. "You've put me in an impossible position, Hanna. How am I supposed to protect both you and Peeta?"

My mouth drops open with a huff. That's quite possibly the most offensive thing she's ever said to me. "I volunteered to protect you, Katniss. I don't need a babysitter. I'm not your deadweight perpetual liability of a fiancé." Katniss opens her mouth to speak, but before she can I spout off, "And seriously, you're still having trouble choosing between us?"

"I shouldn't have to choose, Johanna, that's the point!" shouts Katniss, an angry flush creeping up her neck. "I've spent the last four months training and preparing to keep Peeta alive. That was the plan. Pardon me if I'm a little upset that you volunteered needlessly and now at least one of you is going to die."

She has a point, one I can't argue. But I'm pissed and not about to concede that easily, so I cock my head and snort, "Somehow I doubt Peeta's going to go along with your little plan."

"Yes, I'm aware," she sneers. "All I want is to keep the people I care about safe, and they all think it would be awesome to volunteer in, put themselves in danger and make me feel even shittier about the fact I'm gonna die. Hey, maybe Gale and Prim should join in on the fun! See whose death will upset me the most."

Eyebrows at my hairline, I take a step back from my fuming girlfriend. "Jeez, you don't have to be a dick about it." Scoffing inwardly, I give my head a slow shake. "I can't believe this. It never even occurred to me that you'd be anything other than thrilled to see me."

"Yeah, apparently lots of things never occurred to you," snaps Katniss. Tilting her head downward, she condescends, "Didn't you think it was very fortunate how you got assigned to the main town of the one district without a female victor?"

"Yeah, I did," I inform her brusquely, crossing my arms. "I got lucky for once in my life."

"You seriously think that was luck? How convenient that my wannabe Career girlfriend was put in a position to volunteer."

"Quite the conspiracy theory," I remark, unimpressed. "For like the twenty millionth time, not everything is about you, Katniss."

"Yes, it is," she declares. "Right now, everything is about me. There's no way this Quell is a coincidence. You know what's happening in the districts because of what I did last year."

My indifferent facade drops as my eyelids flutter in surprise. "Wait, how do you know about that?"

"Beside the point," she says, waving me off. Though I raise my eyebrows pointedly, she shakes her head, refusing to be steered off topic. "Look, Snow is doing everything he can to throw me off my game. You've played right into his hands."

Pushing out a sigh, I decide to cut the bullshit and address the big fat elephant in the room. "What does it matter if I'm here or not? We both know he's not letting you out of there alive."

Katniss takes this in stride with merely a blink. "Then why bother trying to protect me?"

"Better than standing by and watching, like I did last summer. Like I did after the Tour." My eyes drop at the memory. "And I needed to see you again. Before you died." When I meet her gaze again, Katniss's face has gone a bit lax, her eyes wide and gleaming. Saying nothing, she steps in and slowly lifts a hand, traces my jaw with her fingers. My eyes close reflexively but I force them back open, wanting to miss nothing. "Don't you want to spend your last days with me, instead of wishing I was here?"

Now fully cupping my cheek, she swallows and nods. "Yes."

I smirk as her fingers comb experimentally through my new haircut. "You miss it?"

"I like it," she admits. "Less to grab, but I'll make do."

Finally - finally - she kisses me. Hard, too, fisting my hair and forcing her tongue past my lips right away. In contrast, her other hand softly slips under the robe to caress my shoulder and collarbone. I can't resist a dig. "So you came here to yell at me and then fuck me?"

"Shut up," she says through more kisses. Stripping the robe off that shoulder with the back of her hand, she trails her fingers down my shoulder blade in a way that makes me shudder.

Returning the kisses feverishly, I turn us and start pulling her toward the bed, breaking the liplock only to gasp, "I need you inside me so bad."

Katniss stops short with a blink. "Sorry, I didn't think a strap-on dildo would make the best district token." The shock of hearing her say something like that strikes me dumb for a second, unsure if she's serious. Then she cracks a grin and I laugh aloud. Her smile turns self-satisfied at the sound. "Besides, I already have one."

"Madge's pin."

Shaking her head, she reaches into her shirt. "Madge isn't who I wanted to bring into the arena with me." She fishes out a necklace, the chain of which I hadn't noticed before. Her fingers open, and even once I see them sitting there plain as day in her palm, it takes me a moment to comprehend that she's wearing my dog tags. That this is her token.

I'm speechless once again, this time with flattery. Reaching out, I run my fingers over the tags before weaving them between hers. "Just you is fine," I tell her. Pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles, I rearrange my grip so her index and middle fingers are exposed. I plunge them deep into my mouth, then pull them down between us. Katniss gets the message, maneuvering between the flaps of my robe and up.

As her fingers slide inside me, I whimper involuntarily while she gasps in my ear. "Fuck," I whisper, my hands moving to claw the back of her neck. Katniss's left hand deftly unties my robe and slips in to get a grip on my hip, and I disconnect just long enough to shrug it off and let it fall to the floor. Her eyes widen at the sight, but she doesn't explore my body further, keeping her hands fast in a commitment to fucking me soundly first. No objections here.

Unlike our last major reunion, we don't go soft or slow. She's rough in a way that I like. I lift my left leg and attempt to hook it around her hips to allow her easier access. Katniss responds heartily to the invitation, but I can't get a good grip and my leg starts to slip. Feeling my struggle, she reaches behind her back to grasp my ankle, supporting some of my weight. She's remarkably good at multitasking, managing to pull off the slipper and sock without any interruptions to her rhythm.

The positioning is such a turn on that within a minute I'm pulling myself up to wrap my other leg around her waist, spreading my legs wider and demanding she bear even more of my weight. She doesn't disappoint, left arm now looping around to hold me up by the small of my back. Even when I briefly loosen my legs to peel off my last sock and slipper with my toes, her grip doesn't falter, and neither does her steady and tireless fucking hand. A bit surprised, I run my hands over her upper arms, shoulders, and chest, feeling their firmness through her shirt. She's solid, has gained back the weight she lost on the Tour and then some.

"You're so strong," I breathe. I don't mean it in a patronizing way, like some women will say to men to stroke their egos. And thankfully, Katniss doesn't interpret it that way.

"I work out," she deadpans. Her facetious grin makes me think she's mocking me until she adds, "I've been putting Peeta and Haymitch through their paces. We were all trying to beef up."

Her fingers begin to curl and swirl, drawing out each pull back. Suddenly at my least articulate, I can barely get out a, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Was putting your teaching to good use."

A chuckle breaks through my ragged breathing. It takes a few pants to recover enough breath to comment, "Seems you've learned well." Proving my point, she rubs her thumb over my clit, making me whine out her name. My legs start to fail with the extra stimulation, but she's got a strong enough grip on me that it doesn't matter. I'm quickly ramping up, pressure building in my walls, and instinctively I begin bouncing my hips against her hand to meet each of her thrusts. Our coordinated effort feels amazing, but she outpaces me before long, grunting her effort into my chest as her arm moves furiously, determined to make me come.

I may usually be the quieter one, but my desperation to get off pushes a series of moans out of me in the final moments, culminating in a loud gasp and cry of surprise. The orgasm itself isn't a surprise, but just how hard it is catches me off guard, walls squeezing tight around her fingers and dousing them in cum while pleasure rumbles through my groin and body, giving me the sweetest headrush. Katniss slows to a stop but leaves her fingers inside, which I appreciate. It adds a little something to the aftershocks, that and I just like it when she stays awhile.

Groaning as I come down, I sink my teeth into her neck, tasting the salty sheen of sweat forming on her skin. An inward chuckle echoes through her chest as she grazes fingers up and down my spine. It takes a bit to get my brain working again, the first words I manage to form being "Holy shit fuck." Katniss snickers as she slowly pulls out, other hand sliding around my ass and down my right thigh. I scowl up at her as I lower my free leg, which is still quaking conspicuously. "What?" I demand, struggling to keep my footing and my dignity. "I haven't gotten laid in nearly eight months."

Katniss lets my leg slip from her grip. "Really?"

Cocking an eyebrow, I cross my arms over my chest. "You think I'm some kind of whore?"

Clearly not catching the lilt of humor in my question, Katniss backtracks, "Not in a mean way." It's one of the bluntest answers she's ever given me. I can't help but chuckle, and her eyes narrow defensively. "What? You like sex. This is very well established."

Chuckling once more, I place my palms on her shoulders and smooth them down the length of her shirt as I explain, "I was too depressed before the announcement, and after that I knew I'd see you again. Wasn't interested in anyone else." Winding my fingers in the lower hem, I start to peel it back. She lifts her arms to accommodate me, leaning forward a little so I can pull it all the way off. Noticing that her shoes are exacerbating the height differential, she takes a moment to shuck them and her socks.

When she bends over to do this, I get a good look at her back and a prompt stab of pain under my ribs. The scars marring her skin have faded with time and are surely less ugly than they used to be. Unfortunately the ugly sights and sounds of that evening haven't faded from my memory. I doubt they've faded from hers at all either. As she straightens back up, I press forward for a kiss before she has a chance to read the guilty expression on my face. But when I let my hands slide down her neck and onto the exposed skin of her shoulders, I feel a scar under my left hand just inside her bra strap. My mouth drops into a frown mid-kiss.

Katniss disengages, her face a question. Stroking my fingers across the strip of raised skin, I wait for her to clue in. When I see it dawning on her, I ask, "Does it hurt?"

"No." Eyes bouncing away, she admits, "Some spots, I can't feel anything."

The melancholy of the moment is stifling, so I crack, "On the bright side, if you win maybe they'll give you another full body polish."

Katniss laughs, eyes lighting back up. "You're such an asshole." With that, she pushes me down onto the bed. The subsequent surge in my libido is intensified by the visual of her unzipping her fly. Pushing down her pants and underwear with one hand, she points the other at the pillows. "Headboard. Now."

More than happy to obey, I shuffle up the bed on my back but keep my eyes on her as she steps out of the pants. I refuse to even blink while she straddles my legs and walks forward on her knees. The view as she settles them on either side of my head makes me lick my lips, but Katniss wants that tongue elsewhere immediately. Cupping the back of my head, she pulls me into her and holds me there. Her groan of relief when I press my warm tongue against her throbbing clit makes my eyes flutter shut. It's the most satisfying sound. Her whispers of encouragement as I start drawing little circles provide some stiff competition, though.

I take my time with her, undoubtedly more than she would like. She pushes down into my soft flutters and suckles, one hand threading into my short locks and the other white-knuckling the headboard. It's encouraging, but I still kill a few more minutes before stiffening my tongue to increase the pressure, mostly because my number one goal in life is to be annoying. Her legs begin to shake on either side of me as I accelerate, and I dig my nails into her ass.

A hard pulsing suckle makes Katniss gasp and press down harder, her fist tightening and wrenching on my follicles. I flatten my tongue to rub back and forth, and she responds by rolling her hips more aggressively, putting her whole body into it. Releasing her butt for the moment, I slide my hands up her ribs to work the sports bra over her head and get her completely naked. As my thumbs wiggle their way under the elastic, she warns me, "You do that, you're gonna have to hold them."

I disengage long enough to say, "I'm okay with that," but barely. I'm not even done the sentence before she's tightening her grip once more and forcing my mouth back where it belongs. My arms are only so long, so she lets go for all of five seconds to strip it off. Before she can grab hold again, I nab the tags and give a little tug, and she obediently ducks her head to allow me to pull the chain over her head. Fortunately for my scalp, she grabs a slightly different patch when she fists my hair again, holding me in place as she resumes fucking my mouth.

Staring in wonder up the plane of her stomach, I enjoy the view of her breasts bouncing a few times before following orders and cupping them. I give her nipples some little pulls and rolls and she moans, speeding up and latching onto the headboard again. "Almost," she pants. "So close."

Moaning into her pussy, I suck her again, harder, rubbing my tongue furiously without breaking the suction. Her hips shake again, more erratically, and she makes a string of escalating noises before coming with a shout, seizing up against my mouth. I moan again in approval, sweeping softly back and forth as I bring her down. She still seems not to have her wits about her by the time the pulses die down, so I drag my tongue around to slurp up more of the juices soaking my chin and dribbling down onto my neck. She hums in appreciation, rubbing a thumb over my hairline.

I can't imagine what Blight and the others guys are thinking if they can hear this. Though I can imagine what they might be doing. The thought makes me smirk, and she meets my eye. "What?"

That mental image would likely not amuse her nearly as much as me, so I say, "You're not having any problems now, are you?"

She narrows her eyes. "Great, now I'm thinking about it and probably will." Pausing in thought, she muses, "Things feel different now. Whatever, I'm gonna die. Now that I know that, I can stop being afraid, jump right in instead of detaching from everything." She sweeps a piece of her bangs back, tucking it behind her ear with a shy smile. "Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely," I say. "You seem a lot different now."

"I am," she agrees, though her brow scrunches the longer she looks at me. "Or, I was. I thought I'd stay focused and go out with a bang."

"Ugh, I know," I scoff. "I'm so distracting."

"You are, damn it." Shuffling backward, she sits on my hip bones and runs her hands up my belly and over my ribs, ending in a soft squeeze of my breasts. "You and your perfect boobs and gorgeous muscles, all naked and shit? That wasn't fair."

"Wasn't meant to be fair, brainless."

She gives a half-hearted glare but continues to massage my breasts, making my eyes fall shut with a sigh. They stay closed as her fingers brush over my nipples, as they give little pinches and tugs that make me hum in pleasure. Her hips lift again and I exhale in expectation. I know what's coming next. Even so, the sensation of her warm mouth closing around one nipple is so strong and good after all this time that I moan and arch off the bed, grabbing fistfuls of blanket. She gets her fill of both breasts, suckling and nibbling each nipple while rolling and pulling whichever one is unlucky enough not to be in her mouth at the time. It feels so fucking good, I'm squirming and whimpering and begging her not to stop.

In an attempt to take back just a little control, I weave my fingers into her coffee-colored locks and give them a tug. She smirks into my chest. "Taking advantage?"

"Hell yeah," I breathe as she resumes sucking. Winding my hand into her hair, I threaten her, "You pull my hair that hard, imagine what I can do with yours."

Katniss nods, humming into my left breast. She lets go with her right hand in favor of sliding it down my body, and when she touches me again, the air leaves my lungs. "Yes, baby." With her manipulating all my most sensitive parts, I squirm and squeeze my fist again. She whimpers just a little at at the pain, and I grip her tighter and cup her skull with my free hand, giving silent instructions. As much as I'm enjoying what she's doing, the power rush is taking over. Before she knows what's happened, I've flipped her on her back, looming over her with a triumphant grin. "But I think I've earned a turn on top."

Morphing her aroused expression into a sassy one, Katniss tips her head. "If you say so."

"I do say so." Katniss purses her lips noncommittally and I narrow my eyes. "You disagree? You need me to remind you just how hard I made you come not even ten minutes ago?"

She shrugs. "I mean, it wouldn't hurt."

"It might, if you keep that attitude up," I warn her.

Squinting through slits, Katniss gives me a droll, "Oh no." I've clearly been a very bad influence; it's like talking to myself. I don't know how she deals with me all the time. Stuck for words, I growl and bite down on her shoulder. Whether her resultant whimper is from pleasure or pain, I cannot tell. I know which it is when my fingers find her clit, though. "Johanna," she whispers.

"Yes?" I draw out, flashing her my best bedroom eyes. She glares and grabs the back of my neck with her free hand, pulling me down and into a kiss. That's one way to shut me up. Her fingers begin to move again and I groan, sinking down so we're finally skin to skin. It feels even better than the touches themselves.

There's less urgency now that we've both gotten off, and we take our time, enjoying the physical closeness. Nips of lips, shared breaths, hands trailing over ribs. Though I was not a fan of the hair removal process, the sensation of our silky smooth calves rubbing together is amazing. From the way Katniss keeps brushing hers up and down the length of mine, I'd say she agrees.

Eventually I prop myself up on an elbow to get better leverage with my other, currently more important arm, but keep it close enough to graze my fingers over her cheek. Now losing too much breath to kiss, I kiss a trail down her jaw, and we end up moaning into each other's necks. "I've missed you so much," I whisper. "So much."

This goes on awhile, surprise surprise. Once we've both had our fill, I settle on top of her again, in a different position of course. One of my hands is splayed on her collarbone while the other cups the back of her right shoulder, feeling her muscles' tiny movements as she trails her fingers over the ridge of my shoulder blade. The fingers of her left hand play absentmindedly in my hair, twirling tiny pieces between her thumb and forefinger. We've been lying like this a few moments before she hums contentedly and comments, "I like your weight. I've missed it."

Nuzzling her breastbone, I murmur, "I'm not squishing you?"

"Nah. You're widdle," says Katniss, grin audible in her tone.

I scowl into her chest. "I'm gonna kick your ass, Everdeen."

"Later," she says. And she's right. Ass kicking requires movement, something neither of us is keen on right now. "Oh, I almost forgot. Haymitch sent me here to deliver a message."

I tilt my head up a little to make eye contact. "Really?"

Katniss nods. "You're eating breakfast with us tomorrow. He said if you're gonna be here we need to discuss a publicity strategy, get our story straight."

It's not difficult to guess what may be on the agenda. My brow crinkles in both thought and concern as I eye up my eternally private girlfriend. "Do you want to tell people?"

Though her eyes flick away, she gathers me tighter into her chest. "I don't know. I don't wanna think about that right now."

"Me neither."

Her hands continue to sweep back and forth over my neck and back, lulling me into unconsciousness. As much as I'd like to stay awake and soak up every minute of the precious days we have left, falling asleep is easier in her arms. Despite the less than ideal circumstances of our reunion, this is the most relaxed I've been in ages. Even heading for my certain death, I feel content. Safe.

***o***

It's morning when I float back into consciousness, judging from the light my eyelids can't entirely block out. My face is still smushed into Katniss's chest, but we're on our sides now, limbs tangled together. Burrowing deeper to block out the light, I inhale deeply. I've missed this as much as anything. After her Games, Katniss got more clingy and I had to get used to constant contact at night even in her new queen-sized bed at the house. Getting unused to it took a long time. Hugging myself at night, curling up into a ball for extra warmth.

Her breathing changes before long, indicating she's woken up. I keep my eyes closed and my breathing steady because, as much as I could appreciate some early morning kisses, I like how she's holding me and grazing her fingers over my skin the way you do to a sleeping person when all you want to do is stare adoringly and not disturb them. But my body betrays me, first with goosebumps rising beneath her fingers and then a conspicuous shiver. Damn it. Katniss presses a kiss to my forehead and it crumples against her lips.

Barely opening my eyes, I grumble, "What time is it?"

Katniss detaches from me to roll over and check the bedside clock, and I pout at the loss of contact. "Shit. Almost nine," she says. Whoops. Not so early morning after all. "We should get upstairs." She gets up immediately, a talent I have never understood, and starts collecting her clothes. Threading her arms through her bra straps, she jokes, "Surprised Haymitch hasn't sent out a search party yet."

"He knows where you are," I say, stubbornly staying put.

"A strongly worded message, then," she quips while working the shirt over her head. As her hands tug the bottom hem down over her stomach, her face suddenly pales.

My forehead creases. "What?" Katniss doesn't answer, but her panicked expression as she rounds the bed tells me it's something serious. She crouches to look under the bed, and apparently doesn't find what she's looking for because she next rips the covers back, pulling them right off my body. "Hey!"

Sighing in relief, Katniss picks up my dog tags from where they'd wound up between the sheets. Finally looking my way, she notices my curious gaze and blushes a little. "Besides the wedding dress shoot, that's the first time I've taken them off since Prim found them under the couch." Eyes flicking down to the tags, she swallows and drops them around her neck. "It wasn't long after I found out you were gone," she murmurs, taking a second to rub one between her thumb and forefinger before shyly meeting my gaze again.

Warmth floods my body, but for some reason this sentimental statement makes me feel awkward and I have to force myself not to blink away. Instead I give her a corny double twitch of the eyebrows. "As I recall, you weren't the one who took them off."

Narrowing her eyes playfully, Katniss swipes my allotted training clothes from the closet and pitches them at me. "Shut up and get dressed."

Pouting, I slide off the bed to find some undergarments. Katniss bends over to grab her pants, and on the way by I give her bare ass a hard slap that makes her startle and yelp. That's all it takes to wipe the frown from my face. I dawdle through the process of getting dressed, and by the time I'm crouched down tying the brand new running shoes, Katniss has already finished braiding her hair and is pacing around and sighing loudly. Actually, I think the thing I missed more than anything was getting on her nerves.

"About fucking time," she grumbles as I stand up. Taking my hand, she tows me out of the room and farther down the hallway, away from the living area and elevator I assumed we were heading to. She pushes through a door at the back of the apartment to reveal a concrete stairwell.

"Is this how you snuck in last night without creating a fuss?" I ask as she tugs my hand in a silent order to move. My voice echoes up and down the stairwell, which looks to stretch the entire height of the building. Katniss simply nods, neglecting to speak for the five-flight climb. When she steers me onto the landing with the door marked number twelve, I peer up the remaining steps to the white dome-shaped room at their terminus. "What's up there?"

"The roof," she says, surprising me by stopping to follow my gaze up to the dome. "I'll show you later, it's really cool." Then she pulls open the door and ushers me inside ahead of her.

Their floor is identical to mine, same hall of bedrooms and same living area, where Haymitch and Peeta are already up and eating breakfast. Beyond the dining table is a long banquet table crowded with various breakfast options. My stomach gurgles, no doubt thanks to the strenuous workout Katniss gave me last night.

Hearing our footsteps, Haymitch turns his head and beckons us silently from where he sits at the head of the table. Swallowing his mouthful of food, he scowls, "You're late."

"Are we?" Katniss sits herself down to Haymitch's right, across from Peeta. She raises an eyebrow. "Did you say a specific time?"

"I said early," he snaps. "For some reason, I thought you had a speck of common sense in your body."

To my surprise, Katniss doesn't look at all offended. If anything, she appears amused. Maybe they're always like this. As I shift my weight to go sit on the opposite side of her, she catches my arm and pats her lap invitingly. Maybe she's trying to annoy Haymitch or maybe she's as starved for my touch as I am for hers, but either way I happily oblige. Sinking onto her, I drape my arms around her neck as hers encircle my waist.

Haymitch rolls his eyes but doesn't comment on our positioning, just starts right in on the strategy talk. As he goes on, I let my right hand slide down to find her left where it rests on my hip. Our fingers brush a few times before sliding between each other. She gives my hand a gentle squeeze and I let my forehead fall against hers. The moment feels perfect until it's interrupted by Haymitch loudly clearing his throat. "Excuse me, ladies, but I'd like to keep these pancakes down." Rolling our eyes in tandem, we both straighten up and give him our full attention. "Were either of you listening to a word I said?"

"Yes. We need to establish a narrative heading into the Games," Katniss repeats irritably. "Let me guess, it's hands off for the two of us? More star-crossed lovers bullshit?"

"That's my recommendation. The most important thing is for all of us to be on the same page. If both of them are trying to feel you up in the gymnasium, it'll raise questions," drawls Haymitch. He sits back. "Of course, you suddenly going from being in love with Peeta to being in love with Johanna would raise even more questions. People will question which one was the act. It'll torch your credibility."

Katniss sighs, idly fiddling with the silverware at her place setting. Though Haymitch is growing visibly impatient, he waits for a response. Finally, she speaks. "Who I'm sleeping with is nobody's business but mine. But I don't want to fake being in love with Peeta anymore." She sets her jaw. "If I'm going to die, I want to die as me." Finally flicking her eyes up, she catches Peeta's. "I already let them change me."

Peeta gives her an understanding and wistful nod, but Haymitch is not so easily swayed. "Katniss, it's important that you remain sympathetic to the Capitol audience," he stresses.

"Why? No amount of sponsorship is going to save me."

"Exactly. Our best shot at keeping you alive is getting the Games cancelled. The star-crossed lovers being torn apart by the Quell is a huge story right now, and there's already people protesting. People who live here." Haymitch nods my way but retains eye contact with her. "Maybe you didn't care about surviving before, but you have reason to now."

"Haymitch," I chastise him. "Don't be a dick."

"He's right, Johanna," interjects Peeta. "I don't like this any more than you do-"

"Whatever you say," I snort.

A spark flashes in Peeta's usually gentle eyes. "No, you know what? Shut up," he snaps. "It's not easy for me either, having to keep this up when I know Katniss is in love with you. It's not like I can move on or even have a hope in hell of getting over her."

"Boo hoo, you still get to make out with her."

"I'd rather not if she doesn't mean it."

"Guys!" barks Katniss. "I'm sitting right here."

I turn to her with a sheepish look, but she's focused on Peeta. He sighs, dropping his gaze to the table. "Look, all I want is for you to survive," he says, catching her eye again. "That hasn't changed. And if keeping up the fake romance is our best shot for all of us to survive, I think we have to take it."

Katniss's jaw twitches, her glum glare settling on her placemat. "I want to think about it."

"Just don't go sucking her face off while you think about it," advises Haymitch. "The Gamemakers aren't supposed to reveal anything they see during training, but they're greedy. We can't count on them not to spill a big story for money. Nor the other tributes."

"Fine, whatever," grouses Katniss. "Are we done?"

"Not yet," says Haymitch pointedly. "Train however you want. Everyone knows your strengths now anyway." Glancing at me, he throws out an offhand, "Other than you, but it's not my job to keep you alive."

This irritates me, though I'm not sure why. It's not like I want Haymitch for a mentor. "Good, Katniss almost dehydrated on your watch last year," I snark. "Or were you too drunk to remember?"

Katniss squeezes my thigh, grabbing my attention. "That was on purpose, Hanna. He was trying to tell me to keep looking for water." I squint down at her bewilderedly and she waves me off. "Never mind."

Haymitch clears his throat, shooting us a look. "As I was saying, the stations are up to you. But I want you to make some friends down there."

"No," says Katniss. "I don't trust any of them, I can't stand most of them, and we have three of us already."

"That's what I said at first, but-" Peeta begins.

"But it won't be enough," Haymitch insists. "You're going to need more allies this time around."

"Why?" she demands, equal parts suspicious and petulant.

"Because you're at a distinct disadvantage. Your competitors have known each other for years. So who do you think they're going to target first?"

"Us. And nothing we're going to do is going to override any old friendship," argues Katniss. "So why bother?"

"Because you can fight. You're popular with the crowd," lists Haymitch. "That could still make you desirable allies. But only if you let the others know you're willing to team up with them."

"There is safety in numbers," I point out, absentmindedly fiddling with her collar. "It's worth considering, Katniss."

Katniss looks up with a haughty sneer. "I'm not joining your Career pack."

My hand stills. "That's not what I meant," I state flatly. "Other than Scar, I don't trust a single one of them. Especially not Finnick."

"Make your own pack, then," says Haymitch. "Everyone's a victor, so choose who you'd like. I'd suggest Chaff and Seeder." Catching my eye, he adds, "Although Finnick's not to be ignored. Find someone to team up with who might be of some use to you. Remember, you're not in a ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are all experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in."

"Okay, fine," grumbles Katniss. "I'll try."

Sliding off her lap, I nod at the breakfast spread sitting on the table at the front of the room. "Come on, let's get some food." If she hadn't just insulted me, I'd offer her a hand up. Instead I make a beeline for the bacon.

My irritation abates the longer we sit elbow to elbow, especially once her foot starts trailing up and down my calf. The promise behind it speeds me up. We finish eating around 9:30, leaving us half an hour to kill. I'm swallowing the last of my eggs when Katniss yanks me out of my chair and tows me toward her room. I look back long enough to see the guys watching our hasty escape, Peeta staring blankly and Haymitch rolling his eyes.

Slamming the door behind us, Katniss shoves me, sending me stumbling backward toward the bed. I've barely regained my balance before her hands are on me, one squeezing my ass and one grabbing my junk through my pants. I'm shocked at her assertiveness but don't complain, throwing my arms around her neck. She gets in a few seconds of groping before breaking my grip, tossing me onto the mattress. Stopping for nothing, she goes straight for my waistbands, ripping them down with a ravenous look that almost makes me come on the spot.

That quickly, her head is buried between my thighs and hands are all over my body, surfing the curves of my hips and riding up under my shirts. I help her by removing them and my bra and repositioning her hands on my breasts, then prop myself up on my elbows so I can watch her work. And it's quite the show. Katniss loses herself in her task, getting me off three times in short order before surfacing for air. Strands of hair plastered to her forehead, she leaves a trail of reverent kisses along my thigh crease and the inside of my hip bone. Reaching the soft flesh of my stomach, she meets my gaze. "You're delicious," she proclaims, voice husky and eyes on fire.

I'm so turned on I can't even speak, only stare with trembling lips and an open mouth. Thankfully, she needs no more encouragement. Kissing her way back down, she drags her tongue through my crevices, making my legs shiver against her back. We're so engrossed in the act, both of us jump when knocks as loud as gunshots suddenly ricochet off the walls. While we try to catch our breath, Haymitch pounds on the door again and demands Katniss get out there now, Effie is there to pick them up.

"She's early," Katniss groans into my belly.

Stroking a thumb over her hairline, I promise, "I'll get you back later."

"Not what's on my mind at the moment," she grumbles, pushing off the mattress. "Be right there!" she calls, stripping off last night's clothes on the way to her closet. Inside is an outfit matching mine and similar to Peeta's. Black and silver tank top and knee-length workout pants, plus a snug zip-up training sweater which she forgoes for now, slinging it over one forearm instead. Without it her shoulder blades are visible and so are the scars on them, but I don't comment on it. No need to make her self-conscious. Pushing back sweaty strands of her bangs, she asks, "How do I look?"

She looks like she's been motorboating my pussy. Eyeing her flushed cheeks and the residue of cum on her chin and upper lip, I bite my lip to contain a grin. "You might wanna wash your face first." I was halfway tempted to say nothing just to see how Haymitch and Peeta would react, but Katniss despises humiliation and would be mad at me all day if I let her leave the room like that.

When she returns from the bathroom and I nod my approval, she bends down to give me a parting and especially tasty kiss. I can't help but moan into it a little, and she pulls away with a cheeky smirk. "See you down there."

After taking a minute to gather my wits and my clothing, I step out into the hallway. The tributes are gone but Effie is still here, embroiled in conversation with Haymitch by the dining table. The floor squeaks beneath my feet and both turn their heads. Haymitch unabashedly glares at me while Effie gives me a strange and ponderous look. Betraying none of my discomfort, I give them a saucy little wave and disappear down the hall. I'm not retreating, I just figure it's smarter to take the stairwell to floor seven than potentially get caught in an elevator above my floor.

Blight is lounging at the table in slippers and a bathrobe when I return, holding a newspaper in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. Though I ignore him on the way by, once I swipe a couple strips of bacon from the buffet I do wander over. Nibbling on the crunchy meat, I state the obvious. "You're gonna be late."

"I'm not going," he says disinterestedly as he turns a page.

My forehead crinkles. "Why not?"

He peeks over the newspaper briefly. "I'd rather spend my last week on Earth doing things I enjoy."

Can't say I blame him, to be honest. I should probably be grateful, anyway. That's one less person I need to worry about posing a threat in the arena. "Then I guess I'm lucky I enjoy working out," is what I say. He doesn't answer, so I pop the rest of the meat in my mouth and head downstairs.

When the elevator doors open and spit me out into the gym, I discover Blight isn't the only one foregoing training. There's maybe a dozen of us down here, and I'm barely early. I sidle up to Scarlett for the opening spiel because if I stand near Katniss I will be tempted to tease her, and that'd just be rude, considering. I stick with Scar after Atala releases us to train, because why not. While I am more open to broadening our alliance than Katniss is, Haymitch explicitly told us to make new friends, and I don't much like following orders.

Scar and I move through several combat stations over the course of the morning. Archery, hand-to-hand, knife throwing. While I'm definitely a better shot, Scar is handy with a knife at a distance and in close. She schools the assistant she pairs off with to spar, repeatedly overpowering him and even taking him to the ground a couple times. As I'm admiring her latest takedown, my eyes skip over to the knot-tying station, where Katniss has been since training started. We've been sharing hungry glances all morning. But for the first time, she's not alone. My jaw tightens as I observe Finnick Odair slinking up behind her and putting his arms around her to correct her latest knot. Forcing myself to look away, I engage my assistant again and take all my frustration out on him. He too ends up with his back on the ground, and Scar raises an impressed eyebrow.

Once we've had our fill of knife-throwing, Scar suggests we try something non-combat. My first instinct is weight-lifting, for obvious reasons, but then I spot the climbing nets over by the observation area the Gamemakers are set up in. "I haven't climbed in a while," I suggest.

"Good call," she says, and we make our way over. When we arrive, she flashes a grin. "Race you?" I accept, of course, competitive as I am. Since childhood I've been a pretty good climber, and I'm quick, but Scar's ridiculously long arms allow her to skip rungs. She finishes five feet ahead of me and lounges against the wall. When I reach the top, she gives me a cocky smile. "How kind of you to join me."

"Hey, your arms are about as long as my legs," I protest. "You have a bit of an advantage, you know."

"Excuses, excuses." Scar clicks her tongue with a slow, scolding shake of her head. Rolling my eyes, I look out over the gym. Katniss is chatting with the Threes over at the fire-making station, which I can only pray is not an attempt to find allies. My gaze lingers until I hear Scar ask, "You're keeping it under wraps, huh?"

I shrug, sheepishly averting my eyes. "Our strategy is still up for discussion. It's just easier to avoid her for now."

"Was wondering why you were glued to my side."

My head snaps up. I can't quite tell if she's joking or not, so I hold her gaze steadily as I state, "That's not the only reason."

"I know," she says, eyes squinting into a smile. With a smooth wink, she observes, "It's probably for the best. You've been eye boning her all morning. Can't imagine what you'd do up close."

I huff indignantly. "Hey, I am very capable of controlling myself."

"Uh huh."

"I am!" I insist, but she's already laughing and beginning her descent.

Hustling to catch up, I scramble down the netting and drop to the mats from eight feet up, landing on my feet. Seeing my triumphant smirk as she joins me on the ground, Scar deadpans, "Big deal. I already know you're quick to go down."

My mouth drops open in shock, but I cover my genuine surprise with an exaggerated arch of my eyebrows. "Wow, that's cold." Glancing away from her satisfied grin, I notice one of the Gamemakers beyond her watching us, nodding in admiration at my show of agility. "At least someone's impressed," I say, nodding his direction. Scar turns and the Gamemaker gives her a subtle but friendly wave. Feeling her go rigid, I tip my head to get a better look at her face. "You know him?"

Shaking her head, she turns to face me. "Not really. Seen him around. He's been a Gamemaker for like six years."

I squint at this unsolicited fact. "I thought your talent was yoga, not trivia."

"You learn a lot pretty quickly when you're in the Capitol." Smirking unconvincingly, she gives me a playful little shove. "Try to keep up." One of the assistants makes a move toward us, primed to give a lecture, and Scar tips her head assertively. "Oh, don't give me that look. We're not fighting."

Lunch is announced moments later, so we amble over to the dining room off of the gym. When we get there, several of the older victors are pulling all the tables into one long line. I make a face. "Ugh, does this mean we have to be sociable?"

"It won't kill you," teases Scar, nudging my ribs. She follows me nonetheless when I secure a seat at one of the ends after filling my plate at the food carts arranged around the edges of the room. Katniss and Peeta are eating a couple tables down, mostly interacting with Seeder and Chaff. I purposely pick a seat on the opposite side of the table from Katniss so I can sneak the occasional peek at her without being incredibly obvious about it.

I needn't have worried about socializing. Nobody seems interested in chatting me up anyway. Not even Scar, surprisingly. She mostly keeps her eyes on her food as she pushes it around her plate. "Not hungry?" I ask.

Scar catches my eye and forces a teasing smile. "Didn't do much to work up an appetite."

"Hey, I resent that," I scowl. "You're getting a rematch later, by the way."

"Whatever you say, shorty." Eyes and mouth dropping, she continues to swirl idle patterns in her stew. Eventually she pushes her plate away altogether. "This food sucks. I'm gonna go order lunch from Martha 2.0."

Heat dusts my cheeks, making me duck my head. "I'm impressed you remember that."

"I remember everything," she grins, reaching across the table to ruffle my hair. My blush darkens, and her smug little smirk as she stands tells me it's obvious. "Catch you later." She exits via a door at the back of the room, not looking back.

Unfortunately, with Scar gone I no longer have someone to distract me from Katniss. From staring at her, more specifically. I try not to, though not as hard as I should. The few moments of eye contact we get only make it worse, stoking my hunger and tempting me to walk right up to her and kiss her on the mouth. Not being allowed to might be what makes the prospect so alluring, but even so, I miss her badly. There's no way I'll be able to keep this up in the arena. Haymitch is insane, and I fully intend on telling him off over dinner. But for now I have to wait and not blow Katniss's cover for her. It's ultimately her choice to make.

Movement across the table catches my eye, and I glance over to find Finnick Odair standing across from me, reaching for the water pitcher by Scar's discarded plate and the basket of rolls allotted to our table. After topping up his cup with water, he extends the pitcher my way and cocks a sassy eyebrow. "Need a refill? You're looking pretty thirsty." I snort under my breath despite my embarrassment at being caught staring. When I decline with a wave of my hand, he sits down in Scar's chair. Sipping from his cup, Finnick watches me with unrelenting eyes. At least they're pretty to look at, which makes our staring contest more enjoyable than it could be otherwise. "How did she get those scars?"

Finally blinking, I ask, "What scars?"

"The ones on her back," he spells out, clearly not buying my clueless act. "What'd they arrest her for?"

"How should I know?" I demand, letting a hostile edge slip into my voice.

"You're a Peacekeeper. I'm sure whatever it was, you all heard about it."

I shake my head. "It wasn't broadcast."

"Obviously," he scoffs, "or else I'd have seen it." I meant broadcast on one of the secure channels, but I don't feel like explaining that. He twitches his eyebrows and tosses a carrot stick into his big mouth. A few crunchy chews later, he remarks, "I'm surprised they'd do that to a victor, let alone the Capitol's latest favorite."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," I mutter to the table. "It was meant to intimidate the district."

Penetrating stare back in full force, Finnick resumes the interrogation. "So they whipped her for no reason?"

"No."

Finnick either can't take a hint or doesn't care that I'm being short with him. Likely the latter. Sitting back, he grins triumphantly. "I thought you said you didn't know why."

"No I didn't," I tell him. I avoided the question, yes, but I also avoid lying when I can. Finnick doesn't care about the technicalities, his cocked eyebrow plainly stating he knows just how full of shit I am. Eager to get him off my back and eat my lunch in peace, I consider whether this is dangerous information. He's right, I could know simply because I'm a Peacekeeper. It doesn't reveal anything about my relationship to Katniss, so it shouldn't really matter if he knows I know. "Fine, whatever," I concede. "It was for poaching. There was a crackdown and they searched her bag, caught her with game in the middle of a busy street. Decided to use her as an example."

His smile turns smarmier and I almost vomit into the bread basket. "I thought you'd be harder to crack, Agent. Usually I have to bed people before they'll spill secrets."

I make a face. "Gross. Go away, Finnick." Apparently satisfied, Finnick obeys, but not before swiping a couple rolls from the basket on his way back to Mags.

As annoying as he was, in Scar's absence Finnick too was a welcome distraction from Katniss. Several more minutes of trying to avoid her gaze go by before I can no longer stand it. Pushing my chair back rather loudly, I stroll toward the bathrooms at the other end of the room. As I pass behind Seeder, I catch Katniss's eye for a split second and incline my head toward the bathroom.

I'm alone in there for a couple minutes and I start to wonder if maybe she didn't get the message. But when the door swings open, the look on Katniss's face says my intentions came through loud and clear. Stepping up to where I'm leaning back against the counter, she fists the sides of my sweater and kisses me hard. She's still wearing only the tank top, and I sneak a hand under it right away, the other sliding around her neck to cup the back of her head and deepen the kiss. Her hands quickly get busy too, fumbling with my sweater's zipper as I walk her backwards toward the stalls.

Shoving Katniss through the nearest door, I detach only long enough to lock it behind me and spike my sweater on the floor before putting my hands on her hips and backing her up against the stall wall. Her eyes are wide and hungry, as they tend to get whenever I physically take charge. Not wanting to waste a moment of the limited time we have before people will start asking questions or we're inevitably interrupted, I don't tease her. She doesn't need it, anyway. She's already slick and warm, pulse pounding in her neck as I pepper kisses down one side.

Katniss groans at my touch and turns her knees out, further spreading her thighs. It takes mere seconds of soft rubbing for her pulse to migrate down and echo through my fingers. Though I don't really need to, I briefly detour back to circle her hole and get my fingers wetter. A quiet whimper-moan breaks through her ragged breathing, tickling my ear and triggering a thrill that rushes down my spine and strikes between my legs. She repeats the sound when I pull my fingers back to glide over her swollen clit, and the sensations together make my own clit ache and my underwear flood. Mesmerized by the feeling, I stroke her back and forth, back and forth. "God, you feel amazing."

She gasps at my words, only aggravating my need. This is my promised payback, but I can't go back out there without at least some release. Moving my left hand from her hip, I press against my clit through my clothes, providing a little pressure to take the edge off. I've barely gotten any relief before Katniss pulls my hand away, placing it on her breast. Not wanting to be greedy, I suck it up and grope her instead, but her hand mercifully slides into my pants to take over.

Groaning into her shoulder, I press down on her hand but force myself to focus on my own, zeroing in on the clicking noise it's making. Katniss is having more and more trouble keeping quiet, already so close. I speed up as she grinds against my hand, panting into her palm as she tries to muffle her sounds of pleasure. Her arm is slung tight around my neck, keeping us so close I can feel both our forearms moving between our bodies. As her gasps and moans continue to escalate, I block out everything else and put all my effort into going as fast and hard as I can. I'm rewarded with a sudden jerk of her hips and a strangled noise. With a hard pulse under my fingers, followed by a series of softer ones as I bring her down. When she regains enough control to remember what she was doing to me, I slow further, preparing to pull out.

"Don't stop," whispers Katniss, still clinging tight with her left arm.

My mouth quirks into a grin against her neck. "You need more, Katniss?" She nods and whimpers, the quivering in her legs echoing up into her hips as I rub my entire hand back and forth over her pussy. The rush of power is intoxicating, deepening my voice into a low burr. "You need to come again?" Another nod makes me stop altogether. When she opens her eyes in confusion, I stare into them hard. "Use your words."

Katniss sighs in a way that's meant to read as exasperation, but from the way her eyes roll back instead of to the side, I can tell the dominant move is having the intended effect. "Yes. Please."

"Good girl," I praise her, softly resuming the motion. "Manners can go a long way."

"Yeah, you'd know all about that," snorts Katniss. I growl in her ear and jam a finger deep inside her, making her jerk in surprise. "Fuck," she hisses. The sounds she proceeds to make communicate pleasure, yes, but also frustration. As much as I'd like to draw that out to teach her a lesson, we've already been here a few minutes and I know we're running out of time. The angle is awkward for my thumb in such close quarters, so I bring in my left hand to take over on the outside. Squeezing my finger, Katniss groans her approval. She's having a hard time focusing enough to get her own hand to work, but I applaud the effort.

This interaction has reminded me just how much Katniss likes dirty talk, so I decide to take advantage and speed things up. Nibbling on her earlobe, I give it a little tug and whisper, "I've missed your fingers, baby." She pushes out an aroused breath and rubs me harder, pushing me closer to the edge. It won't take much, not after what we've done already. Hoping she's not far behind, I leave my mouth by her ear and let out some tiny moans. She echoes them back to me, so it must be working. It's not like I have to embellish much. Her fingers truly are amazing, producing an addictive sensation between my legs and sending pleasure radiating out through my entire body. I don't even have to consciously continue, those noises start coming out on their own as the beginnings of an orgasm stir in my stomach. "Katniss, I'm gonna come," I breathe. "I'm gonna come so hard."

My legs are shaking, and it's a good thing she's clinging to me seeing as both my hands are occupied. She groans at my words, giving a final push to make them come true. But I don't want to leave her hanging, so I try to hold off until I can get her there too. Pulling against her inner wall, I press her tighter against the metal to hold her in place and get the most out of my left hand. More sexy noises pop out of her throat, and my clit betrays me by exploding with pleasure despite my efforts to wait. But the feeling of my hips bucking and body folding at the waist and the quiet but sustained moan into her chest are enough to bring her to the edge. Grabbing my wrist, she rubs my hand against herself for a few short seconds until her walls clench and she soaks my fingers with a gasp, her grip cutting off the circulation to my hand.

As her fingers slowly relax, I chuckle in her ear. "That was fucking hot."

"Move," says Katniss.

I blink. "What?"

"I actually do need to pee," she explains, trying to wriggle by me. I purposely block her path a couple seconds longer before stepping aside with a grin.

As she plops down on the toilet, I raid the toilet paper dispenser and start the process of cleaning up my body and underwear. She follows my lead. It takes a little while, probably thanks to the hours of eye sex foreplay in the gym. "Should've brought a change of underwear," I remark, pitching the wad of cum and paper through her legs and into the bowl.

"Nothing's stopping you from going upstairs." Wiping the remaining residue from her own underwear, she shrugs. "I'll survive."

Finding my sweater on the floor, I shrug it back on. "Shy bladder?"

Katniss narrows her eyes incredulously. "Could you get your parts to work right away after that?"

Despite my efforts to keep a straight face, a snicker pops out. "Fair point."

When I step out to wash my hands, the sound of running water seems to help get her going. Joining me by the sinks afterward, she takes an extra minute to splash cold water on her flushed cheeks and wipe the sweat from her chest and neck with a wet paper towel. Just as she's smoothing her hair and confirming she looks presentable, I circle an arm around her hips and pull her into one more kiss. Though she reciprocates fervidly, Katniss pulls away before we can get too into it, wagging a finger as she grabs the door handle.

Despite the fact that I stay a minute longer to stagger our exits, Finnick flashes me a humongous grin as I re-enter the dining room. I flip him off but try not to show how much his observations and suspicions worry me. Actually, worry isn't quite the word. I'd be happy to claim Katniss as my own in front of all of these people, were I allowed. But I don't like being read. Especially not by people who are assholes about their perceptiveness.

My concerns about Finnick take a backseat as the afternoon rolls on and Scar does not return. It's fine, I train by myself and make small talk with the victors, though most of them seem hesitant to converse with me. Like I said to Katniss, I don't need a babysitter. But skipping training is not like Scar, and her weird demeanor before she left is eating at me. Around 2:30 I decide to go check on her. Stepping off the elevator on floor two, I call out, "Beanstalk? You up here?" I tiptoe across the living area, contrasting the volume and confidence in my voice. I'm honestly a bit scared of what I might find. "I'm still waiting for that rematch!"

"In here," comes a mumble from the TV room. It sounds vaguely like Scar's voice, but groggy and hoarse. When I peek my head in the room, my fears are confirmed. Scar is slumped on one of the couches with a bottle in her hand, which I know from personal experience is a very bad sign. Drinking hard liquor straight out of a bottle, and alone no less. The broken bottle across the room does nothing to ease my concern.

Making Scar laugh has always been my in with her, so by default I lead with humor. "What kind of Career skips out on training to get drunk?" I ask as I enter the room. Kicking her foot teasingly, I gasp into my palm. "What would Lyme say?"

"Lyme said to do whatever I want," retorts Scar. "Besides, I don't care what she says. She's not the one about to go back in the arena."

The bitterness in her tone surprises me. "That was your choice."

"So is this," she says, lifting the bottle. I watch her swallow another couple glugs before snatching it away and setting it on the coffee table with finality. Anger burns behind her eyes, but I don't flinch. I'm done beating around the bush. She's going to give me some goddamn answers.

"Why didn't you let Enobaria volunteer for you?" I demand. "I remember what you said, how you wake up terrified at night. How you dream about their faces. Why would you want to relive that?" Scar stares through the wall, her dead expression undermined only by the single tear rolling down her cheek. Watching as it passes her nose, I get a sudden headrush that both obscures and clarifies my thoughts. "Wait, do you just…" It's the lightheadedness as much as the intimacy of the moment that makes me ease myself down onto the couch. "Do you want to die? Is that what this is about?"

Still avoiding my gaze, Scar swallows. "It's not that I want to die. But something has to change." Her lower lip quivers conspicuously, forecasting the change in her voice. "I can't go on living the way I was any longer, Jo."

Reaching out for her, I start, "Scar-" Her knee jerks away the second my fingers make contact, eyes going wide with a sharp gasp. My eyebrows knit as I retract my hand. "Hey, are you okay?" Looking away again, she digs her nails into her thighs and tries to get her breathing under control. The posture and panic triggers something inside of me, and suddenly I know. I've felt that way. I saw that same body language on a coal train last May. A dangerous kind of rage fills my chest, darkening my face and voice. "What did they do to you?"

Shuddering, she draws her knees into her chest. "I can't… I can't talk about-"

"It's okay, you don't have to," I tell her, purposely softening my tone. The righteous anger vindicates some people, but if it's not working for Scar I can't very well force my own emotional state on her. I had to calm Josh down after I told him about Uncle Leo, and it wasn't fair. I was juggling enough feelings already without taking his on. "Can I touch you?" Scar nods vigorously into her knees, spilling more tears onto her cheeks. The pain in my chest radiates up into my throat, forcing me to swallow.

"Come here," I say, though it's me who does all the moving, shuffling closer to wrap my arms around her shins and back. "I'm sorry," I whisper as I rest my cheek on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

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A/N: Thanks as always to D7P, my tireless beta. And to you readers for all the comments/reviews last chapter. So happy to hear everyone is still enjoying this story. See you all in 2018! 3