Deciding I need time to process, I take the stairwell down to the gym after I manage to calm Scar down and get some food in her. I said I could stay, but she insisted I should get back to training. She declined to join me, though. My mind is numb as I descend the stairs, feet moving robotically. Needless to say, no processing gets done.

The stairwell spits me back out into the basement dining room where we ate lunch, now deserted. When I cross the threshold into the gym and see the Gamemakers sitting there eating their fancy food and judging us on our murder skills, my simmering rage boils over. It feels like the heat burning my cheeks is frying my brain, blinding me as I storm over to the axe station.

Selecting a large battle axe from the racks of weapons on the training platform, I wave off the instructor's offer of assistance and start taking out my fury on the the air around me. Cutting it with slices and dramatic swoops, releasing loud grunts with every chop, I try to lose myself in the movements. But try as I might, I can't banish what troubles me from my mind.

When Scar said she wanted to stay upstairs, claiming she didn't feel like training, I foolishly pressed for details. Details I wasn't ready for.

"As soon as you pointed that guy out, I could feel his eyes on me the whole time," she admitted. Her jaw twitched. "I hate his fucking eyes."

Blood draining from my head, I sank back into the cushions. "He's one of them."

"He was the first. On my Victory Tour. He paid a lot of money to pop my cherry." Chuckling sardonically, she clarified, "It was long gone, but he didn't know that. He's a regular now, thinks we have a connection." She dismissed this with a wave. "He spends a lot of our time talking, which is actually worse. I'd rather take an hour or two of silent plowing than have to pretend to care about his life or make things up to tell him about mine. Or make eye contact during gentle lovemaking." Her foot shot out as she sneered those words, knocking the coffee table on its side.

Barely able to contain my own rage, I forced my voice to stay even as I asked, "Do they make you fuck all the Gamemakers?"

"It's not just Gamemakers. Anyone who wants to and can afford the steep price." Taking a pull from her bottle, which I'd long since returned to her, she added, "But yes, some of them. And lots of Capitol officials."

Dots began to connect in my brain, my mouth slipping open in horror. "Oh my god, were these your business trips?" She took another sip, avoiding my gaze. "Scar, why didn't you say anything?"

"What good would it have done?" she snapped. "Besides, I couldn't risk my mom finding out. It would destroy her, knowing I have to fuck a bunch of strangers just to keep her and my brothers alive." She shook her head with an ironic snort. "You know, I went into the program to help keep them alive. My dad died in that same mine collapse where she got hurt. Lionel was old enough to work a bit after school, keep us from starving. But I was barely twelve. I was already taking out tesserae, so all I could do to feel useful was try to get rich via the Games. So Mom wouldn't have worry about anything again for the rest of her life."

I blinked, trying to take all this in. She'd never been much of one for talking about her personal life, especially her dad. I'd assumed he was abusive or left them or something. Apparently, I don't have very high standards for fathers. My attention was drawn back to Scar as she cringed into her palm. Pinching the skin between her eyes, she abruptly smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. "God, I was so stupid!"

"You didn't know," I said, gently but firmly taking her hand before she could do more damage.

"If I don't die here, I'm going to do something to get them killed," said Scar, sending a chill through my bones. "It's better this way."

Better this way. Is it better to die than to fuck who President Snow says, marry who he says? I'm starting to grasp Katniss's insistence on dropping the act before she dies. What's the point of living when your life is not your own?

With a final grunt, I slam the axe into the training platform, lodging it in the wooden surface. The exercise leaves me heaving but is not enough to purge the anger from my blood. So I grab a couple of throwing axes and pitch them into two of the target dummies, pushing out noises halfway between grunts and battle cries. The visual of the split heads is at least a little satisfying, and I stand there staring for a moment before a wave of fatigue and dizziness hits me, forcing me to sink into a squat to avoid keeling over. Not wanting to appear weak, I retie my shoes as an excuse to be down there while I try to calm myself. I have little to no success. As I'm finishing with the second shoe, I sense someone approaching and look up.

Katniss is about ten feet away, edging closer with a cocked eyebrow. Even upon making it to my side, she hesitates a little longer. "...Are you okay?" she finally asks.

"No," I force through gritted teeth.

Her mouth twitches sympathetically. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not now. Not here."

"Okay," she says, unruffled, and I'm able to relax just a little. One of the things I most appreciate about Katniss is how terse answers don't faze or offend her. It would be pretty hypocritical if they did. Peeking over her shoulder, she remarks, "I think you're scaring the Gamemakers."

"Good," I snap. "They're lucky they still have their heads."

Her brow creases in concern. "Hey," she murmurs, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. I almost cover it with mine to communicate that I still appreciate her failed attempt at comfort, but then I remember we're not supposed to know each other. Katniss seems to remember at the same time, frowning as she draws back her hand.

"Agent Mason, you are one hell of an axe thrower," Finnick's voice rings out from behind Katniss. She turns at the sound, allowing me a better view of the cocky victor as he struts right up to us, sporting a huge grin. "Got me quaking in my boots."

"What do you want?" I growl, getting to my feet.

"Some lessons, obviously. You're much better than the instructor. Want to trade? I specialize in tridents, or knots and fishing if you want non-combat." Dragging his eyes over to Katniss and back to me, he grins smugly. "I'd offer lessons with the ladies, but you clearly don't need any help in that department."

So done with his bullshit, with all of this bullshit, I step into a hard shove that throws him off balance. "Fuck off, Finnick."

Stepping back, he raises his hands in surrender. "Whoa, take it easy," he says, appearing genuinely surprised at my outburst.

"Seven female," snaps a harsh feminine voice. Atala is marching our way, primed to lay down the law. I gulp instinctively as the tall and intimidating woman reaches our group, eyes locked on me. "No fighting with the other tributes. You just forfeited your last hour of training today."

It takes me a second to grasp what she means, and when I do my eyes automatically burn, wanting to tear up. Forcing my face to stay neutral, I walk to the elevators with only a flippant, "Whatever."

Back on floor twelve, I decide to follow Scar's lead and drown my emotions in alcohol. After raiding the chilled portion of the bar, I down two beers in the shower so I am properly buzzed by the time I'm dressed in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. I need to bring some of the clothes fitted to me up here if I intend to stay, which I fully do despite Haymitch's likely protests. I'm back at the bar again, weighing the merits of getting sauced versus obliterated, when one of the elevators opens and the man himself emerges. Of course, I have my hands all over the stash that he likely considers his, one more reason for him to hate me.

Haymitch doesn't react, casually strolling over to join me. Digging in the back of the hard liquor cupboard, he chances a look at my flaming eyes and clenched jaw. "Still smarting from this morning?"

"Please," I scoff, "my feelings aren't hurt that easily." Haymitch retrieves a bottle of something dark brown and takes a swig, then silently offers it to me. My face puckers just from the smell. "That's vile. Way worse than Ripper's shit."

Haymitch smirks and fishes out a bottle of an electric blue concoction. "This may be more to your feminine tastes."

I shoot him a warning glare but give it a try anyway. It's similarly strong, but overwhelmingly sweet. Making a face, I shake my head and put it back. "That'll give me a killer hangover."

"Liquor's bound to be disgusting on the way down or up. Take your pick."

Rolling my eyes, I inform him, "I can handle my liquor. Just need to find a happy medium."

As I resume digging in the bar, he inquires, "What's got you so intent on getting shitfaced in the middle of the afternoon, anyway?"

"What do you care?"

"I don't. Not about you, anyway." Tipping his head into my line of sight, he presses, "Don't suppose it's a lovers' quarrel?"

I snort, stubbornly staring into the cupboard and pretending to read labels. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"No," he states decisively. That turns my head. "Katniss fared very badly after you were taken. She can't go into the arena like that. She'd be dead in five minutes."

It's in this moment, over a bottle of glorified paint thinner, that I come to understand how badly I have misjudged Haymitch. My bitterness over his apparent neglect last year ran deep, preventing me from acknowledging it even when I should have. Like when he risked his life to intervene in the Square, putting my polite protest to shame. He can be an intolerable ass at times, but he truly cares about Katniss. As much indifference as we hold toward each other, we have this much in common.

"Katniss is fine," I mumble. Sensing there's more to the story, Haymitch raises an eyebrow. And I find myself surprisingly inclined to give it to him. Who else could I open up to, after all? This isn't something I can confide in Katniss about. Because she intensely dislikes Scar, yes, but also because I have a feeling it would disturb her greatly. It disturbed me, and I'm no stranger to the topic. But Haymitch is already as jaded and cynical as they come. And chances are, he already knows. So I tell him, "I just had a very interesting conversation with Scarlett Caskey." From the way Haymitch glances away and takes a long pull of brake fluid, I can tell there's no need to explain. My heart sinks. "Does that happen to all of you?"

"Not Katniss, if that's why you're asking."

"I realize that," I snark. "It wouldn't fit with 'the narrative' the Capitol wants."

Snorting inwardly, Haymitch admits, "Anyone who's considered attractive enough." There's more to that confession than meets the eye. He was quite handsome, back in the day. Before the bottle took him in its clutches. Reading my face, Haymitch waves me off and clarifies, "Not me. They foolishly killed all my collateral after my Games because of how I won it. Had no lives left to threaten me with."

My brow furrows. "What's wrong with how you won? It was brilliant."

"I used their own arena design against them, made them feel foolish."

"So? That's not your fault."

"They don't take kindly to tributes not winning the way they want them to." He sweeps a hand around, indicating our surroundings. "As you may have noticed."

Anger welling up inside me again, I snatch the bottle from Haymitch and take a glug, burning my throat to prove just how pissed I am. Swallowing with a grimace, I slam the bottle down on the counter. "I hate these sons of bitches."

Haymitch raises his eyebrows. "Really? Last I checked, you work for them."

"Last I checked, I quit to come protect your precious Mockingjay," I spit. "Cut me a little slack." Something changes in Haymitch's face as I say that. Interpreting his funny look as incredulity, I turn away and lean back against the bar, staring out the nearest window. "I was a different person when I enlisted," I mutter. "And even then, I didn't know how fucked up everything is."

A tense moment passes before Haymitch gets a grip on my elbow and nods at the nearby balcony. "Let's get you some air. Let you calm down before you say something you regret," he says, pointedly flicking his eyes from side to side as he tugs me that way.

Digging my heels in at the threshold, I eye him distrustfully. "Are you going to throw me off?"

"As much fun as that sounds, there's a forcefield like the one from my Games," he says. "It'd throw you back up." I inch out to join him on the balcony, shutting the door behind us, and he waves me over to the railing. Leaning into the wind, he asks, "You know what the Mockingjay means in the districts, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"So you know keeping Katniss alive is essential to the rebellion," he concludes. I nod, and he gives me a very serious look. "Are you sure that's something you want to support?"

"Are you kidding?" I scoff. "This place can burn." Haymitch stares curiously at my outburst, and that only sets me off more. "What? They have no business raping my friend and turning my girlfriend into some kind of giggly celebrity murder bride. A hetero one, at that. Katniss is a person, a person with thoughts and feelings of her own, and these freaks are using her like that doesn't even matter." Kicking at the deck, I grumble, "I guess it doesn't. She'll be dead in a week, anyway."

"No, she won't," says Haymitch. Observing my confusion, he hesitates a second before revealing, "There's a plan to get her out, and hopefully at least some of the other victors too." He leans a little closer and adds in an enticing tone, "Maybe even you, if you help us."

His need to sweeten the pot offends me, to be quite honest. "Of course I'll help," I snap. "I'd do anything to keep Katniss safe."

"Good," states Haymitch. "Then I need you to not tell her about this."

"What? Why?"

"Because she's being watched very closely, and she's a terrible actor. She could give something away. Better to let her just focus on the Games. Same goes for Peeta."

My eyelids flutter in disbelief. "So you want my help manipulating my girlfriend. Am I understanding this correctly?"

"Yes," he answers far too matter-of-factly. "The first thing I need from you is to convince her to keep acting in love with Peeta, even if the Games go on as scheduled."

Exasperated, I throw a hand in the air. "The Gamemakers will be gunning for her no matter who she's kissing. Like she said, no amount of sponsorship will save her."

"No, but it will help keep you all alive until help arrives," he counters. "But that's not the point."

Tipping my head, I drawl, "Then what is the point, oh wise mentor?"

"You understand how important Katniss's image is to the rebellion," Haymitch recounts.

"Obviously. So why keep up the star-crossed lovers charade? Snow was trying to use that to wreck her rebellious image by making the whole thing about love."

"The love story is mostly to maintain our support in the Capitol," explains Haymitch. He holds my gaze meaningfully. "But if the districts are looking at them, at least they aren't looking at you."

The weight of what he's saying doesn't hit me like a ton of bricks, as one might say. No, it slowly crushes me, the reminder of what I represent heavy on my conscience. "I'd ruin her image."

"Exactly. Her spouting that pro-Capitol stuff on tour was enough to make some people doubt her, even hate her," says Haymitch. "If they find out she's been involved with a Peacekeeper, it'll erode too much support for the rebels. We can't afford to lose this momentum."

A sudden wave of fear makes me tense up. "Would they abort the rescue mission if word got out?"

Haymitch considers this for only a second or two before concluding, "I doubt it. Katniss would undoubtedly still have some influence and, though it's not ideal, Peeta and Finnick could be useful mouthpieces. Katniss isn't the only one Snow wanted to get rid of with this Quell."

"Finnick," I repeat disbelievingly.

"Yes, that's the other thing. I need you to help her play nicely with others, not kill the people we need to get her out."

My eyes narrow. "Who all is involved? Chaff and Seeder, I presume?"

"I'm not telling you any more than you need to know," he says, looking at me as though I'm crazy. "Just don't target District 3. And preferably not Finnick, either. He's a strong fighter and he's sympathetic to both the districts and Capitol."

Mulling over everything he's said, I bob my head in agreement. "Okay."

"So I can count on your help?" he presses.

It's only now that it dawns on me how much Haymitch needs my help. How he needs to get me on his side or else risk Katniss blowing the whole thing in one way or another. I can make demands. Smiling inwardly in relief, I reply, "On one condition."

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "There's always something with you, isn't there?" When I don't answer, he gestures for me to continue. "Well, go ahead."

"Scarlett is let into the alliance."

Haymitch shoots that down immediately with a hard shake of his head. "No. I don't care if you're friends, we can't risk telling anyone from Two."

"I'm from Two," I remind him, eyes narrowing into slits. "We're not all terrible people."

"I'm telling you this because I need you, not because I trust you," Haymitch informs me. Those words are like a full-palm slap to the face, and he immediately follows it up with a vicious backhand. "All I trust is that the promise of saving Katniss's life is incentive enough for you not to rat on us."

Still reeling from his words, I struggle to come up with some of my own. "Firstly, I'm no snitch," I snarl. "Fuck you. Secondly, we don't need to tell Scar." When Haymitch raises an eyebrow, I explain, "She wants to be allied with me, and if I can draw her away from the Career pack, there's only four of them left - three, assuming Mags is splitting with Finnick - and we have much better odds of keeping Katniss alive until the rescue." Spying a shadow of doubt in his face, I press on. "She's valuable. She's young and strong and she trained as a Career. Plus she's popular with sponsors."

Haymitch consents with a wave of his hand. "Fine. But you can't tell her a thing either. And you have to sell it to Katniss as your idea."

"I can be very persuasive," I assure him, batting my eyelashes.

He chuckles darkly, looking me over from head to toe. "I'm sure."

***o***

Trying to convince Katniss to keep up the act that caused me to leave her ever so briefly is about as appealing as jamming a knife under my own ribs. It's also just as difficult to make myself do. I rehearse my spiel while she's in the shower, fighting the urge to vomit the entire time. One thing that makes the task marginally easier is how well I know Katniss and how to get through to her. Logic, for one, but more importantly the wellbeing of someone she cares about. My argument is simple: If the Games go on, we'll get more sponsor gifts if she keeps playing up the romance. More supplies to keep us and ultimately Peeta alive.

"You don't have to make out with him or whatever," I backtrack at her dismayed expression. "Just love him as a friend, like you do, and don't give them any reason to think it's over. Or that you're with someone else."

"I thought you would want to be together in there," she protests with a bewildered blink.

"I do," I declare, resting a hand on her thigh. "I really, really do. But you were worried I would distract you from your final mission of saving Peeta, and I'm trying not to."

"Maybe I kind of want you to," she admits.

"No you don't," I state. "It's not me you're trying to save."

Katniss blinks up sharply. "I don't want you to die either, Johanna."

"And I don't want you to die. But we don't always get what we want, do we?" Katniss snorts and gives her head a small but emphatic shake. "I didn't come here to be saved, or even to save you. I came to spend time together and die by your side. So I might as well help you save Peeta, and I think this is the best way."

"I guess." Mouth twitching glumly, she reaches into her shirt and pulls out the dog tags, runs her thumb over them. "Guess these can't be my token if we decide to play it cool."

"You don't need them. You'll be bringing me in with you for real now." Pinching her chin affectionately, I tip it up and remind her, "Besides, you need your pin. You're the Mockingjay."

"I just want to be Katniss," she mumbles, eyes falling to the mattress. They flick up again as she pronounces, "And Katniss is in love with a girl."

That statement knocks a little bit of air from my lungs. I don't know whether to be more shocked or flattered at the implications. "Is it important to you? People knowing that?" Katniss averts her eyes again and I give her knee a tiny squeeze. "I thought you said it wasn't anybody's business."

"It isn't their business," she mutters. "I just wish they'd stop assuming things about me."

"I feel you." Do I ever. Lying back, I give her arm a gentle tug. "C'mere." She's already crawling over, nestling into my side to tuck her head under my chin. Content in the moment, I hold her silently until I feel tears dripping onto the hollow of my throat. Ducking my chin, I squint at her in concern. "What's wrong?"

"I missed you so much," she whispers. Fisting my shirt, she pauses to sniffle. "And now I'm going to lose you all over again."

Refraining from contradicting her is difficult, but I bite my tongue and keep my eyes on the prize. Making sure the rescue goes off without a hitch. "Hopefully we'll die at roughly the same time."

"Even before that," she says, rolling to rest her chin on my chest and look me straight on. "There's nowhere to hide in the arena. Like you said, I want to spend my last days with you. But I can't. It'll be painful to be there with you and not be able to touch you, kiss you, sleep with you." My lips quirk at her phrasing, and she clarifies, "I mean sleep with like sleep together." I wink and she rolls her eyes dramatically. "Oh, grow up."

Stifling a chuckle, I point out, "At least we're used to hiding things in public."

"I wish we didn't have to be," mutters Katniss.

"Yeah, me too." Her inquisitive look sets me on edge, so I deflect, "Look, if you've decided dying authentically is more important to you than saving Peeta's life, I'm all for it."

Katniss huffs. "Don't be a jackass."

We lie there cuddling until we're summoned for dinner, where Haymitch greets us with some news. "So at least half the victors have instructed their mentors to request you as an ally," he tells Katniss. "I know it can't be your sunny personality."

"They saw her shoot," Peeta informs him with a proud smile.

"Oh, I missed a show?" I inquire, a facetious smirk covering my disappointment. But apparently not very well.

"It's your own fault for getting kicked out," says Katniss. "Why were you so mad at Finnick, anyway?"

Feeling Haymitch's eyes on me, I blink away from them both. "Long story."

Clearing his throat, Haymitch restates, "Well, sweetheart, you've got your pick of the litter. Anyone catch your eye on day one?"

Katniss shifts in her seat. "I want Mags and District 3."

I snort and she gives me a look, but I can't really help my amusement. Katniss never fails to pick up strays and make her life more difficult. This is good news for Haymitch's plan, of course. He wants Three anyway, and her affection for Mags could make teaming with Finnick easier. Haymitch gives nothing away, feigning his usual aggravation. "Of course you do." He sighs and orders a bottle of wine. "I'll tell everybody you're still making up your mind."

In the silence that follows, Effie gives me a smile that's warm, if a little forced. "So, how did you two meet?" There's no secrets on this floor. Even if Haymitch didn't explain my presence to Effie this morning, Katniss and I walked out of her room holding hands not two minutes ago. Everyone from the stylists to the Avoxes knows we're together, and I'm loving it.

Leaning back, I loop a casual arm around Katniss's shoulders. "I arrested her in the woods."

Effie presses a napkin to her lips. "Oh dear."

Katniss chuckles and nuzzles into my shoulder and I lay a kiss on her crown, idly playing with her hair. No one comments on the PDA, not even Haymitch.

After dinner, Katniss fulfills her promise to show me the roof. The crisp evening air hits me when we step out of the dome, making me smile. I've missed being outdoors these past couple days. But what really gets my attention is the breathtaking view. People the size of ants walking the streets below us, city lights shining brighter than stars. Smiling my appreciation at Katniss, I notice she's staring straight out into the darkness, not down at the city. "What're you looking at?"

"There's a forcefield up here to keep us from jumping to our deaths," she explains. "Just checking to see if it's visible."

I blink. "Why would it be visible?"

Katniss turns with a mischievous smile. "Remember how I got my eleven last year?"

That brings a smirk to my lips. For how much Katniss claimed her angry outbursts during our first meeting were an aberration, that anecdote did little to convince me. "Uh huh."

"There's a force field now between us and the Gamemakers. The Threes showed it to me." Another moment of intense peering later, she points a triumphant finger at a spot a bit down and to her right. "There." It takes me a moment, but I find it. A square patch of the field appears to be vibrating, making the lights behind it twinkle like stars. "They said that's its weak spot."

Deciding now is as good a time as any to make my pitch for Scar, I ask, "Is that how they caught your attention?" She gives me a wary glance over her shoulder and I tip my head condescendingly. "You know the point of allies is to keep us alive, right?"

"They were the only remotely tolerable people down there," she says, looking out over the city once again.

"You're really not that pleasant either, Katniss," I remark. "That's not the point."

"So you'd rather I team with your tall friend?" she asks flatly. "Is that it?"

"If you're going to add a bunch of liabilities to our group, then absolutely. Even if not, she's a formidable fighter and she's my friend. I can easily get her on our side. You'd be crazy not to take advantage of that." Katniss turns her head enough to shoot me a glare. "Come on," I insist, "you didn't even try talking to her."

"I don't need to."

Planting a hand on my hip, I remind her, "I was a Career candidate too, as you know so very well. And Scarlett's a better person than I am." Katniss scoffs, which only serves to aggravate me further. "She is! As a wise woman once told me, we're all products of our environment. She's a killer because that's what her society told her was the most worthwhile thing she could do with her life. Kinda like how you're an asshole because your life sucks." Obviously there's more to that story, but I have a feeling Scar wouldn't appreciate me spilling intimate details of her life to other tributes.

Catching my eye again, Katniss spits, "At least I don't kill people for fun."

"Other than Clove," I retort. Her face pales and I know I've crossed a line. Not that it isn't mine to cross, more than anyone else's. I barely let up. "Look, I need you to get over this, get off your high fucking horse and accept that she can help us stay alive in there. Even if she wasn't any help, it's one less Career gunning for us. Do you really want to go up against Scar and Brutus?"

"I can't work with someone I can't trust," she argues.

"Well then you're going to die real quick in there, Everdeen," I counter. "I'm a good fighter but you're right, I haven't done this before. Peeta and I, we're not enough."

Shaking her head, Katniss insists, "If we team up, she'll kill me the first chance she gets."

"No, she won't. I know you've been watching tapes. She's a loyal ally, remember?" Katniss can't deny that. Scar had the chance to hit the boy from Four with a knife in the back while he was killing their last opponent. Instead, she waited until they could square off honorably. Katniss looks away but doesn't concede any ground, so I change tactics. "Besides, she likes you."

Katniss blinks in surprise. "Likes me?"

"Yeah, she's a total fangirl. Thinks you're the coolest." I crack a grin. "If anyone, she'll kill Peeta. Which, no offense, but he's kind of the weak link."

Katniss's eyes narrow. "He's also one of the two people I'm rooting for to get out of there alive."

"Relax, I'm kidding," I assure her, jostling her shoulder with mine. "Come on, please. Trust me."

"I'll think about it."

The familiar refrain makes me chuckle. "At some point, you're gonna have to start making some decisions."

Leaning harder on the railing, Katniss sullenly drags her eyes across the horizon. "These decisions are never mine, Johanna."

My heart constricts in my chest and I automatically wrap an arm around her back. Pressing a kiss to her temple, I try to swallow my guilt for colluding with Haymitch. He's right about Katniss being a bad actor. It's one of the few ways in which she's a liability. That and her temper and her poor taste in allies.

Shortly after we return downstairs, Haymitch interrupts our makeout session with another knock and abrupt order. "You two. Get out here, now."

Rolling off of Katniss, I flop on my back and groan. "Your mentor needs to stop cockblocking us." Katniss sighs and slides off the bed, extending a hand to pull me to my feet. "Why, thank you," I croon, batting my eyelashes. "Such a gentleman." She rolls her eyes and tugs me toward the door without a word.

Haymitch beckons us silently from where he stands at the entrance to the TV room, pointing inside when we get close. I'm sort of expecting an intervention of some kind, but Effie and the stylists aren't waiting for us, their eyes are all glued to the screen. The reporter or whoever is saying something about District 2, narrating over some shots of mountains. I'm about to ask Haymitch why the hell he interrupted us for a fucking nature documentary when the shot changes. All my muscles tense as I find myself staring into my father's eyes.

"Being in the Games was all Johanna wanted for years," he says. "She was planning to volunteer last summer, but she got a terrible injury in the year leading up to it and the doctors said it wouldn't heal in time. It was her last year of eligibility, so she joined the Peacekeepers instead."

"Is that your dad?" asks Katniss, resting a hand on the small of my back. I nod mutely as the camera zooms out a bit, revealing my mother standing beside him.

"I was proud, of course, when she enlisted," he continues. "We come from a long line of Peacekeepers, and I served several years myself. In this family we are honored to serve alongside our Capitol brothers and sisters in the forces, help keep their city and our nation safe. But when I saw Johanna step on that stage, I can honestly say I've never been more proud of our little girl."

"She was heartbroken," my mother adds. "Her goal in life was to bring honor to her family and district, and glory to the Capitol. She's done that already by serving her country, but she wanted something bigger." Mom quirks her lips in an ironic smile. "Wrong district, now, but we're thrilled all the same that she's getting her chance." She blows a kiss at the camera. "We love you, sweetie! We're rooting for you!"

The shot returns to the studio, where a panel of talking heads are primed to break down the story of the Peacekeeper turned tribute. Career turned Peacekeeper turned tribute, that is. That's even worse. I'm not a stupid person from the Capitol anymore. Now I'm a traitor to everyone in the districts.

***o***

On Haymitch's orders, the first thing I do the next morning (after Katniss) is make amends with Finnick. Begrudgingly. Marching up to him at the hammock station, without even a greeting I say, "I shouldn't have shoved you yesterday. I was upset about something else and I took it out on you."

Finnick, for his part, continues his nosy ways. "Something else?"

I'm about to say it's none of his fucking business. But when that thought crosses my mind, another comes swiftly on its heels, making me frown. It kind of is his business. What happened to Scar must have happened to him. "Yeah," I stammer. Quickly recovering, I add, "Not that you didn't deserve it. You've been nothing but annoying since the moment I met you."

"Is this meant to be an apology?" asks Finnick, cocking a sassy eyebrow.

"No. I'm not sorry. But Haymitch said I have to play nice with you, so here we are."

Finnick squints. "Is that so?"

"Hasn't he told you yet? We're allies now. Or something like that."

"Huh," he says, stepping back to give me a once-over. "Whatever the case, I'm glad to hear we'll have your support," he adds, his tone pleasantly surprised. I can't help taking it as an insult to my character or intelligence.

"I'm not from here," I lobby in my own defense. "You know that if you watch the news. I didn't know what things are like here, who or what I was fighting for."

Finnick's eyes roll slightly. "Yes, seems the ones from Two always take it the hardest once they adjust. Their mental image is the least accurate."

"That's not exactly our fault," I parry. "We're fed more bullshit than anyone." My eyes track over to the latest victor from Two. She's chucking spears alone, releasing unnecessarily loud grunts with each throw. "Poor Scar."

Finnick leans in close and cocks his head, licking his lips. "Poor lots of us, honey. Your friend, she can handle herself."

I nod intently. "She'll survive."

"For a few more days," he snorts.

"No. She's going to survive," I repeat, more forcefully this time. "I'm protecting her too. And if you so much as look at her funny in there, I'll gut you." My eyes narrow as I lower my voice. "She's just as good a fighter as you. Whoever out there wants you alive, they may need you, but I don't."

Finnick gives me a low whistle, looking me over once more. "I have underestimated you, Agent."

"Yeah, I've been getting a lot of that lately." Leaving him behind, I make my way to the spear throwing station. Scar doesn't see me coming, apparently, startling slightly when I clap a hand on her shoulder. The sight of me makes her smile, once she catches her breath. "Good news. Katniss is open to the idea of an alliance."

"'Open to the idea'?" parrots Scar, sounding far from convinced.

"I'm still working on her," I admit. I give her arm a reassuring squeeze. "If nothing else, she knows you're important to me and I'll kill her if she offs you."

"No you won't," scoffs Scar.

Though my eyes drop sheepishly, I can't help a small smile. "Not literally, no."

"Thank you." Scar steps into a hug, looping her arms around my neck. When she pulls back a moment later, she adds, "For everything." It's her turn to look sheepish. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"Don't be. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"I'm fine," she states firmly. "My time is not for sale as a tribute. That asshole can look all he wants." She shrugs and grabs a new spear. "I just needed to feel sorry for myself for a while. But I'm done with that now."

I stare up at her in awe. "You're so much stronger than I ever realized."

For a second, Scar looks genuinely moved. But she recovers quickly, pulling on a smirk. "Jeez, keep it in your pants." As I grin back at her, she nods behind me. "Your girlfriend's coming."

"Without me? How rude." While she snickers and pitches her spear, I turn around and greet Katniss with a small nod. Don't want to seem too happy to see her. "Hey."

"Hi," she replies with a very convincing level of disinterest. I'm almost insulted for a second until I remember she doesn't know Scar knows about us. Looking over the top of my head, she says, "Scarlett." That catches both of us by surprise. Scar slowly turns to her, looking rather perplexed. "I saw you in hand-to-hand yesterday. Pretty slick moves."

Brow still furrowed, Scar exchanges an uneasy look with me. "Thank you?"

"Archery too," continues Katniss. She cocks an eyebrow. "Not so much."

Scar narrows her eyes. "Your point being?"

"I could give you some tips if you'll show me how to disarm an attacker," proposes Katniss. A smile threatens to burst onto my lips. She's actually making an effort with Scar. "I'm not great at close combat."

"You handled Clove all right," counters Scar. From the enamored look creeping onto her face, it's less of an argument than a compliment. I roll my eyes.

"Clove was tiny," Katniss reminds her. When Scar doesn't reply, she shrugs demonstratively. "It was just an offer."

Scar smirks and places her latest spear back in the rack. "Well, I can't really say no to archery lessons from Katniss Everdeen, can I? Lead the way."

As Katniss starts toward the archery station, I catch Scar leering at her retreating form. Scowling, I cross my arms and step in front of her. "Don't get any ideas."

Scar raises her hands innocently, though her grin is anything but innocent. "I'm just looking."

I tip my head, trying unsuccessfully to harshen my glare. "You're a terrible friend."

Turns out, Katniss's offer to Scar may not be the olive branch I assumed. Apparently she's taking Haymitch more seriously now, because she spends time with most of the victors over the next day and a half. The best part about this is it gives us a little wiggle room to hang out as well, without raising suspicion. And actually, not needing to avoid each other makes the whole thing marginally more bearable. It's much easier to focus on the training rather than what is forbidden. It would be even easier if we could get away with more than a hand on a shoulder, but hey, it's something.

After my private session with the Gamemakers on the third afternoon, I try to nap upstairs while I wait for Katniss to join me. But I'm too jacked up, so I go run laps around the roof instead. She's still not in her room when I get back. It's been at least a couple hours since I left the gym before I hear Peeta's door open and close down the hall. I'm perched on the edge of the bed jiggling my foot when Katniss arrives maybe twenty minutes later, waltzing into the room with a spring in her step. "What was the hold up?"

"No clue. It was like forty minutes before they called me." She wrinkles her nose. "It smelled like cleaner too. Whatever Peeta did, it was messy."

"Maybe he jerked off for them," I crack.

Katniss scoffs. "Please, like that would even take five minutes."

My eyebrows fly up in shock and awe. "Vicious."

"I learned from the best."

Leaning back on my palms, I ask, "So what'd you do? Now that shooting at the Gamemakers is out of the question."

Mischief gleaming in her eyes, Katniss says, "I hung Seneca Crane."

"What?"

"I wrote his name on a dummy and hung it," she grins. "Drew his facial hair, too. Quite the work of art."

I squint up at her. "Why would you do that? He's already dead."

"Exactly." At my clueless blink, she explains, "I just wanted them to feel vulnerable for a moment too. Remind them they're not invincible."

Cocking my head, I inquire, "And this helps keep Peeta alive how?"

"It doesn't," admits Katniss. "But if I have to keep playing the role in public, at least I can show them they don't own me some in other way."

My mouth twitches in sympathy. "Katniss, if you really want to tell people-"

"It's not that," she cuts in. Sitting down beside me, she elucidates, "I mean, kind of, but I have to mince words if I don't want Snow to hurt the people I love back home. But everything in training is a secret, so it's one of the few places I can say what I want to. Make sense?"

"Yeah," I say. "I get it."

But I don't get it, not really. Not until we gather for dinner and Peeta tells everyone that during his session he painted a picture of how Rue looked after Katniss covered her in flowers. I'm as puzzled as to his motives as I was about Katniss's earlier until Haymitch presses him for one. "I'm not sure," he admits. "I just wanted to hold them accountable, if only for a moment. For killing that little girl."

Those words strike me as familiar. Katniss said something similar when she came home and I gave her shit for the funeral stunt. I was too busy chewing her out to give it much weight or thought at the time, but now I do. Katniss was making a statement. A statement that got several people killed, unfortunately, but she was doing something out of the ordinary on purpose, as a protest. And today Peeta and Katniss had even more to say to the Gamemakers. They have blood on their hands, and they are not safe.

Though the grown-ups say I'm the only one who behaved practically, it's not something I'm proud of. The others made these bold rebellious statements, meanwhile the most rebellious thing I did was continue to crank out chin-ups after they dismissed me. I enjoyed the chance to piss them off with a little disobedience, but I had nothing to say. Nothing except that I'm a brat.

The eleven I'm awarded during the training scores broadcast makes me feel a little better, albeit briefly. I'm smiling until Peeta pulls a twelve, at which point I share a look of incredulity with him and Katniss. She also scores a twelve, making them the first district partners ever to both do so. Her score seems much less unreasonable but still leaves us shaking our heads. "Why did they do that?" asks Katniss.

"So that the others will have no choice but to target you," says Haymitch flatly. "Go to bed. I can't stand to look at either one of you." As the three of us stand, Haymitch grabs hold of my sleeve and shakes his head. "Not you." Watching Katniss disappear around the corner, I plop back down with a pout. Haymitch snaps his fingers in front of my face, demanding my attention. "I've spoken to your mentor and escort and explained you're allying with my tributes, and they agreed to let you work with me and Effie tomorrow for your interview prep."

I chuckle. "They couldn't wait to be rid of me, huh?"

"I'm far from overjoyed to take you on myself," Haymitch says with an eye roll, "but necessity is a harsh taskmaster. I'll make sure to be drunk before we start."

"So will I," I promise.

On my way back to the bedroom I wonder how they plan to divide their time between three tributes, but Katniss quickly distracts me and wipes that thought from my mind. It doesn't occur to me again until there's a knock on our door the next morning. We've been awake a little while, cuddling silently. I'm amusing myself drawing designs on Katniss's belly with grazing fingertips, listening to the slow crescendo of her heartbeat the longer I go on. When the knock finally comes, Katniss's ensuing sigh sounds as much like relief as anything else, which makes me smirk into her chest. "Girls, I hope you're awake!" calls Effie brightly. "I have a delivery for Johanna!"

We exchange a surprised look. Katniss pulls the covers up into her armpits and props herself up on her elbows. "Come in!"

Effie sweeps into the room, carrying a garment bag in one hand and a pair of high-heeled shoes in the other. Taking in the scene, she clicks her tongue in disapproval. "I really thought you'd be dressed at this hour." Holding up the bag, she says, "Johanna, I took the liberty of talking to your stylist, and I brought a similar cut for you to practice walking in."

Katniss rolls her eyes, far from enthused. "More of the same as last year, huh?"

"No, my dear," chirps Effie, her tone just a shade too sweet to be entirely genuine. "You're free for the day. Haymitch and I agree that you and Peeta can handle yourselves adequately in public. You had plenty of practice on your tour. Johanna is in more need of coaching, so we'll be devoting the day to her."

My mood goes from offended to petulant in the blink of an eye. "The whole day?" I whine, face falling in protest.

"I certainly hope not. But we have lots to go over. The interview aside, I assume there will be much work to do on your stage presence." Ignoring my insulted scoff, she runs her eyes over the length of the bag. "Thankfully the dress is too short to pose a tripping hazard, but I still need to teach you how to walk in high heels."

"No you don't," I mutter.

Effie barely bothers to mask her irritation or incredulity as she replies, "I can assure you, Johanna, they will be part of your outfit. Especially at your stature."

Katniss snorts and I give her a little side-eye before turning to Effie with a smug look. "I know that."

Effie peers at me doubtfully. "Are you saying you already know how to walk in heels?"

"Of course I know how. I'm a fucking lady." Tossing back the covers, I march straight up to Effie. Grinning at her scandalized expression, I take the shoes and slip them on. "Observe." Turning on a dime, I strut across the room naked, light on my feet and head held high. The heels have got to be at least four inches tall, but I have no trouble keeping my balance.

When I glance at the bed, Katniss has a hand clamped over her mouth, holding something back. I can't tell if it's a laugh or a blush. Whipping around again, I strike a pose and muster my most obnoxiously chipper tone. "Why yes, Caesar. Thank you, Caesar. I love my outfit too. I'm absolutely delighted to be here. I like eating pussy." That last line makes Katniss snort and she can't hold back anymore, dissolving into wheezing cackles. My grin grows as I get a good look at her face. It's a laugh and a blush.

Effie is not amused. Eyes hard and jaw clenched, she snaps, "I'm glad you can find such humor in your probable impending demise."

Head tipping inquisitively, I creep closer. "How else would you suggest I deal with it? I'm guessing you have a lot of experience with this. How many kids have you reaped, again?"

Effie's expression darkens even further. "Put this on," she demands, shoving the garment bag into my torso. The plastic exterior is cold on my bare skin, but I suppress a shiver out of pride. "Meet me and Haymitch in the TV room once you're decent."

Once the door slams behind Effie, I toss the dress on the bed and Katniss hops out from under the covers. Rounding the bed with a grin, she says, "Okay, that was amazing. Legendary."

Running my eyes up her body, I meet her gaze with a sassy wink. "Even better than the elevator?"

"Much better. You were picking on someone else this time." Her eyes change as she takes the last few steps, slowing to a crawl. "Plus the heels really make the look."

My lips curl into a smirk. "You like that, huh?"

"Mm hm." Katniss helps herself to another eyeful before closing the gap and laying her hands on my body, tipping her head up to kiss me. I can't help the tiny satisfied snicker that breaks our lips apart. "What?"

"You're shorter." Barely, but enough for my eyelashes to flutter against her eyebrows. Katniss squints out a playful glare and shuts me up with another kiss. Following her lead, I run my palms over her skin, down her sides and onto the small of her back. She deepens the kiss with an aroused hum and my right hand moves automatically, following the curve of her hipbone. It's maybe two inches from its destination when she intercepts it.

"Nuh uh," she singsongs, prying it away. "The sooner you get this over with, the sooner we can hang out. We'll spend the whole rest of the day together, okay?"

Unable to argue with that logic, I sulk silently and finger the dog tags in her cleavage instead. I haven't taken them off her again since she said that thing about always wearing them. Besides, it's nice seeing them on her. A piece of me close to her heart, always. "You're not gonna keep me company?"

"Please," she scoffs. "You couldn't pay me to sit through another one of their coaching sessions. Gonna go see what Peeta's up to."

She doesn't abandon me right away, at least. After throwing on some clothes of her own, she helps me do up the dress. A shiver runs down my spine as she slowly pulls the zipper up its track, hands on my back and breath on my neck. It's such a weirdly intimate and domestic thing to do, now that I think about it. We've never been on a fancy dinner date, but I imagine if we ever got to go on one, getting ready would feel something like this. I'm not sure we'd even make it out the door.

Effie and Haymitch are both scowling and drinking when I join them. Silently I snatch Haymitch's bottle and tip it back. This drink is slightly less repulsive than the one he had the other day, and I manage to swallow it with barely a grimace. As I'm handing it back to him, Katniss peeks her head around the corner. "Hanna, we're going up to the roof. Come join us when you're done, okay?" It's fucking gorgeous out. If she's trying to make me jealous so I'll speed up, it's working. I give her a glum nod and she takes pity on me, entering the room long enough to give my lips a quick peck. Now with her shoes on she's regained a slight height advantage, one more thing to make me grouchy. Still, the feel of her lips on mine is enough to procure a small smile. Smiling back, she pulls away with a casual, "Love you."

"Love you too," I call after her. When she disappears and I turn back into the room, I find Haymitch and Effie staring at me. "What?"

As I suspected, the presentation part of my lesson goes by quickly and smoothly. I already know how to walk in a dress and heels, how to carry myself confidently without appearing hostile. Effie is very picky about how to place my hands and tuck my crossed ankles while sitting, but otherwise it's a breeze. Within half an hour, Haymitch is gladly segueing into the content portion of our tutorial. "We need to decide on an angle for you. Based on your body language, I'm assuming you want to play it cocky or saucy."

That was what I had always planned for my interview, but as I open my mouth to agree, it drops into a frown. "No. I want to be honest."

Haymitch blinks. "Honest?"

"They're going to want my story. And I want to tell it. I think it's the only way I can get people to trust me."

"We agreed we need to keep up the star-crossed lovers story," Haymitch counters with a headshake.

"The fake one," I huff, which earns me a glare. "No, I know. I mean where I came from and what I've been through, how I've changed."

Haymitch leans closer, a subtle warning in his tone and posture. "You need to be careful, Johanna. You still have people out there you love."

"And I can't say anything blatantly inflammatory. I know." I tip my head innocently. "Can anyone blame me for answering honestly and saying what I feel? That is the point of the interviews, after all."

He shakes his head again, softer this time, lips pursing in a way that makes me wonder if he's suppressing a smile. "You're smarter than I gave you credit for."

"Are you sure this is the wisest course of action, Johanna?" interjects Effie. "Your current story has sponsors lined up around the block."

"Capitol sponsors," I sneer. Her face hardens a bit and I add a cursory, "No offense."

"District sponsorships are pocket change," replies Effie. She cocks an eyebrow. "No offense."

Screwing my eyes shut, I sigh in exasperation. "Look, to me this isn't about getting sponsors. I want people to know who I am before I die." While it admittedly has more to do with not wanting to jeopardize Katniss's reputation by association in the arena, this is true too. Pointedly catching Haymitch's gaze, I add, "It's the same thing Katniss wants."

Effie scoffs. "I think we can all agree this is about putting your best foot forward, not about who you are. If it was, Katniss would have scowled through her entire interview last year."

"Let her do it," says Haymitch, eyes still on me. "If Katniss is allied with a Career and rabid Capitol loyalist in the arena, it won't sit right," he expounds, giving his head a little dip. I get it. It won't sit well with the rebels, in particular. He puts a slightly different spin on it for Effie as he turns her way. "It'll confuse people."

"Tributes make alliances based on need, not morality," argues Effie.

"Not Katniss."

"He's right, Effie," I tell her. Smirking at Haymitch, I add, "I gotta fit the narrative."

"Exactly," says Haymitch. Now he is wearing a small smile. For real. "Let's get started."

***o***

The day of the interviews turns out to be substantially more unpleasant than the coaching session. It's the same remake bullshit I had to deal with prior to the parade, thankfully minus the hair removal. I'm not exactly a patient person, and sitting or standing around while a flock of high-pitched idiots claw at my body and caw about its every flaw is not my idea of a good time. At least Katniss's prep team provided me with a little amusement. They woke us up this morning with horrified gasps when they discovered us sleeping naked together, shocked and appalled that Katniss was "cheating on Peeta."

My mood improves when my stylist shows up bearing not a tree, but a sleek black dress with a diamond-shaped boob window. "Damn, you came through," I compliment her through a grin when I first lay eyes on it. The dress hugs my hips and falls halfway down my calves, a slit up one side rising almost up to my hip. I look both badass and sexy, my preferred aesthetic, and reward my aging stylist with a high five that seems to confuse her, but pleasantly so.

With an outfit appropriate to my personality, I find myself brimming with confidence as I scarf down some dinner while my stylist fusses with my hair. Contrary to what I'd expected based on Katniss's stories from last year, the coaching session was quite productive. Not only are Haymitch and I confident in my intended approach, it rids me of the burden of guilt I felt after the private sessions about not doing my part. I went up to the roof feeling satisfied and even a little excited, and like I was finally worthy of Katniss and Peeta's company.

The phone rings out in the living area, which barely registers thanks to the continued chatter of my prep team. I don't think anything of it until I hear the receiver being slammed down onto its cradle and the quick footsteps of someone running to the TV room. It's too loud in the bedroom for me to hear what's on TV from my own quarters, but seconds later my mentor hollers, "Johanna! Johanna, you need to see this!"

The urgency in his tone attracts a large crowd, virtually everyone on the floor moseying over to see what the big deal is. Gasps fill the air and taller bodies block my view. Even in heels, I have to barge my way through before I spot the security footage onscreen and stop short. There I am, kissing Katniss behind the Hob. Backing her up against the wall and pinning her there with my body and my lips.

My ears are buzzing, but when the shot changes to one of Katniss rapping on my window, I finally tune in to the reporter's narration. "Surveillance tapes show Miss Everdeen accessing the barracks via Agent Mason's window upwards of seventy times beginning in February of last year. Footage from the Victor's Village and nearby areas indicates Agent Mason moved in with her in late August and stayed until shortly before Mason's platoon was reassigned following the Victory Tour."

The reporter now appears onscreen, the stage in front of the Training Center as a backdrop. "A Peacekeeper assigned to the Justice Building in District 12 during last year's reaping attests that Mason visited Everdeen under the alias Hannah Taylor and declared herself to be Everdeen's girlfriend. When Mason's time was up, he claims, they had to be dragged apart their parting kisses were so passionate."

"That's a mild exaggeration," I inform the rapt audience, blushing under my dark makeup.

"Things evidently haven't ended between the two of them in the wake of Miss Everdeen's engagement to Peeta Mellark," continues the reporter. "Anonymous sources inside the Training Center claim Agent Mason has been staying with the District 12 contingent, and security cameras at the facility caught this interaction yesterday."

The broadcast switches to a shot of me and Katniss on the roof after Peeta left us early in the evening. I'm on top of her, kissing her hard. And doing other things hard. One of the blankets they'd dragged upstairs for a picnic is draped over us, but it's very clear what's going on beneath it. Very clear that Katniss has been sleeping with the enemy.

"Fuck. Haymitch is going to kill me."

This may be the last chapter for a bit, but hopefully not too long.

Thanks to D7P for the beta read.