A/N: And we're back for more District 2! Told y'all this one wouldn't take me so long lol.

Not ten minutes after knocking on Katniss's door, I'm heading back to my room. My girl- my ex has a hard time being sociable for long even on good days, and the flight from Thirteen has taken its toll. And not just on her, apparently.

The sunken lines in Peeta's brow make him look at least five years his senior. And he was never the most perceptive, to say the least, but he doesn't even notice me approaching as he pulls his door shut behind him. He slips his keycard into the pocket of his long, dark jacket.

"Out for an evening stroll in a warzone?" I tease as I close in. He looks up and I give him a wicked smirk. "I mean, you've always done dumb shit to get yourself killed, but this feels a little excessive."

Barely raising an eyebrow, Peeta deadpans, "Can't be any worse than the arenas out there." Something half grunt, half chuckle comes out of my throat. "I'm just gonna go sit on the steps," he says. "Being outside helps clear my head."

There's a haunting quality in his eyes, a deadness that doesn't belong there. I can't help staring, searching them for the charming, cheerful artist I met not two years ago. A lifetime ago.

He's lost even more than I have. We may both be orphans, but at least I still have my siblings. Tipping my head, I sincerely ask, "How're you holding up, Peeta?"

His jaw twitches, eyes flicking away. "Getting through it," he says tightly. "You?"

"Same." Chuckling ironically, I remark, "Never thought we'd have much of anything in common other than Katniss."

"We always have," says Peeta. I peer at him curiously. His voice softens as he ventures, "I overheard you talking to Katniss one time, about your dad." His gentle tone and empathetic eyes communicate all too clearly what he's talking about. "For me it was my mom."

Brow furrowing, I frown down at the faded floral carpet. "I'm sorry to hear that," I mutter. My tongue bulges in my cheek as I reflect on this in silence. Finally, I catch his eye. I don't even bother to harden my face, hide all that vulnerability. "You miss her anyway?"

"Yeah," he admits readily. His eyes shine with unshed tears. "You?"

"Unfortunately." Shrugging with a casualness unbefitting of the moment, I reminisce, "It wasn't all bad, you know."

Peeta gives me a sad smile. "Yeah, of course not."

My throat aches. Fighting to keep it out of my voice, I gesture past him and say, "Anyway, I'm down the hall if you need me. 413."

His mouth twitches gratefully. "Thanks, Hanna."

My surprised scoff turns into a playful glare. "Yeah, you're welcome, Peet." Chuckling under his breath, he turns for the stairwell. Suddenly I'm saying, "Hey." The surprise on his face mirrors the feeling in my gut. I didn't mean to say anything, but…

Nodding at the stairwell, I ask, "You want some company? I think my head could use a little clearing, too."

It's a small but genuine smile that curls Peeta's lips, a little bit of that sparkle I remember returning to his eyes. "It's a free country now, so they say. Be my guest."

***o***

The next morning our contingent from Two meets with the new influx of brains from Thirteen in hopes of capturing Central Defense, which they're now referring to as 'the Nut' for some reason. We ditch our war room for a larger conference room on the top floor to accommodate all the new people, and Lyme even has a holographic model set up. She seems eager to impress, well prepared with a very thorough tour of the fortress and detailed accounts of our failed attacks.

While I appreciate her commitment, I get pretty restless after like an hour of her yammering on. It takes effort not to yawn in my seat next to Scar, who arrived in town a couple days ago. I've barely seen her, as she's been working closely with Lyme. Must have been thrilling for her. Peeta's across from us with some of the others from Thirteen while Katniss has forgone the table altogether, perched on a windowsill overlooking the mountain in question.

I'm disappointed but not exactly offended at Katniss's choice of seating. We may have made up, in a sense, but we're still not on the greatest of terms. Plus I'm sitting with Scar and they've never really gotten along. It shouldn't bother me. Right?

Finally Lyme finishes her presentation and the questions start, along with proposals for various attack plans. I gotta say, for a group of handpicked brains, the people from Thirteen have very little to contribute. Hours pass, and lunch comes and goes, but no one has any really innovative thoughts. Mostly they just keep coming up with more variations of the strategy to storm the hangar bay doors, which has never been anything but a resounding failure. Lyme is still sour about all the people she's lost in similar plans, and I can see a vein pulsing in her forehead, about to burst. I can't stand this tedium anymore so I decide to just throw something new out there.

"What about a siege?" I suggest. "We could take the square, force the workers to stay in the mountain without any backup or supplies. Eventually they'd have to surrender."

"They have emergency supplies, lots of them," Purnia says, shaking her head. "And the Peacekeepers would definitely make a push to get the square back once they caught on."

"Besides, they can fly people and supplies in and out as long as they have the hangar doors," says Boggs. "We don't have the firepower to take down their planes from a distance."

Squinting in disbelief, I ask, "You guys didn't bring anti-aircraft guns from Thirteen?"

"Only a few, and they're stationed around this area for our protection. We could request more, but they're spread pretty thin around the districts already." He chuckles humorlessly. "Downside of claiming so much territory."

"It's a possibility," concludes Lyme, "but let's keep thinking."

Okay, well, it's not like I expected that idea to be foolproof or even good, but at least it got us talking about something other than the fucking doors.

One of the brains pipes up, "Could we pull off a seige if we sabotaged the supplies? Or maybe the ventilation system? That would force an evacuation."

Lyme hums and turns to the nerdiest of the nerds. "Beetee, could you hack into the mainframe and shut down the ventilation system?"

"Probably," he muses, "but they're not underground like Thirteen. Unless we blocked off the vents and hangar doors there's no guarantee they'll need to evacuate."

"Back to the doors again, great," mutters Lyme.

A quiet moment passes before Purnia speaks up with an uncharacteristic hesitance. "I have an idea." Far from excited about a potential solution, she looks distressed. "We could block the exits without storming them. Drop bombs onto the mountainside, create an artificial avalanche."

More silence.

Scar is the first to speak up. "Are you serious?" She's gone pale and is staring at Purnia like she's Snow incarnate.

Purnia blinks. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"How can you even suggest that?" demands Scar. Eyeing the leaders from Two, she asks, "Seriously, does anyone here not know someone who died in a mine?"

I can't help catching Katniss's eye across the room. She looks seriously ill at the prospect.

Letting that sink in, Scar continues, "I only had to join the program and become the Capitol's whore because a cave-in killed my father and made my mother a roller."

"And I only became a Peacekeeper because my husband was injured in a rock slide," counters Purnia. "I understand, Scarlett. Trust me, I'm far from thrilled by the idea, but if it's the only way to secure our victory in the district-"

"No," insists Scar. "There has to be another way."

Purnia's face is never easy to read, but she looks at Scar with something that's either sadness or pity. Maybe both. "I sincerely hope there is."

"It's not ideal, Colonel Ellis," Lyme muses, pulling up the hangar floor on the hologram. "We wouldn't be able to commandeer the weapons and technology inside, half the point of taking it in the first place. They have scores of working hovercraft we could use."

Boggs frowns, tapping his chin in thought. "The war's already won in the districts, and the Capitol has too many anti-aircraft guns for the planes to be useful there. It wouldn't be the end of the world if we didn't take what's inside."

Scar scoffs, leveling a heated glare at Boggs. "Easy for you to be so callous when you've spent your whole life in a cozy little bunker, playing soldier while the rest of us suffered."

"Whoa, hey," snaps one of the other brains from Thirteen. "That's uncalled for."

"Is it?" snarks Scar. "What gives you assholes the right to come into our district and decide whose lives are worth saving? You might as well have brought a reaping bowl." She scans the entire table. "You all really want to play god with the lives of everyone inside? Not everyone chooses to work there, and some of them are our own spies."

There's dead silence for a moment, most people avoiding her gaze or meeting it with sympathetic but resigned expressions. Honestly unsure what to say myself, I rest a hand on Scar's knee and give it a squeeze.

"Look, Scar has a point," Peeta remarks, speaking for the first time in ages. He's been uncharacteristically silent today, not that he had much to say last night either. Maybe this is his new normal. The very thought makes my chest ache. "We're well on the way to exterminating ourselves at this point," he says. "We need to save as many lives as possible in the rest of the war."

"There's no saying how many people would die," Beetee counters gently. "They can still escape through the train tunnel to the square. This could actually spare more lives than an armed conflict."

Turning to her commander, Scar implores, "Lyme, come on."

Lyme isn't looking at Scar, she's gazing thoughtfully at the hologram, chin resting on her folded hands. After a long moment she meets her mentee's eyes, expression solemn. "This is war, Scar. People get hurt, people die."

Scar's mouth is hanging open helplessly, eyes shining with betrayal. Tempting fate, I squeeze her knee again and calmly reason, "Hey, look. I don't like the idea either. But if this is the only way to make sure we can take the Capitol, take down the people who hurt you, it's worth considering. Isn't it?"

A forlorn, hopeless expression takes over her face and she looks around the table. "Can we at least try to think of something else?"

Smiling tightly, Lyme concedes, "Sure."

Lyme smartly proposes we take a snack break before resuming discussions. I try to talk to Scar again, but she brushes me off and stalks over to one of the refreshment carts. Anger works up quite the appetite, I'd know.

I'm watching her sadly when Katniss sidles up to me and snorts, "Having fun over there?"

Sparks flash in my eyes as I turn on her. "Don't pull more of your jealous bullshit now, Katniss," I snap. "You're the one who said you're not ready to get back together."

Taking half a step back, Katniss raises a calming hand. "Whoa, hey. I was just teasing."

"I can never tell with you," I say, narrowing my eyes.

"Sorry," she mutters with a shrug, eyes falling as she nibbles the inside of her cheek. I'm not convinced she was entirely kidding, but I can give her a pass considering the situation.

Poking her in the shoulder, I ask, "You doing okay?"

Katniss shrugs. "Lyme's right. War is war. It'd be different if we blocked the train tunnel, but..."

"I guess no matter what we did, some of their people would die," I reason when she goes quiet. "At least this way we're only risking the lives of a few pilots on our end." Eyes flicking back to Scar, I murmur, "It's close to her, though. I get why she's upset."

"Me too," says Katniss. She leaves without another word, heading straight for Scar. I consider trying to hold her back but think better of it. She seems to be going in peace, and besides, if they do happen to get in a fistfight there are plenty of people around to break it up. Plenty of people who don't have fragile heads to protect, or fragile relationships.

Thankfully, there's no explosion of emotion or blood when Katniss eases herself down onto the windowsill Scar's planted herself on. Scar eyes her suspiciously, but that expression fades within moments. I can't hear their conversation, but in any case it seems to be much more civil than the last time they talked about their dead fathers.

Eyes flicking around the room, I zero in on Purnia. She's standing by the table, fingers tapping on the wooden surface as she zooms in and out of the hologram. Her face is emotionless but pale, brow furrowed in concentration. Rounding the table, I slide in beside her and watch the shifting images and statistics. She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. The pattern is clear enough. Purnia is examining structural supports. Calculating the human cost of her plan.

When she straightens up with a frown, I give her a gentle nudge with my elbow. "Hey. You okay?"

Purnia's eyes linger on the hologram. "How am I ever going to look Paul in the eye again?"

"The poor conditions in the mines were the Capitol's fault," I remind her with a firm shoulder squeeze. "We're trying to take them down."

"Yes, but how many more kids am I condemning to losing a parent in the process?"

"Hey, just because he's on crutches doesn't mean he's a bad father," I answer, trying to hide my surprise at such a statement. "Jason and Lena are fine. They didn't lose him."

"No," she says solemnly. Her eyes are dry but full of pain as she meets my gaze. "They lost me."

There's so much to unpack in that statement that I can only stare at her in silence for a moment. Finally I squeeze her shoulder again and assure her, "Look, you are not a bad person, okay?"

Purnia chuckles inwardly. "Just the ice queen who doesn't care about anyone."

My gut gurgles with displeasure. "You know that's the opposite of the truth, right? Come on." Averting my eyes, I mumble, "I'm sorry I called you that." I'm trying to be better about apologies.

"I earned that title. Mason," she admits, eyebrows twitching in acknowledgement. "I shut myself down because I had to, to survive."

A choked huff of laughter bursts through my lips.

"Yeah, well. I know a thing or two about that."

***o***

In the end, Purnia's idea is the only one with any promise. Once it's been decided, we jump into planning the attack. First things first. Before our bombers attempt to cause the artificial avalanche, we have to take the square so we can capture the Peacekeepers and Nut workers when they evacuate.

When the meeting ends and everyone's packing up, I sidle up to Purnia again. "Sooo," I start, hands jammed in my pockets, "got room for an old ally in your battalion?"

Purnia squints and is just beginning to smile when Boggs interrupts, "Soldier Mason, President Coin would absolutely not authorize that. Not only are you a valuable asset, you're not medically cleared for combat."

"President Coin isn't here, Yes Man," I shoot back, eyes narrowing dangerously. "And this asset wants a chance to fight for her district's freedom."

"You could get hurt fighting for their freedom. You could be killed."

I gasp into my hands. "Whaaaaat? No way." Boggs is clearly not amused, so I spell out, "Look, I was ten when I decided to volunteer. I was a soldier for two years before I even got to Thirteen. You really think a chance of death is gonna stop me?"

"I appreciate the offer, Jo," Purnia says placatingly, "but are you in any shape to fight? I'd like your help, but if you're not able to contribute there's no point endangering yourself."

"I'm still a sharpshooter, put me on a rooftop," I argue. Holding her gaze, I can feel my eyes turn pleading as I say, "Just let me do something."

When Purnia hesitates, Boggs insists, "There's no point debating. The president will never agree to it."

"Who cares?" All eyes go to Lyme, who's standing tall behind me, arms crossed. She raises a commanding eyebrow. "You're in my district, Soldier Boggs. You're under my authority. Johanna is an excellent fighter and I'd pick her any day of the week."

Lyme and I lock eyes and she gives me a nod of assurance and, dare I say, respect?

"Thank you," I mouth.

Another quick nod my way and she's commanding Purnia, "Colonel, set her up in a sniper's nest."

"Yes, ma'am," Purnia agrees readily.

"Does this mean I get to fight too?" interjects Katniss, sliding in beside me. I almost jump out of my skin, damn her and her stealth.

When Purnia eyes Katniss doubtfully she protests, "I'm just as good with a gun as a bow. Ask Boggs."

All eyes go to Boggs and he sighs resignedly. "Soldier Everdeen does have remarkable talent," he admits.

"It's not just talent," I boast, hands on my hips. "She's had practice. I taught her how to shoot a gun, back in Twelve."

Purnia turns on me, eyes wide as saucers. "You what?"

Oh, shit.

"Well, not like in Twelve," I backpedal. "We were outside the fence."

"Oh, so you armed a civilian and trespassed on the Capitol's lands," she reiterates. "Is that supposed to make it better, somehow?"

Folding my arms and cocking an eyebrow, I straighten up proudly and bluster, "What'cha gonna do, Captain Stark? Write me up?"

Purnia pushes out a long and heavy sigh, pinching her brow. "Why am I even surprised?" she huffs. "Trouble really is your middle name, isn't it, Mason?"

"It's Taylor, actually," Katniss pipes up from beside me, and my eyes roll of their own accord.

"That was a joke, sweetie," I inform her flatly.

"Oh. Right, obviously."

Lyme takes me and Katniss with her as she heads down to brief her troops. We sit at the back while she brings them up to speed, watching quietly. Equally quiet is Scar, who's standing behind Lyme and Purnia looking rather morose. I can't share her lack of enthusiasm. Excitement is flowing through my veins, making my knees jitter. It's been a long time since I've been in a fight, and I'm just itching for some violence. I guess you can never really take the Career out of the girl.

When the briefing finishes, Purnia arms the two of us with some rifles and ammunition and assigns us to a nest on top of an evacuated apartment complex on the edge of the square, which has been a no man's land for several days. It's in the north end of the city, just south of the river that runs parallel to the train tracks. We occupy everything north of the river and most of the west side of the city, while the Peacekeepers control the east side, including the tracks leading to the Capitol. Our building is near the southwest corner of the square, definitely in rebel territory but not far from the chaotic war zone to the south.

My heart begins to race as we sneak into position, settling down behind the sandbags and scoping out the area, waiting for the assault to begin. Adrenaline courses through me, forcing me to breathe deeply to settle my trembling hands. I'm not afraid, not really. I just feel so terribly alive, and that's not something I'm used to anymore.

When the battle begins, Katniss and I each take a side of the square. I'm to her right so I have a better angle to take out Peacekeepers in the north, while she takes everything across from us and to the south. We make a good team as ever, communicating with quick gestures and quicker words.

"Window, your two."

"Yep." Bang. "Dumpster?"

"Got it."

We manage to incapacitate a handful of soldiers before someone spots us and a volley of bullets hits our wall of sandbags.

"Rooftop, rooftop!" I hiss, punching Katniss's leg and pointing directly across the square.

"On it," she says, peeking out just enough to spy the sniper with her scope. A few shots later, a body slumps back in the nest. "Right in the neck," she brags, grinning pompously.

I can't help but whistle. "Damn, girl. You've been practicing."

Katniss shrugs and goes back to squinting into her scope. "Not much else to do in Thirteen when your girlfriend won't talk to you."

Turning and giving her a look, I ask, "Is this really what you wanna talk about right now?"

"Duck!"

I don't even have time to react before Katniss is yanking me down by my sleeve. Bullets whiz overhead from the northeast and I give her a grateful look before peeling myself off the roof and searching for the shooter. Quickly I spy a couple of soldiers barricaded behind a taller wall of sandbags on a roof kitty corner to us, one looking directly at us.

"That's me." I bite my lip as I try to line up a shot, but the soldier ducks back behind the wall before I get the chance. The nests were built to protect the Peacekeepers from civilians in the square rather than other rooftops, so it's only a partial wall. Unfortunately it's just long enough to shield the shooters from my view, and they're very active and precise, hitting rebel after rebel.

"Damn it," I mutter, "I need a better angle." Nodding to our right, I say, "I'm moving over a couple buildings."

Eyes widening in alarm, Katniss grabs my arm. "Hanna."

"Trust me," I assure her, "I know the back alleys around here. This is close to the Academy facility." When she doesn't let go, I argue, "They're taking out too many of our soldiers!"

Indecision plays on her face for half a second before she declares, "Fine, but I'm going with you."

"No, we can't just abandon our post, we need someone here," I insist. She opens her mouth again and I cut her off with a stern look. "Don't argue with me. We don't have time for this."

She stares for a second longer before turning away with a scowl. "Whatever, just try not to die, okay?" She peeks over her shoulder for a second, allowing me to see the genuine concern on her face. It makes my lips strain as I attempt to hold back a smile.

"Yeah," I chuckle, backing out of the nest. "I'll do my best, Everdeen."

Dropping down the hatch into the apartment corridor, I sprint down the stairs and out into the street. Admittedly, I move over more than a couple buildings. I skulk through alleys and backyards on my way to the southwest corner, then break into one of the Academy buildings. There are several adjacent to each other on the south side of the square, designed for easy movement between them on snowy training days. Not only is there little space between them, the doors are lined up on the sides of the buildings. I can open one from the inside and shoot open the lock on the next before making a run for it, my gunfire blending in with the battle surrounding me.

In the fourth of five Academy buildings, I fly up the stairs to the top floor. Peeking out a window at the back of the building, I ensure the coast is clear before grabbing a nearby drainpipe and climbing up to grab the gutter lining the roof. Taller kids like Scar and Cato could reach the gutter from the windowsill rather than resorting to climbing, but on the bright side it gave me a chance to show off. We weren't technically allowed up here, but this roof was a common hangout spot in the evenings. I may have partaken in some underage drinking up here a few times, when we were all exhausted after long days of training but too stubborn to go to sleep without a little fun.

Hoisting myself up and swinging a leg over, I crawl onto the roof and up to its peak. The slope isn't that extreme, but it's definitely too steep to accommodate an actual sniper's nest. It suits me just fine, however, providing adequate cover from a familiar vantage point.

Just a few buildings from the Hall of Justice, which sits dead center on the southern end of the square, I'm now eastward enough to have an angle on the offending sniper's nest. Better yet, with their sides angled partly toward me I can pick out more weaknesses in their armor. A spot under the arm, one in the neck, another just above the hip. When one lifts both hands to aim their rifle, I zero in on the armpit weakness, sending my bullet straight through their heart.

I watch just long enough to see the body drop before ducking behind the peak of the roof, exhaling my nerves with a thrilled smile. I've still got it. The shingles are blazing hot after a day of baking under the September sun, burning my cheek, but I don't mind. It calms me in the midst of a cacophony of gunfire and screams.

After waiting a couple minutes to throw the other sniper off my scent, I peek over the edge of the roof again. My target is occupied, attempting to pick off rebels in the square. Can't let them take any more. Focusing on the warmth of the roof to keep my hands and mind steady, I line up my next shot.

Before I can pull the trigger I'm yanked backwards, a surprised yelp popping from my lungs as the rifle flies out of my hands. Next thing I know I'm on my back, a Peacekeeper crouched over me cocking their fist.

My heart jumps but I force myself to breathe deeply and keep my head, wait for the blow so I can dodge it. But it doesn't come. The soldier freezes at the sight of my… oh. I'm wearing my special suit of armor and my face isn't obscured. Maybe I didn't really think this through, running my very famous face through these streets of enemies. I'm used to thinking as a soldier, not a celebrity.

Thankfully, my soldier's instincts still serve me well. Jumping on my assailant's hesitation, I buck up from the shingles, destabilizing their crouch. They tip and almost go tumbling off the roof before rolling sideways to recover, gloved hands clawing at the shingles. Damn it, so close.

My rifle is nowhere to be seen, probably down in the street somewhere, so I attack before the Peacekeeper can grab the gun on their own back. Sliding feet first down the shingles, I deliver a hard kick to their shoulder just as they try to get to their hands and knees. The soldier grunts in pain, a decidedly masculine grunt, but barely budges. Grabbing my ankle, he yanks me down the roof with surprising force and pins me with his body. One of his hands snags each of my wrists and wrestles them to the shingles in seconds.

Not afraid to fight dirty, I thrust my knee up into the hard shell of armor over his groin. The impact sends a jolt of pain down my leg but also stuns my opponent, loosening his grip.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" he cries. His voice is a bit distorted by the mask but I can make out the words just fine.

Ripping my hands free, I slip out from under him and scramble toward the edge of the roof. I can't outmuscle someone that strong, not even when I'm in peak shape. As I flee it occurs to me that he may not even intend to kill me, but take me alive to be tortured again by more of my ex-comrades. The shudder that shoots through my body compels me to run faster.

"Wait! Stop, Johanna!" he hollers in pursuit, but there's no way I'm stopping with that thought fresh in my head. I'm almost at the spot where I climbed up when he grabs me again and slams me down against the shingles. Terror shoots through me and I thrash in his grip, trying to get my feet under his chest in a last ditch attempt to kick him off the roof.

"Stop struggling!" he barks. "I'm not gonna hurt you! Jo, stop!"

The realization knocks the fight right out of me. I go limp under the soldier, staring up at his masked face. I know that voice. Even distorted, I know it.

"Darius?" I ask quietly, hope rising in my chest.

He huffs a heavy sigh of irritation. "Took you long enough. Now can we please go inside without sending me off the roof?"

"Uh… okay." I'm so shocked by this turn of events, I can't think of anything witty to say.

Darius grasps the edge of the roof and drops his feet to hang from his hands, then swings inside the window with more grace than I ever expected from him. My stomach tightens in warning. This soldier sounds vaguely like Darius and called me Jo, but he doesn't move like him, and it's not like that's a hard nickname to guess. I'm suddenly less than convinced that this is my old ally, but I don't have much choice but to follow. I've been spotted and my weapon is lying in the street below me. If I try to climb down he'll shoot me before I ever make it.

When I swing inside the window, body tensed for a fight, I see his rifle still strapped to his back and his hands on his helmet. With a hard tug he pops it off, revealing pale, freckly skin and shocks of auburn hair. Elation courses through me and it takes a lot of effort to suppress a huge grin, turn it into a sly smirk.

"Wow, dude," I remark, impressed. "You been taking acrobatics classes?"

"Parkour," he says, tossing the sweaty helmet aside in disgust. "They're working us hard, these days." He takes a step toward me and winces, and I can't help but grimace in sympathy.

"Sorry about your nuts."

Darius smirks, fingers combing through his shaggy locks. "Eh, my fault," he mutters, eyes flitting about. "Should've tried to tell you who I was sooner, was so focused on not letting you kill me I kinda panicked."

"Didn't even occur to me it could be you," I admit. "I thought I'd never see you again. I thought…" My throat swells and I shrug to buy some time to swallow and steady my voice. "Well, you weren't among the captives from Aspen, so."

Something in his eyes changes. They get softer, but also… hopeful? More focused, definitely. Edging closer, he tells me, "Yeah, about twenty of us got away in the retreat, got restationed here."

"I'm just glad you're safe," I admit. Gunfire echoes in the air and I can't help chuckling. "Well, relatively speaking."

Darius smiles, soft and genuine. "Same, Jo."

Closing the last few feet between us, I wrap my arms around his waist. It's more difficult than usual, with the bulky heavy tactical armor in the way. I so do not miss wearing that shit. Darius responds in kind, arms encircling my shoulders and giving a gentle squeeze.

For a moment, I forget we're technically enemies. I can almost pretend we're still buddies in Twelve and no time has passed at all until I pull back and take a good look at him. Heavy armor, assault rifle, anxious eyes, an angry scar across his left cheekbone… this is not the Darius I knew.

My thumb goes to the scar without any conscious thought. It's still pink, can't be more than a few months old. "What happened to you?"

"Oh," he chuckles half-heartedly, turning his face a little so my hand drops away. "Angry rebel with a broken bottle." He smirks and gives my arm a fraternal nudge. "You know how they get."

I do in fact know. Having broken up more than one drunken fight at the Hob, I know what it's like to deal with the damn rowdy locals. My first instinct, before I catch myself, is to nod and snort in sympathy. I hate myself for that. Focusing that ire on him, I demand, "Why are you still working for these people?"

Darius takes half a step back, raising his hands protectively. "Jo…"

"What?"

"Look, I'm really not digging my job these days, but this is how I grew up," he says. "Aspen's basically a Peacekeeper factory. My whole family's loyalists, most of them are Peacekeepers. They'd never talk to me again if I deserted." His eyes flit away, jaw tightening. "What's left of them, anyway."

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

His eyes meet mine, dark and full of doubt. "Are you?"

The accusation makes me bristle. "Look, I hate seeing us fight each other like this. I'm not out here celebrating the deaths of my fellow citizens. Are you?"

Darius holds my gaze for a moment before shaking his head. Nibbling his lip, he tells me, "I'm sorry about what happened."

"You're gonna have to be more specific," I remark. That wasn't intended as a joke, but it makes him chuckle. An ironic little snort bursts from my throat in response.

"Your parents, Jo," he clarifies.

"Oh, yeah," I mutter. That should've been obvious. "Thanks."

A tiny smirk crawls onto his face as he tips his head, eyeing me up. "I like the hair, by the way."

"Oh, yeah?" I throw him a saucy wink. "It's not too homo for you?"

"Hey, you know that never bothered me." His grin fades into a sheepish smile. "In theory, anyway."

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I ask, "So… d'ya hear Purnia's working for the rebels now?"

"I hadn't, no," he says, eyebrow raised curiously.

"Yeah, all the hot girls are on our side," I inform him, waggling my eyebrows. "You're missing out."

Darius smirks. "Quite the sales pitch."

"Well, if basic human decency doesn't cut it-"

"Johanna," he groans, rubbing his temple.

"What?" I demand. "You were always the one who was against violence, who wanted to serve the public and be an actual keeper of peace. What happened to you?"

"The war happened," he says lamely. "That's not an option anymore. I wish it was."

"Yes it is," I insist. "You can leave."

Darius snorts in frustration. Before he can reiterate his argument, I interject, "Look, no one needs to know you deserted. You can go MIA, they'll just think you were captured."

"And if they do find out, they'll murder my family," he shoots back. "Doesn't matter who they are, the stunt with your folks made that abundantly clear."

Tipping my head, I plant my hands on my hips. "So you're too much of a coward to do the right thing."

"You don't get to tell me what the right thing is!" His dark eyes shine with emotion as he tells me, "Johanna, I've seen comrades murdered for doing no more than standing watch. Even before the war started. I got this scar trying to get a drunken protestor home safe so he didn't get arrested or worse. We aren't the aggressors."

"No, you're the occupying force of the oppressive government," I retort.

"Our own people are attacking us!"

"Because you represent everything that's wrong with this country!" My fists clench at my sides. "Trust me, if they could I bet those people would attack the Capitol officials directly. But you're standing in the way of justice and positive change." Face softening, I plead, "And you guys are losing." I grab his sleeve, as though that can strengthen my tenuous grip on my old friend. "Do you really want to die for a cause you don't believe in?"

Darius averts his eyes but doesn't snatch his arm away. He shakes his head with a forlorn sigh. "I wish things could just go back to how they were. Before they made us step up security and get aggressive, before the protests started. I never wanted this."

"Maybe not, but it's for the best," I say. He doesn't answer, and my throat starts tightening up again. "Please, Darius. I don't want to lose you too," I implore, squeezing his jacket harder. "I already lost you twice, and it sucked."

He blinks uncertainly. "Twice?"

"You think I liked fighting with you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Sure, I had my reasons to distance myself from this idiot, but that doesn't mean I wanted to.

Darius seems to be having a hard time finding words. "Jo-"

"Please," I interject, taking his hand. "Come with me."

He sighs, eyes darting away. After a moment they settle on our linked fingers. "It's not that easy."

"It's not," I concur. "It might be the hardest thing you ever do. But I'll be with you." Tipping my head into his sightline, I smile reassuringly. "If I did it, you can too."

Brow furrowing, he closes his eyes. After a long moment of thought, he restates, "I can't fight against my family, and I can't do anything to endanger them." Meeting my eyes, he sucks in a breath. "If you take me prisoner, can you guarantee my safety?"

The sensation of relief hits me so hard I almost lose my footing. Trying to keep my shit together, I assure him, "The rebels aren't in the habit of murdering their prisoners." Then I frown as I recall Gale's proposed solution to the Peacekeeper problem in Twelve. "At least, not here," I specify. "Besides, Purnia's number two in the district. She can protect you."

He sighs, eyes falling shut. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding decisively. "I'll go with you."

Suddenly my arms are around him again. "Thank you," I mumble into his breastplate, sighing in relief.

Darius chuckles dryly. "You might not wanna hug your prisoners, Mason. Looks sketchy."

"Right." Snickering, I whip his gun from its holster and step back, aiming it at him with a wicked grin. "I'll keep that in mind."

***o***

The sun is hovering low on the horizon the next time I step foot on a roof. With the battle for the square won, several of the rebel leaders and a handful of their troops are waiting on the roof of the Justice Building to watch our planes attack the Nut. Scar elected not to come, saying she shouldn't watch for the sake of her own sanity, but Purnia and Lyme are among the observers. I'm not up here for their company, though.

Katniss is a little ways off from the rest of the group, ostensibly watching the sunset. Peeta isn't with her - he remained downstairs with Scar in what felt like an unspoken protest to the whole thing. Not that he had any better ideas to take the district.

I let my feet scrape the rough tar paper as I approach, announcing my presence from far off. Katniss glances over her shoulder but doesn't acknowledge me, turning back to the horizon.

"Still mad at me?" I presume.

"Depends on what for," she answers, eyes still on the sky.

Ambling up to her, I mirror her position, letting my hands rest in my jacket pockets. "I didn't mean to scare you," I say. "Besides, I didn't want to distract you and maybe get you killed."

"You distracted me by not coming back," she snaps, finally looking my way.

A heavy sigh pushes its way out of me. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? It was kind of inconsiderate," I admit. "I didn't think it through."

To be fair, I'm not sure I would have done much differently had I known it would upset her, seeing as I had to deliver Darius quickly for his own safety. But Katniss needs her feelings acknowledged, and in our current state I care more about keeping the peace than being right. This girl has done quite the number on me.

"Are you upset because it was Darius?" I ask.

She shrugs, watching the sky. "Maybe a little."

Resting a hand on her shoulder, I tell her, "I chose you. You know that, right?"

Katniss catches my eye doubtfully. "He's the one who broke up with you, as I recall."

"Because I liked you too much to end things between us," I explain. "I was always gonna make that choice, he just sped things up a little."

"Uh huh," she mutters, unconvinced. I bump her arm playfully with my shoulder and she squints my way. "Surprised you're not reaming me out for my jealous bullshit again."

Shrugging casually, I quirk my mouth in thought. "Eh, with Darius it's legit. We had a thing. You witnessed it."

We stand in comfortable silence for the next few minutes, until Boggs comes over and hands Katniss an earpiece.

"What's that for?" I ask.

"Just in case another propo opportunity comes up," Boggs explains as she grudgingly wiggles it into place. "The footage of her fighting the Peacekeepers was a big hit."

"Of her?" I repeat, eyebrow sky high.

"Of both of you," he corrects himself. "To be fair, you left shortly after the battle started. There was a lot less of you to use."

I'm scowling at him when Katniss pipes up, "Trust me, you don't want Haymitch's voice in your head." She pokes my ribs. "Besides, it's not like you need coaching to be charming on camera."

The attempt at reassurance catches me by surprise, but very quickly I turn my wide eyes into a sly wink. "Charming, you say?"

Boggs rolls his eyes and leaves.

"Uh, yeah." Katniss scoffs and pulls back her shoulders in a hilarious and completely adorable attempt to hide how flustered she is. "That's kinda your thing, isn't it? The Capitol loved you."

Letting my tongue flit over my lips, I purr, "The Capitol isn't here."

Katniss laughs nervously, eyes flashing up to the mountain. "Oh, look. The attack's starting." She pushes her way by me, joining the rest of the leaders at the northwest corner of the roof. I follow behind, chuckling under my breath.

The attack is far more successful than any of us hoped to expect. A few rounds of bombing send the mountainsides sliding down in torrents of stone, burying all the extrances. It's incredible. It's devastating. My eyes flick over to take in Purnia's reaction and find her watching stoically, only a swallow giving away her inner turmoil. I'm considering walking over to check on her when I glance at Katniss and find her staring with glazed eyes, hands clamped over her mouth. My heart stutters.

"Katniss?" I prod. She doesn't answer, doesn't even blink. Her face is white as a sheet, all her muscles locked. "Katniss, are you okay?"

"Yes," she says after a moment.

I scoff hard. "Well that's a load of bullshit."

Finally acknowledging me, Katniss catches my eye and shakes her head, pointing to the ear piece. A few seconds later she repeats, "Yes." Then she falls silent again.

Around us, the crowd begins to thin as other observers make their way downstairs. Katniss continues staring at the mountain, at the massive cloud of dust tainting the air around it. Gingerly I reach out and place what I hope is a grounding hand on her shoulder. Her only response is a hard swallow.

"What did we just do?" she whispers.

Wrapping an arm around her, I steer her along with the rest of the herd. "Come on, let's go downstairs. There's nothing left to do up here."

Katniss stays in her own head for the next while, absentmindedly trailing her hand along the marble wall as we descend and silently sliding down a pillar on the main floor, staring out toward the large doors between us and the square. I know better than to try to make her talk when she's upset, so I just sit beside her and rest a hand on her thigh. Eventually she tips her head to lean on my shoulder.

It's been a long day and I feel myself growing groggy despite the adrenaline. I only snap back into full awareness when I hear someone call my name. Scar waves as she and Peeta close in on us. Both of them are moving lethargically, but at least they appear to be with it, which is more than I can say for my girl- my ex.

When they're close enough to hear without me shouting, I ask, "How are you guys?"

"Peachy," grunts Scar, plunking down in front of Katniss. "You?"

I shrug, subtly gesturing at the halfway catatonic girl beside me. Meanwhile Peeta lowers himself to the floor in front of me, completing our little circle.

Brow creasing in concern, Scar tips her face into Katniss's sightline. "Hey," she says, boot nudging Katniss's hip. "You gonna be okay?"

It takes several seconds for Katniss to answer, "Sure." Her eyes clear as she meets Scar's, then flick around to take in me and Peeta. As she registers more of her surroundings, sees soldiers running by to join the renewed fight for the square, her jaw tenses. "This is bullshit," she says flatly. "We should be sending trains in, helping evacuate the wounded."

Scar snorts and mutters, "Lyme does what Lyme wants."

"She had a point, you know," I counter. "It'll just clog up the tracks, slow down the evacuation. Besides, if we send people in they could get ambushed. Let them come to us."

"If they can even get out without help," says Scar.

Silence falls for a moment, broken only by gunfire until Peeta speaks up, staring out toward the square. "This is sick."

"You're gonna have to be more specific," I say.

He rolls his eyes. "It's sick that we're over here fighting each other when there's people trying to claw their way out of a mass grave."

I snort. "Well, what else can we do?" I know I'm being insensitive, that's the difference between me and Katniss, but sometimes pragmatism is necessary to reassure troubled minds. I'm okay with being the bad guy if it makes the rest of them feel better. "Look, the Peacekeepers want the square back, and if they get it and save the evacuees then they might have enough manpower to push back," I argue. "We need to end the war in the districts."

"Strike the killing blow," mumbles Scar. Our eyes meet and I nod in understanding.

"Exactly," I say.

Averting her eyes, Katniss snorts, "Once a Career, always a Career, huh?"

Anger flares up inside of me and I turn on her. "What, Katniss? You think we should give up the ground we fought for earlier because our plan worked and now we feel bad? The ground people died for?" She doesn't answer or even look at me, but her mouth twitches in understanding. I huff and lean back against the pillar. "Didn't think so."

"Guess it's different for you," Peeta says flatly. "Your parents didn't die under a pile of rubble."

My body tenses despite its slouched posture and I narrow my eyes in warning. "Okay, that was completely fucking unnecessary."

"True, though," he retorts.

"What is wrong with you?" Now I sit up and lean in slightly, threatening to encroach on his space. "Like don't get me wrong, you were always kind of a dick what with the whole crushing on my girlfriend thing, but this isn't like you."

"You don't get to tell me who I am," he says. Abruptly he gets to his feet. "I'm going to bed."

Scar's hand snaps out and snags his ankle. "Peeta, you can't go out there. I know the base is on our side, but the streets aren't safe right now."

"Eh." Peeta shrugs. Shaking his foot free, he makes for the doors despite the warning.

"Shit," says Scar. We exchange a look. This flippantly reckless behavior isn't exactly uncommon among victors. I flick my eyes toward the doors and she nods, pushing herself to her feet. "'Kay, I got it."

She'll escort him home, make sure he doesn't wander into the line of fire 'by accident.' Meanwhile I keep an eye on Katniss. She's still not talking much but she seems more with it than she did right after the bombing, so that's good, even if she's not exactly happy with me right now. At least that falls in her realm of normal behavior.

Hours pass and the sky goes dark, but no trains come. Huge flood lights turn on in the square, which our forces still seem to be holding, but barely. It must be past midnight when Katniss sits up suddenly, pulling out her earpiece. She tries to hand it to me and I squint back at her.

"Huh?"

"Coin wants to talk to you," she says simply.

My lips pucker as I eye the earpiece with distaste. That's a little gross, but it's not like there's any bodily boundaries between us anymore anyway. Popping it in with a shudder, I say, "Mason, here."

"Johanna, I need a favor from you," comes Coin's voice.

Cutting right to the chase. I blink. "Okay?"

"No one's coming out of that mountain, but the Peacekeepers and rebels are still fighting over the square," she says, as though I am not currently privy to the scene myself. "We're hoping you could make a speech about how the rebels have taken Two from the Capitol, convince the remaining Peacekeepers to surrender so we don't lose any more lives."

I can't contain a bitter snort. "Wouldn't you rather have Katniss do it? She's the Mockingjay and all."

"She and Peeta have sway over the rebels, but this isn't the rebels we're talking about," answers Coin. "You're the one with the track record of turning Peacekeepers." My cheeks begin to flush, and I am very grateful she is not here to see it. "I heard you prompted a new defection just this afternoon."

I hum nonchalantly. "Technically, it was a surrender. And I knew him, so I'm not sure that counts."

"You're still the rebel any of them can relate to the most," Coin says flatly. Not taking maybe for an answer, she continues, "We have a speech prepared. We'll feed it to you line by line."

"I don't need the long lost district to tell me how to talk to my own people," I snark. When Coin says nothing, I insist, "They'll be able to tell if it's not genuine. If you want this to work, I can't be your puppet."

"Alright, Soldier Mason," she agrees after a long pause. "Get out there and show us what you can do."

Within moments I'm mic'd up and on the stairs of the grand marble building, lit up by a spotlight with cameras trained on me. Taking a deep breath, I tell myself this is just like my interview in the Capitol. Except now instead of mortal danger tomorrow, it's mortal danger right now. I try not to think about how much of a sitting duck I am, if any Peacekeepers get close enough to the square.

"District Two, this is Johanna Mason coming to you live from your Justice Building," I begin. "Central Defense has fallen. The Capitol has lost its last foothold in our district. The war for District Two is over, and you are in good hands." I pause for effect, looking out over the empty square. I have never felt more ridiculous in my life.

"We are in our own hands. Too long have we been doing the Capitol's bidding. The Capitol's dirty work. The Capitol's slave labor. All of that is over," I declare. "No matter who you sympathized with in this fight, I assure you your lives will be better now. We will make a better life for ourselves, because we are District Two, and we are strong."

The gunfire to the east of the square has started to wane as my speech has attracted more and more attention. Turning toward the battleground, I ask, "Peacekeepers, my comrades. Most of you are from here. Why are you fighting your neighbors because the Capitol tells you to? They don't care about us. They've never cared about us. They murdered a veteran and a loyalist stonecutter in cold blood for revenge." My jaw twitches. "My parents had never spoken a word against the Capitol. They disowned me on national television. And Snow still killed them."

My voice nearly cracks on that last sentence and I swallow, taking a deep breath to compose myself. I have to remind myself that it's okay, the emotion will help sell this.

"But we are your brothers, your sisters," I say. "We don't want to kill you, we just want to be free. Lay down your weapons and no harm will come to you. Your families will be safe from the consequences."

That's it. Silence hangs heavy in the air, the battle on pause as my words settle over the square. That silence is what allows everyone to hear the rumble of wheels on tracks. It echoes out of the mountain tunnels, quickly crescendoing as a pair of trains burst from said tunnels and screech to a stop in the station. Smoke pours out into the building as the survivors stumble out of the trains, one of which appears to be on fire.

Talk about great fucking timing.

The mayhem unfolding inside the station is perfectly visible through the windows and glass doors. Some of the survivors are flattening on the platform. Many of them wield guns. Someone takes out the lights in the station with a spray of bullets. Threatening violence. Obscuring them from view.

They're scared.

Perhaps inspired by the move inside the station, someone kills the lights on the stairs, leaving me cloaked in darkness. The survivors aren't so lucky. The smoke forces them out into the well lit square, a bunch of coughing messes brandishing weapons. It's a scene that evokes as much pity as it does fear. They're bloodied, burned, suffering. But they won't put down those goddamn guns. Then again, would I?

"Hold your fire!" I shout, my voice booming through the square. "Everyone, hold your fire!" The survivors spin around, disoriented and searching for me with pointed guns. Crouching down in the shadows, I tell them, "Please, put your weapons down! We don't want to fight you!"

Their hoarse voices cry out in protest. All familiar refrains. Liar. Traitor. Accustomed as I am to that insult, it still gets under my skin.

"I am no traitor," I say, an edge seeping into my voice. "I am loyal to my district, to my people. I came here to set them free, and I succeeded." In case that wasn't clear enough, I declare, "The war is over. Don't try to start it again, let everyone here get home safe to their families. We've lost enough people from Two already in this war."

The survivors turn amongst themselves, murmuring their uncertainty and mistrust. Some begin lowering their guns, while others clutch them tighter in defiance or fear.

"This isn't the time to divide ourselves with more violence," I urge them, "it's the time to unite and heal our broken district. Please, lay down your weapons, help us start that process."

It takes a moment, but finally the rest of them begin disarming. A wave of relief washes over me. Suddenly my head feels light and my body heavy, my muscles shaking as the tension is released.

"Thank you," I push out with strength I do not feel. Unsteadily getting to my feet, I calmly turn and walk inside the Justice Building, hoping and praying that no one has a sudden change of heart and shoots me in the back. But I hear no shots, only the continued clatter of metal on stone. Considering the lack of shots from the streets to the east, I imagine the Peacekeepers must be surrendering too.

Someone opens the door for me and I nearly collapse the second it closes behind me, but a pair of strong arms is there to pull me into a hug. My yelp of surprise is muffled in Katniss's chest.

"That was amazing," she says, the awe in her voice giving me strength to squeeze back and stand on my own. Pulling back a bit, she grins down at me. "You should've been the Mockingjay. No one ever has to feed you lines."

Blood rushes to my cheeks, foiling my attempt at an unaffected smirk. "True. But no one likes me."

"I like you," she says simply, as though stating a fact both obvious and inconsequential. Neither is true. She doesn't seem to clue in to how that sounded until my lips split apart in a dazzling grin.

"Ohhh," I drawl, "you like me, huh?"

Ducking her head with a huff, she tucks some hair behind her ear. "That is so not what I meant."

"It's true, though," I assert, planting a hand on my cocked hip. "Don't deny it."

"Of course it is," she says flatly. "That's hardly a surprise." Clearing her throat, she explains, "What I meant was, I enjoy your company and admire your bravery and charisma."

Firing off a wink as deadly as one of her arrows, I say, "Sure, Everdeen."

A/N: As always, thanks to D7P for the beta. :)

Fun fact: The chapter's alternate title was "Sorry About Your Nut(s)."