Chapter 4

Snow continues to fall. The Victor's Village looks so serene and peaceful but it only reminds me how far we are from the Seam. On the first Sunday after the Harvest Festival, I can bear it no longer. I have to see Gale. I prepare a bag with food and tea and gloves that Cinna left behind. I leave it at our usual meeting place and quickly form an arrow with broken twigs to show Gale where I was going to go next.

Mockingjay song fills the air as I go through the woods. It gives me some small comfort. I am fascinated by the mockingjay, even more so now because of the pin that was my token in the games. A creature the Capitol never intended to exist. A creature that survived despite all odds.

I try to go as far as reasonably possible for a hunt, near the lake. Our old meeting spot was obviously compromised – how else would Snow know about the kiss. Gale will be upset because of the time and energy lost. If he comes at all. After some time, I reach my destination – an old house my father and I would go to. It has lasted because it was made of concrete, but there is no plumbing or electricity. It does have a working fireplace. I immediately start to build a fire using wood that my father and I collected years ago. I clean the area to occupy myself. I do not know if he will come. I do not know what to do if he does not. I do not know what to do if he does.

I allow myself to finally, finally examine my feelings for Gale. I try to predict how he will react. If the situations were reversed, if it was Gale in the Games, Gale who had to pretend to love some girl from town, Gale who came back engaged, promising to be with that girl forever – ohh. The emotion is so strong and so clear, even someone as emotionally stunted as I am could not miss it. It is hatred. I hate the girl. I hate him. Even if he did it to survive, Gale was mine.

Gale is mine. I am his.

When I went through the games, I never stopped to think how much I would hurt Gale. Now, all I can think is how hurt I would be and how much I would hate Gale and his girl if the situations were reversed.

The thought makes me recoil. I am a terrible selfish person. No wonder I won the games – no decent person ever does.

I can never have a future with Gale. Not unless something drastic happens. I go through a mental checklist. What will it take to be with Gale? Running away - we'll never last, Snow suddenly has a personality transplant - keep dreaming, or the Capitol itself is overthrown - impossible.

But I am selfish. I cannot lose Gale. I cannot lose my best friend.

Gale appears not long after I arrive. He has a bow, a dead wild turkey. He must have gone hunting on the way. I can read the tension in his shoulders. He looks apprehensive as he stands in the doorway, but he seems to make up his mind. He hands me the bag, unopened.

I meet his eyes. I know too well what I see reflected there. He is angry. But his temper can't quite hide the hurt or the betrayal. It is exactly what I felt when I reversed our roles. Gale and I are the same, how could I not have guessed how he would react. How could I not have tried to do anything to save him from harm.

And suddenly, I remember the answer. You saved him from physical harm, I tell myself. He may hate you, but at least he's alive to do it.

I go straight to the heart of my defense, because no other reason will be acceptable. "Snow personally threatened to have you killed."

Gale raises his eyebrows slightly, but there's no real show of fear or astonishment. "Anyone else?"

"Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list. But it's a good guess it includes both our families," I say.

It's enough to bring him to the fire. He crouches before the hearth and warms himself. "Unless what?"

"Unless I do what he wants."

"Marry Peeta?"

I exhale. "Maybe."

There is nothing more to say. I am trapped.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

He whirls around sharply. "Sorry?" His anger is so palpable. It is disproportionate for him to be so angry about Peeta when there was never anything romantic between me and Gale – but I understand. Gale and I are too much alike. Nothing was said because nothing needed to be said. "For what exactly?" he asks, a hard edge to his voice.

"This. Everything. It's my fault. There's a lot you don't know," I say.

"Then tell me."

I decide to begin with the night Peeta and I were crowned victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol's fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow's visit to my house, the murders in District 11, trying to appease all the districts, the final push that was the engagement, and lastly the president's grudging acknowledgment that we had succeeded – but that his parting words had implied things were not over yet.

Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves rom the bag in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast.

"Well, you really have made a mess of things," he says.

"I'm sorry. I've been trying to fix things forever but I just seem to be making the hole around me bigger."

We eat the food silently. It is a few minutes before either of us speak.

"You shouldn't have," Gale says suddenly.

I stare at him. "Shouldn't have what? Tried to keep everyone alive?"

"You shouldn't have told the districts to keep their heads down. If people were finally stopping to realize how horrible the Capitol treats us? How unfair the system is? If they had enough strength to revolt, they should have."

"They'd just have been killed by the Capitol! The Capitol has wiped out entire districts."

Gale shakes his head resolutely. "The Capitol needs the districts. We provide them with food, coal, technology. It's stupid that the many are so dominated by the few. We're more than they are, but if we all just banded together-"

"Saying things like that will get you killed. Get us all killed."

"People are already talking in the mines!"

My eyes widen. "Stop it. Tell them not to."

"Not to? We can't continue like this! It might be easy for you and Peeta in your big fancy houses-" I gasp and Gale looks momentarily abashed but continues. "But for the rest of us, this isn't living. We work, we starve, we go to the reaping, and when we're a little older our kids go to the reaping too. Living isn't just… not dying."

"I'm sacrificing my future to save all our lives, Gale. I don't know what else to do."

"Fight! You should have fought! You're in a position to make change happen and you're not doing it!"

"Fight and get killed?"

"You can't be killed, the people in the Capitol love you too much. It's the perfect protection."

"And my family?"

"They love your sister! The moment you volunteered for her at the reaping gets played over and over. Your sacrifice for Prim defined you as a tribute. If anything happened to her, there'd be riots in the Capitol."

"Then they'd kill you! My neighbors! People around me! Don't you get it Gale, you can't fight the Capitol."

"Yes, you can. I never thought you were a coward, Katniss," he spits at me. "All those speeches at the games – you could have done good."

"Even if it costs lives?" I ask incredulously. I shake my head. A rational Gale would still want to fight – but he wouldn't disregard lives so easily. "You're just mad about-" I cannot say it. I cannot throw Peeta in Gale's face.

Gale's face twists. "About what?"

"You know Katniss," he starts, "we've always been able to tell each other everything. Do me the courtesy of not lying to me."

Katniss, I despair quietly. I am losing him. Katniss. He never calls me Katniss.

But I will not answer him. Day in and day out televisions are full of clips of me and Peeta – in the games, on the tour, in interviews. Gale had to see me with Peeta because the Capitol forced him to. I will not add to it. I will not make him face the reality of a relationship between me and Peeta. My relationship with Peeta isn't real.

His gaze holds mine, challenging me to say something. I look down. I cannot hold his gaze.

"I'm just mad about Peeta," he grits out. He moves right in front of me and grabs my arms. "That's what you were going to say. I am mad about Peeta." The way he says Peeta's name, it sounds like a curse.

For a few moments, neither of us speaks. The only sound is his ragged breathing. And suddenly, Gale breaks.

I cannot control my impulse to hold him. He shudders against me. I can feel his hands digging into my waist, he is gripping me too tight, but I welcome it. "I'm sorry," I murmur. "I'm sorry. I never wanted us to be like this, but I didn't have a choice."

"I know," he mutters back, voice muffled because his lips are still buried in my hair. "Some part of me knows – but it kills me to see you with him. Loving him."

"It's not real."

"Real?" Gale repeats. "It looks like it to me."

I can think of no answer.

We head back to the fence and go our separate ways.

Days pass. Nothing changes. I hunt. Peeta bakes. Haymitch drinks. The snow slowly starts to melt. Gale avoids me. I see him sometimes, when I trade in the Hob. He's thick as thieves with the boys from the mines. I hear whispers, here and there, that they're up to no good. Doing dangerous rebellious things, people say. I want to stop him, but Gale won't listen to me. I tried and failed. I can only hope that the Capitol thinks District 12 is too small and powerless to have any actual effect.

My mother teaches Prim basic medicines. I pay attention too, I realize that as a mentor I will need to know what to send. Natural remedies will be cheaper than expensive Capitol drugs. I am afraid to do anything else, anything that will disturb this careful tentative peace. But the peace does not last long.

Prim and I are at the table, her doing homework, me updating the information on my book of plants. The phone rings. It is so rare an occurrence that Prim and I jump at the noise, startled.

"Is that the phone?" she asks.

"Yeah. I'll go get it."

"Good evening, may I please speak to Katniss Everdeen?" Only Effie would be so weirdly formal.

"Hi Effie, it's me."

"Oh hello dear! How are you?" she asks.

I wonder why she's calling. But this is Effie. Social niceties must be observed first or I'd be in for a lecture – and I'd find out the real conversation even later. "I'm good, how are you?"

"Oh quite wonderful, but quite busy! I've been in so many meetings about your wedding." Funny how there are meetings about my wedding without me. But I couldn't care less. "There are so many decisions to be made and so little time," she sighs.

"Effie, I don't think my mom is going to let me get married anytime soon. And I can get married without her consent only after I turn eighteen." Thank you, Panem law for some small mercies. The law was actually on my side for once.

"Oh please, Katniss, it will take exactly that long for your wedding to be planned! This won't be some shoddy District 12 affair, we plan to have ice sculptures and a wine fountain and…" At times like these, I tune out Effie. I walk a little to peek out at Prim.

"Who is it?" Prim whispers at me.

Effie, I mouth back at her, covering the mouthpiece. Prim nods and goes back to her homework.

"… and of course I told her you look ghastly in neon pink, and here we are," Effie says. "So what do you think?"

"What?" Oops, tuned out too much.

"Pardon me, Katniss," Effie sighs dramatically. "You have to be the last say on these decisions – or at least be physically present so we can see how your dresses will look and how your skin looks with different color schemes. You'll be going to the Capitol next week."

The Capitol. No one just gets to go to the Capitol, you have to be invited. Most people invited to the Capitol are the tributes. I hate the Capitol. I hate its oppressive grandeur. "Oh."

"Oh no need to sound so glum, Katniss. You won't be away from Peeta for long. Just a week!"

"What?! Why isn't Peeta going too?"

"Well he can't be there while you're fitting your wedding dresses! That's bad luck!"

Bad luck? We first started talking because we were about to fight to the death. Who cares about bad luck? "What about Haymitch?"

"What is Haymitch going to do there? No, it'll just be you. President Snow was very specific."

Snow wants me in the Capitol alone. My heart starts hammering. "I see."

Stupid. Stupid. I thought I'd be in the spotlight again only when the next games came along. It's a Quarter Quell since it's the 75th Hunger Games – I thought they'd spend time obsessed with that. I was wrong. My distant wedding is still current news.

"I'll be there in a few days though with Plutarch Heavensbee – you remember him don't you? I introduced you two at the party at the President's Mansion?"

"The new Head Gamemaker?" The one who fell in the punch.

"Yes, only he's not Head Gamemaker anymore! He's shifting to the media side of things. The new Head Gamemaker is Horatius Aldjoy."

"Why is Plutarch Heavesbee coming to 12, then?"

"It's a surprise!" Effie says in her perky Effie way. Effie announces the reaping the same way. I don't particularly trust the things that Effie is perky about. "Anyway, we'll be there in two days, at 10 am. We'll meet you at your house! Would you be a dear and tell Peeta and Haymitch to be there too?"

"Okay."

"Lovely. Now don't forget – in two days, we meet at 10 am. We will stay in District 12 for three days, then we'll be off to the Capitol." Effie and her schedule.

"Got it, Effie." We say our goodbyes. My head is spinning. What could they possibly want? I've never been to the Capitol alone. Without Peeta? Without Haymitch?

I need answers. I'm out the door and heading to Haymitch's house before I know it. I barge into his house. I am so thankful that Hazelle Hawthorne now cleans his house. It no longer smells like vomit and old clothes. I find Haymitch watching television in his living room.

"Effie and Plutarch Heavensbee are coming here in two days," I say without preamble. "Then they want me to go to the Capitol for a week. Alone."

Haymitch looks up from his bottle of white liquor. There is a twitch in his jaw, but he does not say anything.

"Effie says she wants to meet you, me, and Peeta at 10 am when they arrive," I continue. I sit in the chair across his couch.

Haymitch grimaces. "Wake me up an hour before."

"Sure you want me to do it and not Peeta?"

"No. Tell Peeta to do it." Haymitch suddenly takes a long swig of his drink, he chugs it almost all the way to the bottom. He stands up and starts looking for another one. Haymitch drinking is nothing new, but this was a lot in a one minute period, even for Haymitch.

"Can't you come with me to the Capitol? They don't want Peeta because of some stupid wedding superstition."

Haymitch finds his new bottle and sits back down in front of me. He opens it with a twist and takes another drink. "Can only go when invited." He lets out a long breath.

"Effie said President Snow wanted me to go alone, in particular. Didn't know President Snow was such a traditional romantic."

I am hoping Haymitch hears the subtext in my voice. If he does, he refuses to acknowledge it. As soon as I said I was going to the Capitol alone, he got surlier than usual.

"Go get a good night's sleep, sweetheart. Or go see Peeta. There's nothing else to do anyway."

It is a clear dismissal. "Why? What're you going to be doing?"

"I am going to drink. Now get out of here," he says, practically pushing me out the door.

It was if Haymitch could hardly stand to be in my presence. Peeta really is his favorite.

I walk over to Peeta's house to deliver the message instead of calling him. I am too restless to be cooped up inside my house again.

Peeta's house looks very similar to all the other houses in the district on the outside. He's let the Capitol interior designer do most of the designs to the inside, so his house has a very sleek feel to it. The only place that really feels like Peeta is the kitchen. He's ordered a second oven and he has so many metal and plastic cooking contraptions that it seems like a mini cornucopia. His pantry is a baker's dream – it's stocked with all sorts of flour and sugar and flavors and spices.

I walk in to find Peeta kneading bread on the counter. He has an apron over his clothes and has a bit of flour on his cheek. I marvel at how untouched Peeta is by all the darkness that has surrounded us since the games.

"Hey," he says, lighting up as I walk in. "What brings you here? I think I've finally cracked making hot chocolate, I was going to bring you some tomorrow."

I perch on the high stool in front of the counter. I want this domestic bliss to last for a few minutes longer. "Have you got any of it now?"

"In the refrigerator," he says, jerking his head in the direction of the shiny silver box. "Put it in that thing," he says pointing to a new machine, "and press the button. It should whistle when it's done."

I find the chocolate and follow Peeta's instructions. "What're you making?" I ask him.

"Cinnamon bread. I'm kneading it now so it'll rise overnight," he replies, not stopping kneading.

"Don't you have a machine that can do that?"

"I like doing it the old-fashioned way sometimes," he says. "I think I've still got some of those gingersnaps in the cookie jar if you're hungry."

"Nice." I put some cookies on a plate. "How much longer do you have to knead that?"

"Probably ten minutes. You want to try?" he asks. There is a smudge of flour on his cheek and a boyish eager grin on his face.

Suddenly there is nothing I want to do more. "Yeah," I smile.

"Go wash your hands," he tells me, wiping his own on his apron. I rinse my hands and stand in front of the dough. Peeta stands behind me to guide my hands. "Okay you want to take the dough and get as much air into it as you can. So lift the sides and fold and push…"

I end up moving the dough around. Peeta is normally so relaxed about everything but it is clear he takes kneading dough very seriously. "No, like this Katniss," he says, grabbing my hands and moving them. "It's dough, not a punching bag." I am clearly awful at it, but Peeta is encouraging. After a few more minutes, we work the dough into an acceptable loaf.

"I think I'll leave the baking to you," I say. I turn around to face him, but he doesn't step back. His hands are still on the counter, his body trapping me. My breath catches in my throat. We are standing so close that I notice for the first time his impossibly long eyelashes. They are so light in color that you barely notice them, but standing this close to him with the light hitting them a certain way – my heart starts hammering again, but this time in a completely different way.

The moment is charged. If either of us moved an inch forward, our lips would touch. Did I want him to move forward? There are no cameras, no audience to cater to. If we kissed, we would kiss for us. I am suddenly very aware of the warmth of Peeta's body. It is so familiar to me from all our nights on the train – his warmth, his heartbeat. The feel of Peeta in front of me is new and familiar at the same time.

The whistle of the kettle startles us both and the moment is over. "Hot chocolate?" he asks.

"Love some."

He pours it into two mugs and hands me one. "So what's up? I'm guessing you didn't come over here to help me knead bread."

And my moment of domestic bliss is definitely over. I let the mug of chocolate warm my hands and gently blow on the top. "I got a call from Effie. She and Plutarch Heavensbee are coming in a couple days."

"Plutarch, the Head Gamemaker? There's a Quarter Quell coming up, what's he doing in District 12?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. But Effie says he isn't Head Gamemaker anymore."

"Odd," Peeta says.

"That's not the oddest part," I say. "They want me to go back to the Capitol with them for a week. Just me."

Peeta's eyes widen. "Alone?"

"Effie said something about wedding gowns and how you can't see me in my dress."

"I could go and not look. I don't have to be there at the fittings," Peeta argues. "It doesn't feel right, you going there by yourself," he says unhappily.

"I'm not looking forward to it either," I tell him. I study my mug very carefully.

"You can call me every day. Any time," Peeta offers. "Actually please do call me when you're there– just so I know you're alright."

I nod.

"Come on, I'll walk you back. If we hang out here any longer, your mother will have my head," Peeta says.

At 9:50 in the morning on the day Effie and Plutarch are to arrive, Peeta drags in a grumpy Haymitch. "Damn woman isn't even here yet, and already she annoys me," he mumbles.

"Good morning to you too, Haymitch."

Peeta lifts up a bag. "I brought cookies."

"Hot chocolate?"

"Next time."

At exactly 10:00, I hear the click of Effie's heels on the pavement and her knock on the door. She walks in trailed by Plutarch Heavensbee who seems even larger than I remember, followed by another woman who looked like his assistant. Bringing up the rear is my prep team, but no Cinna. Effie said he was busy getting all my wedding dresses ready. I was wondering why I needed more than one, but Effie just laughed.

"Hello hello!" she chirps, kissing me and Peeta in greeting. "My victors! You remember Plutarch, of course. And this is his assistant Fulvia."

"Yes, hello," Peeta says extending a hand. "How was the trip?"

"Wonderful, there's something that's just so soothing about sleeping on a train," Plutarch says as we walk towards the living room.

"I heard you won't be Head Gamemaker anymore."

Plutarch laughed. "Yes, lucky to escape alive." No one else laughed. I wasn't sure it was even a joke. "I'm still in the entertainment industry though, I'm focusing on music, singing competitions, that sort of thing."

"I see." We all take our seats. My mother comes in to offer everybody tea, but quickly leaves so we can have our meeting.

"I hear you're stealing my girl for a week, Effie," Peeta says as everyone settles in.

"I'm sure you'll survive Peeta. Katniss has to try on her wedding gowns!"

"Gowns?" Peeta asks. "How many weddings is she going to have?"

"They're making a reality TV show out of it! Up and coming designers are all designing one – Cinna's the judge, and the best one will be your wedding gown!"

"Cinna's not designing my gown?"

"Oh there's a secret twist to the show – in the finale, they'll be competing against gowns Cinna himself designed. You choose your top three and the audience gets to choose the one they like best. If you don't like their designs, just pick all the Cinna ones. We'll shoot that episode on your last day in the Capitol."

"Interesting," Peeta says.

"But you can't watch it, Peeta!" Effie says suddenly stern. "You'll have seven years of bad luck!"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"There are so many productions going on now it's insane – the Capitol is raising revenue for the Quell. They've designed a new arena, new training quarters – it's all absolutely fabulous.

Plutarch sets his cup down on the table. "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here, Katniss."

Boy was that an understatement. "Yes."

"Let me get right to the point," Plutarch says. "Everybody absolutely loved your voice in the games, when you sang to the little girl from 11. And again during your victory tour! Such tone, such presence! Why our music stations were absolutely overrun for requests of your song."

I could see where this was going. "So you want me to sing a song for the Quell?"

"Oh not just a song. And not just for the Quell. We want you to sing for the Capitol!" Plutarch says.

"We want you to sing for Panem," Fulvia says.

No. No way. "Not in a million years."

Plutarch and Haymitch exchange looks. "But think of your fans, Katniss!" Fulvia cries. "They'd be so disappointed."

"It would help you get sponsors for tributes," Haymitch says. I am taken aback that Haymitch seems to support this.

"I'm not singing for attention."

"My dear, President Snow himself suggested this as a talent for you to pursue. It will be something to keep you busy as well before your big wedding."

In that moment, the discussion is over.

I hear the message loud and clear.

You've subdued the districts, but nothing has changed. You are entertainment. Show up when they say show up. Sing when they say sing. Marry when they say marry.

Author's Note: *Hides* Yes this is a singer!Katniss AU, but I wanted to make it as in character as possible! Feedback, positive or constructive always welcome. Enjoy!